#I might bash Julia a bit

[gucciwins]

don't know where we're going

Harry invites Y/N on tour as his opening artist...he wasn't expecting to fall in love

Word count: 26,709

A/N: hola mis amores 💜 here is this new story for you. it might have been a long time but I promise I will always come back. come talk to me about the new story

Warnings: smut (female pleasure)

+

Love on Tour had come to an end. The final show was here tonight in Italy, and Y/N was excited. Her band had shared they couldn’t sleep or eat from their nerves, but Y/N felt at ease. She had always felt at home on stage. Tonight would be no different. 

When Y/N’s mother realized her daughter loved to sing, she put on even more musicals for her to watch and sing along to. Y/N’s mother, Reina, never got tired of her daughter’s voice, and with her encouragement, Y/N began to play in bars, anywhere that would give her the time and space. A producer one day approached her after doing two songs in a coffee shop, telling her she had a chance to make it. He handed her a card and made her promise she’d call. She almost didn’t. 

Her mother gave her the courage to call, and her life changed. They got her time in the studio, where she got to present her ideas and songs. The team supported her, and from then on, Y/N Y/LN became a person to be on the lookout for. She had writing sessions with Julia Michaels that allowed her to learn that not only did she have the liberty to write everything she felt but that with experience comes inspiration. As she began to record, she knew she had to think about the future of a tour. Not soon after, she met her guitarist Felix at a sports bar, where they bonded over their mutual love for Formula One. Felix introduced her to June, who became her drummer, and their bassist is Quinn, June’s brother. 

The venues Y/N had booked out always surprised her because, despite its small capacity, every show was always sold out. Her first single blew through the charts; it got her name out there. Her first tour around the UK was a success and allowed her to begin playing festivals. Y/N was happy with how her life turned out and had no idea it could improve.

Y/N loved her job. She loved being on stage and connecting with fans. She loved touring with her favorite people. She lived a comfortable life doing what she loved. Y/N had a large fanbase, not popstar sensation fame, but it’s not what she was searching for. It was why she had to think about her answer when she found out the biggest pop star of her generation wanted her to open up for his final leg in Europe. It didn’t make sense because Y/N clearly knew about Harry Styles. She didn’t know he knew about her.

He’s a big fan.

Zane Lowe played him a song, and he was hooked.

Harry saw you play one night and has followed you ever since. 

The exposure would be good for you. 

Harry would like to meet with you before you make a choice.

The choice was clear for everyone but Y/N. She had never met the man, and while the pay would be incredible, she wasn’t willing to go on tour with someone she did not get on with. The meeting with Harry turns out to be a success. He comes in full of smiles, a bit bashful when his manager points out how big a fan he is. Harry doesn’t deny it; it makes her trust him because he’s genuinely a fan of her music, and she admires that. Y/N returns the compliment, stating that she learned to play “Fine Line” on the piano because it was her favorite. Her manager Zahra shared that she cried when she first heard it because she wished she had written the song. Harry blushed at the compliment while Y/N tried to brush past it. Thankfully, Harry was polite and thanked her. While everyone got to work on paperwork, it gave Y/N a moment to speak with Harry alone. Y/N started the conversation because Harry sat there quietly, simply enjoying observing her. 

“Thank you for the opportunity. My band and I are excited,” she expressed. 

Harry grins, “thank you for agreeing.” 

“I hear stadiums are what you’ll likely be sticking to.”

“Scared,” he teased. 

Y/N shrugs, “I never imagined singing in front of that capacity if I’m honest. I think it’s easier because no one will be there for me.” 

“I will be. Will watch every night,” he promises. 

Y/N waves him off, “wasn’t fishing for a compliment.”

“Didn’t think you were. I hope we share the stage one day, maybe sing a song together.”

“If we make it to the end of this, you can come out during my set,” she teases.

“It would be my honor.” 

That was the start of Harry and Y/N’s friendship.

+

Y/N loved playing dress up. On stage, she got to wear whatever she wanted. It’s a big reason she enjoyed seeing what Harry would pick each night. Y/N loved spinning, and the perfect accessory to do so was a skirt, specifically a mini skirt. She remembers thrifting in a little shop in Dublin, where she found the perfect pink mini, and from there, it became part of who she was. From baby tees to oversized cargo pants to skirts, the one constant was the platforms that always gave her that extra height. 

Y/N knew she had to honor her mother each night she was on stage, and because the earliest memory Y/N has is sitting in front of the mirror as her mother tied ribbons and bows in her hair, she made it a tradition to keep them in. Y/N swore she had one that fit all of her outfits, and if it didn’t, she didn’t mind getting her scissors and cutting up a bit of clothing. 

She is now a few shows in and is having the time of her life. Y/N gets to play her music every night and enjoys seeing Harry perform. Then, she ends each night by discussing her favorite parts with Harry. Y/N doesn’t remember how it happened, but Y/N doesn’t go to sleep unless she has spoken to Harry; by now, it’s part of her routine. The friendship she is building with him makes her feel at ease on stage each night. One night, they talked about their inspiration, and Y/N told him she was inspired by all around her. From her friends to movies to even books she has read. She wrote “Another Love” based on Gus and January, a couple from a book she read. It’s easy to be inspired because she lets every bit of emotion change her.

“Your music is sad,” Harry tells her one night.

Y/N frowns, “excuse me.” 

“It’s not a bad thing.”

“I’m leaving,” she goes to stand up, but he stops her by holding onto her wrist. 

“Hear me out,” he pleads. She settles deeper into her seat. “I enjoy it. I think it’s the best music I have ever heard, and it’s so sad because it’s your real emotions and reactions. You’re putting your heart out there; sometimes the sadness wins out.” 

Y/N knows he’s right, but that doesn’t mean she has to say that. “Well, you’re always horny.” 

Harry burst out laughing, “fair.” 

“I’d never sing about watermelons with you,” she fakes disgust. 

Harry’s interest has now peaked. “What would you sing?” 

“Fine line, but not with you. I’d add it to my setlist if I was on tour now.” 

Harry didn’t know she really loved a song like that. “That’s–wow. Thank you.” 

“Realistically, I’d do Daylight. She's a bop.” 

Y/N laughs when she sees Harry nodding. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he promises.

At the following show, Y/N kept thinking back to what Harry said about how her music carries a sadness. She doesn’t mean to, but it’s the type of melodies that soothe her. It’s clear from the fanbase she has created that her fans also like it. 

“Mr. Styles says I have sad music as if he didn’t write Matilda,” she teases. “Kidding, we all know Cherry is his saddest song. While some songs are sad, you can still dance to them, so this is “Sorry.” Please sing if you know it. If not, that’s okay too.” 

Harry greets her when she walks off stage. “Did you enjoy that, boss man?” Y/N’s running on a high; all she wants to do is spend time with Harry, but he has to get ready. 

“You’re my favorite part of every show,” he tells her genuinely. 

Y/N feels her face heat up, but she knows where this could head and decides to stay clear. She pats his shoulder and walks away. “Good luck, Harry,” she calls out as she turns the corner, leaving Harry standing alone, wondering how he’d work up the courage to ask Y/N out. 

+

Another day, another show. Except today, Y/N saw a familiar face and had to bring it up. 

“I’ve seen you before. You look very pretty.” Y/N compliments the fan with a black baby tee with bedazzled cherries and glitter pants. “You’re coming to the shows because of me,” Y/N repeated, shocked. “But it’s the Harry Styles show!” Y/N leans closer, listening to the fan share that she’s their favorite artist. The fan had traveled from Iceland to be here tonight because it’s the only place she managed to get tickets. Then, she decided to try attending as many shows as possible before returning home. Y/N felt so much gratitude, making her want to hug this person. While Y/N couldn’t jump down, she thought of the next best thing. “Do you want to sing this one with me? Can we do that?” Y/N looks side-stage at her tour manager, and she’s shaking her head in disappointment, but no one is stopping her. “Come on up.” The fan is helped over the barricade and guided upstairs to meet her. Y/N hugs the fan tightly, thanking her for everything, and Y/N tells her she hopes to see her in the crowd again. “Everyone, this is Sasha! She’s part of the band tonight. Now, Sasha, do you know ‘The Band and I,’” Y/N checks. 

“Word for word,” Sasha assures her. 

“Wonderful, you’re all in for a treat. Hit it, Junie!” Y/N shouts. 

Walking off the stage that night, Y/N is flying on a high. She smiles with the band; she sees Harry leaning against a wall with a smirk. “Breaking all the rules, huh, almost gave Jeff a heart attack.” 

Y/N grimaces, “am I in trouble?” 

Harry rolls his eyes, “I enjoyed it, and I'm the boss. So no.”

She sighs in relief, “I-I just felt grateful. This is your tour,” she emphasizes. “And for the fan to enjoy my music and know the lyrics to a song I wrote, which I haven’t officially released yet, overwhelmed me. Playing in front of an audience has always been my dream, but having my lyrics sung back to me is not something I ever let myself imagine.” 

Harry smiles, and she knows he understands. He doesn’t have to say a word. His eyes say it all for her. Y/N is thankful she joined this tour, and while she admires Harry, she knows she can’t forget to keep her boundaries up because she knows they will only begin to fall with time.

+

It was early March when Harry changed their relationship. Y/N enjoyed time with her band, but sometimes she needed to be alone. She used the time to write or simply enjoy the silence, even for a few minutes. Harry offered her a private space where he kept his piano. He traveled everywhere with it, and while Y/N thought it was a hassle, she was grateful because it allowed her to play with melodies she had stuck in her head. 

Today was no different. She had spent an hour alone when Harry walked in on her, seemingly just as lost in his head. He was startled when he looked up and found her sitting in an old hoodie of her first merch ever created. 

“Cute,” he comments.

Y/N shrugs, “I know you want one.”

“Desperately.” 

She doesn’t know if he’s continuing the bit but decides she will have her mother bring one to her at Wembley for him. It would be her home show, so her mother would be in attendance. 

“Anything new?” He gestures to the piano and her open notebook. Y/N hands it to him, allowing him to have a look inside. There are more music notes than there are lyrics. She has the perfect melody, but words seem hard to find right now. “Care to play it for me?” 

Y/N loves that he always asks. They both know how private the writing process can be, but with Harry, it’s clear they have built a level of trust. Y/N starts slow on the keys before building up until, by the end reaches the slow start. Harry grins at her, and Y/N can see he likes it. She knows he plays the piano, but she’s never had the chance to watch him play; he’s more reserved compared to her. It’s not something she minds. It just means they both have boundaries they won’t cross and respects that. 

“It was beautiful,” he tells her after a few seconds. She thanks him softly, shutting her notebook and knows she has to head out to get ready. 

“Y/N, I-I really like having you on tour.” 

“Thank you for inviting me. It’s truly an amazing environment to work in. Even if you do need a few more ladies in your crew.”

Harry laughs but agrees. He knows she speaks from experience where most of his technicians are men. Y/N has a more diverse crew. It is an industry that works to break down women. It's nice to see how she always lifts everyone up. He didn’t realize how, over time, his feelings grew for Y/N. He went from seeing her every few days to speaking to her every night before bed. She brings him a comfort he did not know he was missing. Y/N had become the best part of his day, from watching her perform on stage to their nightly talks. He wanted to spend all his free time with her, so he chose to be honest with her about his feelings.

“Can I tell you something, Y/N?” Harry asked softly. 

Y/N turned to him, a gentle smile on her face that helped calm his nerves the tiniest bit. He was worried it would not go his way because there were times he gave her a compliment, and she always brushed it away. He always greeted her with a hug, but she always turned it into a one-second side hug. He didn’t know if that was because he made her nervous or she simply didn’t like hugs, although he’d seen her hug her bandmates. Heck, he’s seen them all squished on a couch together. 

Harry takes a deep breath; he wants to look away from her, her gaze making him nervous, but the comfort he finds in her gorgeous orbs allows him to push forward. “I-I like you, Y/N.” 

Y/N thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest. She did not expect a confession of this kind from Harry. It leaves her frozen for a second because while Y/N reciprocates those feelings, she’s not at liberty to act on them, not when working on the largest tour of her life. Y/N doesn’t care what people think. It’s a big reason she doesn’t look at tabloids or use her social media accounts, but this–thinking of pursuing a relationship with Harry is not something she can allow herself to give in.

“You’re sweet, Harry. I think you’re great too.” 

Harry grimaces because he realizes she doesn’t understand what he is saying. Before he can explain what he means, June, Y/N’s drummer, rushes in, telling her Felix was having an issue and it was bad. Y/N patted his shoulder and excused herself.

Well, it went nothing like he expected. Harry held out for her to say she felt the same, but she clearly didn’t. Harry knows many would tell him to move on, but he knows Y/N is special. While he wouldn’t pursue her, he knew he still wanted her in his life.  

+

As much as Y/N hated to admit it, after Harry’s confession, there has been an awkwardness in their conversations. It’s been too much because they no longer spend time alone. Y/N decided to treat their relationship the same, but when she went to his room that night, she found Mitch with him. Y/N knew that she messed up. She also knew she was being selfish by wanting to keep it all the same when he had put himself out there only for her to brush him off. 

A few shows go by, and Y/N feels better because Harry still seeks her out to have lunch together. He invites her to join his workouts, which she regrets because Brad is honestly insane. Brad had promised to make a routine that best fit her needs. Harry did not change much; he kept flirting, offering her compliments and daily hugs. A rush went through her each night, knowing he was watching her. 

Tonight was no different. He offered her a short hug, and off she went to play to his fans. Y/N felt off from the moment she got on stage but had no idea why. Quinn stepped close, wanting to know if she was feeling okay, but Y/N couldn’t describe it other than a pit in her stomach. It was as if she sensed something was coming. Y/N promised she was fine and pushed through. 

Halfway through the set, Y/N looked over and saw Harry staring at her with a fond smile. Y/N didn’t want to look away but had a show to play. Her feelings were winning, and Y/N knew she wouldn’t care about the aftermath if she decided to date Harry. She wanted to bask in the feeling of liking him and hopefully loving him one day. So, she decided to do something different to let him know she was ready to have that conversation. 

“Right, this is a little different tonight. I-I have a friend who loves this song, and we haven’t played it in some time, but I thought they might enjoy it and hopefully you as well. This is ‘Crystal Clear.’” 

This song is one she wrote when she was wishing for a happy future with a partner who loves and respects her, showing them that she won’t give in to her fears and wants to be together. It was one of Quinn’s favorites to play, but all collectively agreed it didn’t fit the setlist. Y/N knew she’d get endless questions for adding it so suddenly, but she’d deal with that after speaking with Harry. They played a few more songs, and once she gave her final bow, she hurried off stage. Y/N expected to find Harry waiting for her there but instead ran into Mitch, who looked at her, startled.

“Where’s Harry?” Y/N asked impatiently. 

“Piano room, but–”

She hurried down the hall, ignoring Mitch, who tried telling her to stop. She didn’t realize he was following her down. 

“Y/N don’t–” She walks into the piano room even as Mitch tries to stop her to find Harry hugging a woman. Y/N knew it wasn’t a friend because the grip the woman had on Harry was one of possession.  Harry was looking at her, but his face was hard to read. It was as if all the walls she had broken down were now standing higher and stronger. Y/N didn’t move her eyes away from him; her eyes landed on his swollen lips. It’s clear she interrupted a private moment. Y/N grimaces because she knows she would never be able to think about this piano without the tainted memory of Harry wrapped in the arms of another. 

“I’m sorry,” she sends them a grim look and walks out, closing the door behind her. She finds Mitch and Sarah staring at her, unsure what to do; they must be aware of the situation between her and Harry. 

“Is that his…” She couldn’t even say the word. 

Sarah frowned, “she’s uh kind of friend.”

Y/N didn’t need to hear anymore. Sure, Harry said he liked her, but when she didn’t give him the answer he wanted, what did she want him to do, beg and make her open her eyes. No, she needed to figure it out on her own, and now that she did, it was too late.

It’s not like she had a reason to be jealous. She never told Harry she liked him. All she did was pat his shoulder and move on like nothing had ever been said. Y/N bid Mitch and Sarah good luck for the night and walked to her green room. Y/N’s tears began to fall as soon as the door closed behind her. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. Nothing was going on between them, yet why did she feel like nothing would be the same anymore. Maybe it was hurting because he had promised to watch her set each night, and she sang a different song tonight because he had said it was his favorite. Y/N knew she wasn’t being fair, sending him mixed signals, but Y/N didn’t deserve to feel this either. It made her feel as if his feelings weren’t even real. She was blinded by her tears to notice June was on the couch, book in hand, but was thankful she was there because she got to break down in the comfort of arms she was familiar with. 

Y/N wasn’t okay, but she would be. It was only a crush.

+

Y/N could not sleep that night. She tossed and turned until she gave up and decided to go to her balcony to watch the sunrise. Time moved slowly, and it allowed her to regroup. By eight o’clock, she was all packed up and waiting in the lobby. Y/N rode to the airport with her friends, where they would all get on separate flights and reunite in May for rehearsals and more love on tour. Y/N was ready to go home and enjoy a home-cooked meal with her mother. She had said goodbye to everyone except for one person. He was quieter today; it allowed him to blend in. Harry had a “Damn” sweater on, the hood up, and a claw clip in the jumper's pocket. Y/N starts walking his way before she can change her mind. 

“Harry,” she calls out softly. 

He looks up, offering her the tiniest smile. “Y/N.”

“Have a good break.” She offers awkwardly. 

He nods. They make no move, and Y/N knows they have no idea where they stand, but Y/N would never start something if Harry had someone else, so she knew she had to come back from the break clear-headed and with these feelings gone and, if not at least tucked away. 

Y/N opened her arms and shrugged, telling him it was up to him. Harry didn’t even have to think about it; he wrapped her in a tight hug, breathing her in for one last time. 

“Have a safe flight,” he whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

She walks away with a heavy heart and hopes a month and a half is enough to lose these feelings.

+

While home, Y/N tries to deal with her feelings, and for the most part, it works. Y/N got in the routine of going on morning walks followed by an hour of yoga. She found it helpful in clearing her thoughts and starting her day without a clouded mind. Y/N had not talked to Harry since that morning in the airport; he had sent texts, but they had all gone unread. Her mother tried to convince her to answer him, but she knew it would only hurt more if she found out he was dating that person. The only good thing about this is that Y/N had written five new songs. It seemed heartbreak and love were always a good sign of inspiration. Y/N played her favorite to her mum, and she was told it was okay. Felix told her that the new song was the heart of the new album she was working on. Through the years, she had learned to take what her mother says with a grain of salt. 

Her mother was also tired of her moping. Y/N, when on break, would go to her own flat and visit her mother occasionally but so far spent her entire holiday there. Her mother assured Y/N she enjoyed having her home, but it did worry her that she had not left the house. So, as any mother would do, she set Y/N up for a blind date. Y/N said no, time and time again, but Reina promised it would only be coffee. Y/N knew she didn’t have to go, but some of her was tempted because while she knew she had friends to call up, this wasn’t something she wanted to discuss. Going out and talking with a stranger would be awkward but would be a change in topic. 

Y/N was told he’d find her as he received a photo of her. She got there early, deciding to use the time to read a book. Quinn told her “One Last Stop” would change her life and, so far, hadn’t disappointed. Y/N was lost in the story that she jumped up when someone lightly touched her shoulder. 

“Shit, sorry,” she looked up, hoping the person hadn’t spilled any coffee, and to her surprise, they were empty-handed. His chocolate eyes were filled with concern, but Y/N brushed it off by offering him a timid smile. “Hi, are you Miles?” 

“Yes, and you’re Y/N,” he stated. 

“Mhm…it’s nice to meet you.” 

Miles nods, “you’re prettier than the picture I was sent.” 

Y/N feels her face warm in embarrassment and doesn’t even dare ask to see the photo they showed him. If she knew her mother, it had to be the time she jumped into Glacier Lake and came out looking like a wet dog. Her mother always made sure to keep her humble. “Thanks,” she mumbled. 

He gestures for her to sit down and follows after her. She tucks her book back into her bag, ready to give him her full attention. “Do you want something to drink? Heard they have an amazing lavender latte.” 

Y/N gestures to her cup before her, “already got something.”

Miles nods, “a pastry, then?”

Now that she would never say no to. “I’ll take a muffin please.” 

“You got it.” 

Miles walks over to the counter, and while he’s away, she allows herself to look him over. He’s cute, wearing black trousers and a baby blue cardigan. It’s clear he’s comfortable with his style by how he carries himself. Y/N knows if she wasn’t trying to get over her feelings, she would have given him a chance, but with her going back on tour, she isn’t ready for that.

When Miles returns to the table with his drink and two muffins, she asks him about his work and family. She discovers he’s an art curator and is working on his next collection. He shares he has two older siblings and two younger, making him the middle child. His mother tries to make it up by having lunch with him each week, but it’s easy to be overlooked as a middle child. Y/N is intrigued with him and knows Miles would be a good friend; if anything, she thinks Felix would get on with him better than she did. 

Y/N realized it was her turn to talk about herself, but she didn’t really like stating her job. Sometimes, people judged her, and she honestly didn’t want things to get worse with Miles, but it seemed Y/N’s luck would not improve because when the door opened, a familiar face walked in. Familiar brown curls sticking out from his trucker hat, Harry’s casual wear had always been comfortable but stylish. He always tended to run cold, so he wore an oversized green coat that reminded her of the time he threw it over her when he saw she fell asleep in his green room after his soundcheck. Y/N looked away before he could see her, but Y/N was right by an open space, easy to view by the counter. Harry could spot anything and everyone, and he was never one to be rude and ignore someone, but she hoped that would change today.

She turned back to her conversation, but in the corner of her eye, she saw someone approaching. Y/N held her breath, hoping he would walk past her, but stopped right in front of her. 

“Y/N.” Oh, how she missed hearing her name falling from his lips. 

She looks up and finds him staring at her with a timid smile. Y/N gets up and offers him a hug that he quickly accepts. They keep it short, though she feels his hand linger at the small of her back, almost like he didn’t want her to move away, but she wasn’t alone. 

“Harry, this is uh…Miles. Miles, this is Harry.” 

Harry doesn’t ask anything. He simply tells Miles it’s great to meet him. Miles looks at Y/N in confusion, but she brushes him off. “How’d you meet?” Harry asks, intrigued. 

“Our mum’s set us up on a date,” Miles explains for her. “It’s actually our first time meeting.” 

Y/N isn’t sure why Miles shared that with Harry, but she can’t blame it. Harry has this trusting aura that makes people want to tell him all their darkest secrets. Y/N would know, seeing as she has shared parts of herself with Harry that no one else has seen, not even her best friends. 

Harry nods. She can’t seem to read him at all. His pseudonym name is called, and he uses that as his exit. “Well, it was good to see you.”

“You too, H. I’ll see you soon.” 

He nods, giving his goodbye to Miles as well. Y/N watches him until he’s out of the coffee shop and no longer in her view from the mirrors. She finds Miles studying her and knows he might have been able to pick up on the tension between her and Harry. 

“Do you want to tell me about that? You don’t have to.” 

Y/N sighs, letting her shoulders drop.  “To start, I kinda have a crush on him, but he’s my boss.”

Miles' eyes widened in shock, “Harry Styles is your boss!” He was not expecting that, but she could tell he was intrigued. His response sends her into a laughing fit, and knows that while she won’t be dating Miles, he will make a good friend.

+

Y/N felt her break was long and too short at the same time. While she was able to use the time to re-energize, she also wrote a few more songs she wanted to share with her band before booking time for studio sessions. Y/N knew studio time would be hard to find, but she was determined to do it between breaks, even if all she got was two hours.

They had been rehearsing on the stage when she heard a clap from their final song for the set. Y/N turned and spotted the Love Band. She set down her guitar and rushed into Pauli’s arms. They spun her around, laughing as she blubbered on how she missed them. Pauli set her down, giving everyone a chance to say hello. Hanging in the back of the group were Mitch and Harry. Y/N knew she would need to have a conversation with Harry soon, but for now, she would bask in the joy of being back on tour and sharing the stage with him.

“Harry! Mitch!” 

Harry looked surprised to see her look happy, calling for him. He sent her a small wave, but Y/N was going in for the hug. He basked in the warmth she had to share with him. Being back in the same space with Y/N was comforting after seeing her out on a date a few weeks ago. It made him feel awful, and he couldn’t help that he made Y/N feel the same with his last fling. 

She let go of him, moving on to Mitch. Y/N was chatting away, telling them she had gotten a new guitar and was excited to play it tonight. Soon enough, Mitch and her were lost in their own conversation about lyrics she had written and how she was stuck on finding a melody that would work. Mitch promised to have a look and give her any ideas that would come up. 

“You’re still welcome to use the piano, Y/N. I know how much that helped before,” Harry offered. 

Y/N fell quiet because while she knew Harry was still there, she didn’t feel overwhelmed because she wasn’t conversing with him, but now all his attention was on her. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” she mumbles, knowing she wouldn’t take him up on it.  

Harry nods, and he thinks better of it while he’s about to excuse himself. “Y/N, do you—would it be okay if we talked in private.” 

Mitch excuses himself, leaving it all up to Y/N. She has no idea what this conversation will entail but owes it to herself to hear him out. “Lead the way, boss.” 

Harry looks pleased and walks off the stage, leading them down some stairs and into the pit, but he doesn’t stop there. He makes her climb a few more stairs, landing them in tonight's lower bowl section of the venue.

Y/N whistles, taking in the view from the distance. “Quite a view. I might have to watch the show from here one night.” 

He laughs, “you let me know, and we can make it happen. We’ll make sure you’re not mobbed.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, “please, your fans wouldn’t be able to recognize me.”

“Beg to differ. There are more signs for you each night.” Y/N waves him off. “They’ve started to make Tik Tok edits about you.” Harry doesn’t share how he knows, but some nights over the break, he spent time watching them. It made him miss her more, seeing her running around the stage like it was hers. She had the crowd in the palm of her hand, and she didn’t even know it. 

“Please, stop!” Y/N laughs. “My ego can only take so much.” 

Y/N had forgotten how easy it was with Harry, but being with him now made her wish things hadn’t changed. She had to go an entire month without hearing from him because her feelings were hurt over something that should not have bothered her.

“Y/N, I am sorry for how we left things in Japan.”

She grimaces, “me too.” Harry quickly disagrees, but Y/N reminds him of all his unanswered texts.

“You’re forgiven,” he tells her. 

While Y/N appreciates it, a big topic needs to be addressed. 

Harry takes a deep breath before turning his body to look at her. “I know my actions and words might have confused you, but I’m here to be honest. I won’t lie to you, not now, not ever. Do you understand?” 

She nods. 

“Words Y/N. I need to hear you say it.” 

“I understand. You won’t lie to me. I trust you,” Y/N truly believes her words. 

He dips his head in acknowledgment. “I like you, and I went on to do something stupid. The girl you saw me with is named Victoria. She–well, to put it lightly, she was a hookup, and she’d join me from time to time. When you saw me that night, she was surprising me because she was going through a breakup and needed comfort, and well–I felt rejected and fell into her. I’m not blaming you–I know I could have said no, but I was too overwhelmed that I preferred to do something to disappoint myself and you. My therapist said if I had talked about it with someone–anyone, this wouldn’t have happened, but I’m not too good with words most times.”

Y/N offers him a smile, “doing pretty good now.”

Harry reaches for her hand, and Y/N lets him take it. She can see he needs the support. “I got a lot to work through, but I’m better and want to be a better partner and person. I want to be someone worthy of you.” 

“Harry,” Y/N breathes out. “That's–you’re…that’s not why I didn’t confess my feelings. You’re amazing. I would be so lucky to explore a relationship with you.”

He looks at her, confused, “then what is it?”

“You’re my boss. You can say under technicalities you aren’t, but this is your sold-out world tour. I’m making a name for myself, doing what I love. While being an opening act for you has been a dream come true, being tied to you as your girlfriend will put my name out there, but not how I want. Do you understand?” Y/N hopes she got her point across, never wanting Harry to think he wasn’t enough.

Harry sighs because he knows where she is coming from. He wished he didn’t; he wished he could beg her to say yes to dating him to see where it could lead, but Harry knows how much she loves being on stage, and he would never dare threaten to take that from her or anything that comes with it. 

“I understand. I do. I like you, I do. While it sucked seeing you dating someone else, I respect you. I still want to be your friend.” Harry rubs a hand under his scuffed jaw. “I miss talking with you about each show at night.”

Y/N squeezes his hands. “Friends, we’re friends. I hope you’re okay with me being in your life, even as a friend.” 

Harry stands up, bringing her with him, and wraps her in a tight hug. He breathes her in. She has a distinct smell of roses and vanilla. It’s perfectly her. He wished he could bottle up the scent and take it with him wherever he went so that it hopefully would make missing her easier. 

“I’ll always be your friend,” he assures her. 

He can be friends with her. Harry knows it could lead him to heartbreak, but it would be worth it for Y/N.

+

The next few shows fly by, and Y/N and Harry easily fall into a routine again. Y/N joins Harry for his morning workouts, but Brad made her a workout to suit her likes. While Harry loves intense core workout, Y/N loves to stretch. There are days when all three go off to do a Pilates class. Mainly, Y/N does her yoga in a corner and joins Harry for his core sets. 

From there, they’ll do breakfast with their bandmates, sometimes together, and sometimes go their separate ways. They have limited their time together alone because Y/N knows her feelings for Harry are only growing, and Harry wants to respect Y/N and her boundaries. Y/N shared with her bandmates how she felt, and they understood, except Quinn, who told her she should go for it. Everyone looked at Quinn, shocked, but he just shook his head, telling her to really think about this because, from his point of view, Y/N and Harry were perfect for each other. Y/N let Quinn’s words ring through her mind for some time, but Y/N was nervous about taking that next step. She wasn’t sure how it would work. She loves working with Harry, and she knows he’s taking a break after, but what if he doesn’t like that his partner is never home, just like him. Y/N loves being with her family, but she’s never happier than when she is on stage. Y/N can’t seem to take that step just yet. 

In Scotland, Y/N finally decided to return to using Harry’s piano. She initially felt strange but realized she had been missing it for some time. Y/N walks in and is happy to find it open. Y/N runs a hand over the smooth wood before taking a seat. She sets down her old journal and opens it up to the last page she wrote. 

Y/N lets her hands rest on the keys before going into C major. She repeats it a few times until she feels ready. It was a slow melody that went hand in hand with her lyrics. She began to sing in the room with only the sound of the piano. 

Look at me. I feel homesick

Want my dog in the door

And the light in the kitchen

A creek behind her made her jump up suddenly, hands shooting out to grab her notebook to her chest. Harry steps back, hands up in defense. There is an apologetic look on his face.

“I knocked, but don’t think you heard.” 

Y/N feels her face heat up and knows she tends to get lost in her music. “Sorry, it was empty when I came in. Did not expect you to come in. I can leave if you are planning to use the space. It is yours, after all.” 

Harry brushes her off, walks into the room, and gestures for her to sit back on the bench with him. He scoots in close, wanting no space between them. “What did you play just now? I’ve never heard a tune so mellow yet sad.” 

“Think I wrote my album closer,” she confesses. 

The joy on Harry’s face is apparent. “Shit, really! That’s wonderful.”

“It’s--gosh, how I explain it. I felt like floating, and this melody really carried me through. You can find an underlying of it through a few of the other songs,” she can’t help but express to him

Harry sits back, impressed, “is the album complete?” 

“Think so. I need to go into the studio and finish a few, maybe decide on one or two. Then, all good to go. Think all that’s missing is a name.” 

“Y/N’s house,” he jokes. 

“Ah, wouldn’t that be nice. I have an idea, but I need to be sure.” 

“Will you play it for me?” 

Y/N knows what he’s asking, and part of her wants to say no, but no one has heard the song. Not her bandmates, not her co-writers, not her producer, and certainly not her mother. Y/N knows if she shares this with Harry, it will change the entire album for her. When she thinks back on this song, it will now have a whole new meaning. 

“It’s six minutes.”

“I have all the time in the world,” he promises her. 

While they both know it’s not true, she appreciates the sentiment as they’re both set to perform tonight. Y/N takes a deep breath and, with trembling hands, begins to play her song for him. Y/N drags the intro out for a little longer before letting herself sing these lyrics she’s been carrying around for weeks. Y/N has her eyes closed, swaying as she lets herself tell this story of being exhausted and lonely for being away from everything she loves while feeling at home and her most genuine self. It tells the story of how she can grow even when experiencing so much change while being entirely on her own.

I feel like myself right now.

I feel like myself right now.

I feel like myself right now.

I feel like myself right now

Mmm.

Y/N opens her eyes, looks at Harry, and finds him crying. She sits up straight, practically pushing herself to sit in his lap as she wipes away his tears. “No, no, what are you doing? Please don’t cry.” 

“You made me cry,” he mumbles while Y/N keeps her hands on his cheeks, brushing away his tears with her thumbs. “It was a fucking brilliant song.”

Y/N feels her face warm, “you think so?”

He nods, “think my tears say enough.”

“You could have cried because it was awful.” 

Harry bursts out laughing, “absolutely not.”

Y/N wants to lean in and kiss him to thank him for his kind words, but he doesn’t deserve her confusion. “It’s the perfect way to end my album.” 

“I agree.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “you haven’t heard the whole thing.” 

Harry shrugs, “don’t have to.” The flattery is becoming too much, but she doesn’t want to move away from him. “You’ll remember this moment when you win album of the year next awards season.” 

“Shut up, those are stupid.” 

“Hey now! I happen to own a few.” 

Her hands are still on his face, his tears now dried up, but she doesn’t move away. Y/N is enjoying this too much, and a part of her knows Harry is, too. “I don’t do it for the awards. Music is something I’ve always had, and if I can share it with a few others and they find some type of meaning from it, then it means I’ve done a job well done.” 

“Fucking well said, Y/N.” 

Y/N giggles, “You can open for me on my tour after I win my Grammy,” she teases.

Harry places a hand over his heart, “it would be my greatest honor.” 

“Shut up, you dork.”

Y/N finally lets her hands drop, and Harry takes a second to hide his disappointment. 

“Does this mean we can hang out with a buffer now?” 

Y/N furrows her eyebrows, cocking her head to the side. “Sorry?”

Harry pinches her thigh lightly, making her jump closer to him, almost losing her balance. He wraps his hand around her waist, holding her tight against his chest. “Come on, we’ve been hanging out together, but someone always seems to be with us. If it’s not Brad, it’s Anthony; if it’s not Pauli, it’s Quinn. It’s been never-ending.”

They didn’t mean to do it, but Y/N knows she’s missed their inside jokes and private late-night talks when Harry tells everyone he goes to bed early when, in reality, he’s chatting Y/N’s ear off. 

“I guess we can go back to late-night pillow talks.” 

“And exploring the city?” 

“Course, I missed your Google facts.” 

“Heey,” he yells, offended. 

“Can’t deny it. I saw you do it many times.”

“Trying to impress you,” he mutters. “Clearly, all I do is fail.” 

“Stick to music. You’ll go far in life,” Y/N laughs as he rolls his eyes at her. 

“Haha, it means we start right now. Found this old thrift shop nearby.” He pulls her with him as he drags her out, careful to ensure they aren’t caught because if word is out Harry has gone without security, it could be madness. 

“We’ve got a show in a few hours.” 

“They’ve got beautiful skirts. I called and got pictures sent over.” 

Y/N sighs. He knows her too well. “Lead the way, H.” 

Harry shoots her a charming smile, and Y/N knows she would have followed him wherever he asked her to without a second thought. She knew she was in safe hands with him.

+

Harry and Y/N had fun exploring Amsterdam for a few days before heading to Ireland. They had each planned an activity and a place they wanted to eat. Sometimes, they disagreed on food because of Harry’s eating choices, while Y/N would eat anything and everything as long as dessert was always included. Harry thought it was too much, but when he found out how much Y/N enjoyed it, he said yes and ensured she had something sweet, even if he didn’t get anything. 

Jeff would tell Harry off for going without security or someone for the team but brushed him off because he didn’t need anyone intruding on his time with Y/N. He loved spending hours with her uninterrupted, touring cities he had never once had the chance to explore. While he enjoyed those days, Harry also loved show days because he got to see Y/N dance around on stage. She went from singing in sweats to her favorite mini skirts for showtime, and when Y/N decided to pair it with a baby tee, Harry had to think of world hunger and puppies to make his hard-on go away. He knows he should look away, but she captivates him every time she’s on stage, dancing and spinning around to sitting on the edge of the stage. Y/N occasionally brought fans on stage, but when that happened, he would be taken further backstage for his safety; he knew those fans were there for her at that time while he was forgotten.

Tonight was a big night. Harry would be playing at Slane Castle. Harry knew it would be special because not everyone is asked to perform here. Harry had spent most of his time today with his crew, psyching Mitch up for his debut performance. Many didn’t know Mitch had created an album and were even more surprised when he was announced as another opener for tonight. Y/N was still at the forefront of his mind, knowing he had to wish her luck for tonight. He’d be deeper in the audience tonight to watch all his friends open this monumental show for him.

Y/N would be a fool to not know what it means to be playing Slane Castle in Ireland today. Y/N’s nerves were insane today. She knew she wasn’t nervous. No, she was anxious. When she was younger, her biggest fear was disappointing her mother. Y/N hated failing others, while her mom did an excellent job of assuring she didn’t have to carry all that pressure on her shoulders. Sometimes, it came back, and she couldn’t shake it.

She had spent thirty minutes on the phone with her mother, and nothing helped. Y/N wasn’t worried about disappointing herself. No, this–tonight was bigger than her. Quinn and Felix could tell something was up, but they couldn’t help, not when June kept taking off a piece of clothing when she saw the time move closer to when they were meant to take the stage. 

June was on a clothes removal band and couldn’t go to the restroom alone or even for a snack. It was honestly quite funny. It allowed Y/N to momentarily take her mind off the anxiety lingering in her body. When Y/N saw she had half an hour and her handshake got worse, she felt her throat swell up and excused herself. Y/N had no idea where to go or where to hide. She simply walked and ended up in a secluded corner where she tried to center herself before going on stage.

Harry walks into Y/N’s green room excited to see her, but all he finds are her three bandmates playing cards while June sits in a robe. He doesn’t bother questioning it and instead asks for Y/N.

They all turn to look at each other before Quinn answers. “She left like ten minutes ago. She said she needed a breather.”

That makes sense; he hates that he doesn’t know where exactly she went. Felix pulls her phone out and airdrops a location to Harry. “That’s her exact location. You should have her share her location with you. We can always see where she is.”

Not a bad idea at all. He wouldn’t mind Y/N knowing where he was, especially if seeing where she was on a map could bring him the smallest of comfort. Harry thanks them and walks back out. He walks for around ten minutes until he reaches a secluded corner in the grass. Y/N is sitting on an oversized denim jacket while she stares at her hands. 

“Y/N,” he calls out softly to not startle her. She lifts her head and offers him a shaky grin. He can instantly tell something’s wrong. “Hi, love. Been looking for you.” 

She shrugs as if to say she’s here. Harry steps closer but is careful not to invade her space. “Came by to wish you luck.” 

Harry regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth because Y/N looked away from him, burying her face in her hands. He heard her cries, hurried to sit down, and scooped her in his lap. He rocked her back and forth as he tried to get her to stop. He hated seeing her upset. Y/N was always the epitome of strength, and this had him worried. Y/N expressed that she had a hard time going on stage, but she said it was ages ago. 

He whispered sweet nothings, hoping to calm her down, but it wasn’t working. “Please tell me how I can help. Please,” he begged.

“I-I-I don’t w-want to disappoint you,” she cries out. Her tears keep falling, and seeing her like this breaks his heart. 

“Hey, hey. I got you.” Harry brings her close, letting her rest her head on his chest. “You’re okay. I got you.” 

“It’s a big night for you, and I want to make you proud. I-I can’t disappoint you,” she repeats. 

Harry hates that she thinks she can do anything to disappoint him. He pulls her away from his chest because he needs her to understand that she can do no wrong in his eyes. “Love, will you look at me?” 

Y/N lifts her head, and her teary eyes meet his warm ones. He hates that she’s doubting herself. “Tonight is the same as any other.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not. No–”

“Shh—yes, it is. Do you want to know why?” 

“Why?” She mumbles. 

Harry brushes her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Because I’ll still be watching. I will be cheering you on as I do every night. You make every night special, and I know tonight will be no different.” 

“You have too much faith in me,” she mutters against his shirt.

“I always will. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N, not only as a person but also as an artist. I’ve seen how hard you work. How you constantly want to improve each song and each set. You want everyone in that audience to have fun even if they aren’t here for you. This is a large crowd, but if you close your eyes, it’s just you and the band. That is what you can control. So, tonight, when you get on stage, whether you sing one song or five or if you mess up a guitar note or you change your setlist. I can promise you I will be proud.” 

Y/N sniffles; her tears have dried up. “Harry,” she whines. Y/N can’t find any words and throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Harry wraps his arms around her waist and holds her tight. It’s a comfort they have been both seeking all day. Y/N then realized that all the anxiety she faced was because of Harry. She admires and respects him and wouldn’t dare want to mess up his big night. 

“Every night is special. Tonight is slightly different only because Mitch is also performing,” Harry teases, hoping to make her laugh, and it works. He feels her laugh move through his chest and settle deep in his heart. “It’s another stop of Love on Tour, and then it’s home shows. Now that should scare you,” he jokes. “My family will be there.” 

Y/N knows those words should frighten her, but if anything, it brings her comfort. Harry’s family and hers will meet for the first time, which she had been looking forward to. Honestly, if her mum gives the seal of approval to Harry, it might indeed be over for her. Although that’s something to worry about in a few days, for now, her focus is on putting on a show to remember the thousands of people at Slane Castle. 

“Do you want to pick my outfit tonight?” Y/N offers, in exchange for him helping her avoid a panic attack, her hands playing with the ends of his hair. 

Harry lights up, “you mean it?” 

Y/N laughs, “it’s got to match my ribbons for tonight.” 

Harry pouts, “what do you take me for?”

She shrugs.

“I’ll have you know I co-hosted the Met Gala.” 

Y/N wags her eyebrows, “fancy.” 

“Shoes?”

“Not up for debate.” 

Harry waves her off, “good enough for me.” 

They walk back together, hand in hand, as Harry goes over possible outfit combinations he has in mind for her. He really wants to see her in leather pants because he knows it will hug her nicely. Her black bows sit nicely in her hair as she does her makeup. June made her do an eye mask for ten minutes to bring down the puffiness in her eyes. It worked, mostly. Y/N did a shimmery eyeshadow and her eyeliner. All that was left was her outfit. 

Y/N walked into the bathroom, where Harry told her it was all laid out. She shimmied into her sequined flares and slipped on the simple black baby tee. She ruffled her hair a bit, and overall, Y/N was happy with the look for tonight. She walked out to find everyone waiting for her. She did a spin and got lots of whistles and claps. Y/N told them all to shut up and to get to the stage. She lingered behind with Harry. The look he was giving her was anything but friendly.

“You look beautiful.”

“Might have to hire you as my stylist,” she jokes. 

“No, I’d have you wear skirts every night.” 

“But not tonight?” Y/N asks confused. 

“Wanted something different tonight.”

Y/N doesn’t argue with him. She did give him a full range of her clothes. Y/N hears her name being called and knows she needs to get her mic pack. 

“I’ll see you after?” Y/N checks. 

“Of course.” 

They stand there staring at each other. Y/N, for a moment, thinks Harry will kiss her, and she knows she will let him. Instead, he does something that makes her catch her breath. He steps close and leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. “Good luck, Y/N.”

It’s a simple gesture, but it has her heart racing. “Thank you, H.” 

Y/N hurries off after and thanks her engineer for her mic. They hook it to the side of her pants, and Y/N jumps to test its security. So far, so good. Y/N looks behind her one last time and finds Harry giving her a thumbs-up. She could do this. Y/N would go on stage and have fun. 

From the moment Y/N got on stage to when she got off, Y/N could not stop smiling. The crowd was incredible, singing her most popular songs back to her. She could not stop thanking them for a fantastic night. 

“Before I play you one last song and finally leave this stage, there is one last thank you. To Harry, thank you for asking me to be a part of such a special day. It’s one I will never forget. Thank you for the kindness, but most importantly, thank you for sharing your fans. They have been the best crowds to play to. This one's for you.” 

Y/N had never done a dedication before, but it felt right tonight.

In the crowd, Harry was watching Y/N’s set, and while he didn’t need a thank you, it meant a lot coming from Y/N. Harry had no idea Brad was recording him or that he caught Harry blushing as Y/N dedicated the night's final song to him. His friends knew teasing was always okay with Harry, but he looked transfixed, staring at Y/N serenading the crowd they knew could wait until later. 

Y/N had the time of her life dancing with Felix, Quinn, and June to Harry’s set. She laughed loudly when he got called a slag, cheered when he thanked his band, tried to hide when he thanked her and the other openers and cried as he played “Fine Line.” It was a perfect show, everything Harry deserved. 

While it was late, Y/N and Harry still hung out, talking about their favorite bits when they reached their hotel rooms. Y/N loved it when a fan shouted they loved her during a song transition. Harry thought “Kiwi” went insane tonight. Y/N recounted the slag story, and Harry let her laugh it up. He teased her, saying he noticed when she tripped over her words when introducing her band. It was every moment that made the night special. While they had a few days off before Wembley, Y/N knew it was time to head for bed as it would be a travel day. Y/N couldn’t wait to hug her mum and knew Harry felt the same.

Harry lingered outside her door as if he didn’t want to leave. Y/N wanted him to stay, but it would be crossing the boundaries they set for each other. Y/N knew she had a lot to figure out, but day by day, everything became more apparent. 

“Good night, Y/N love.” 

Y/N steps on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss on Harry’s cheek. “Sweet dreams, H.” Harry walked away from her with a cheesy grin on her face. As Y/N closed the door, she knew one thing: that she liked Harry.

She is head over heels for him. Y/N knew the ball was in her court. She had to make a move if she wanted anything to happen. It seemed the hometown shows were about to get interesting. 

+

Y/N had dreamed about playing at Wembley Stadium. While it technically wasn’t for her, she would play in a sold-out stadium. Y/N would open the show for four nights. She’d get to play here and dream of a future where she sold out her favorite stadium in her hometown. 

She was in the middle of the walkway, where Harry sings “Matilda” each night. Y/N doesn’t hear the camera shutter or the footsteps approaching her. Y/N is simply taking it all in, wanting to remember the stadium empty before she sees it filled up.

“Do you still dream about nights like tonight?” Y/N turns her head when she hears her mother’s gentle voice. 

“Mum!” Y/N shoots up from where she’s sitting and runs into her open arms. Y/N stands taller than her mother but never feels smaller than being wrapped tightly in her familiar embrace. “Thought you were coming until later.” 

Reina laughed, “Wanted to spend the day with you, oh, and Quinn promised we’d catch up on gossip.”

Y/N shook her head, “did he bring you out here?” 

“Sure did. I needed to say hi to my girl before gossiping my life away.” 

“Is it book club?” 

Reina sighs dramatically, “it always is.”

Y/N and her mum chatter as they make their way backstage. She’s got family members and friends coming over the four days, but her mum promised to be at all four. Her childhood best friends, Tiffany and Elena. Her cousins and nephews were coming, even her Aunt and Uncles. Y/N reminded everyone she was simply the opening act, but no one cared; they were all proud of her. 

She had introduced her mother to nearly everyone except her favorite person. Y/N found Harry with his headphones in but took them off when he noticed her. 

“Y/N,” he greets with a cheerful smile. He quickly notices the woman beside her and introduces himself as Harry, a friend of Y/N’s. 

“My mum, Reina,” Y/N tells him.

Harry grins, “I see the resemblance. We know Y/N will look just as amazing as you in the future.” 

Reina can’t stop smiling, “dear, you didn’t tell me how cheeky this one is.” 

“He’s a flirt, Mumma. Nothing is stopping him.” 

“Oi, you see what I have to deal with,” Harry teases. “I only flirt with pretty girls named Y/N.”

“And who’s from London,” her mum adds.

Harry points a finger at Reina before turning to look at Y/N, “I like her. I really do.”

“Keep her,” Y/N tells him. “I can only take so much teasing.” 

“Oh, darling. You can never get rid of me.” 

Harry throws a hand over her shoulder, bringing her close to his side. “Like you too much to go through life without you.” Y/N rolls her eyes, but her Mumma can see how flustered she has become. “Come on, I’ll take you to meet my Mum and sister. They were set to arrive any minute now.” 

It’s Y/N's turn to perk up, “your Mum’s here.” 

Harry feels his heart swell at her excitement to meet his mother. He has no idea what he and Y/N are, but they’re certainly more than friends.

+

Y/N spent the entire afternoon chatting with Anne and Gemma. She didn’t mean to monopolize her time, but Anne would keep the conversation going, and Y/N was enjoying it too much to remember she had a different job to do. 

“Y/N, babe, we’ve got sound check,” Felix interrupted, apologizing to Anne.

Harry slipped into the spot next to Anne, “yeah, Y/N, leave my mum alone and go work.”

Before Y/N could rebuttal, Anne slapped his knee lightly, chastising him to be polite. Harry winked in Y/N’s direction. She excused herself and promised Anne she’d see her around for the next few days. Y/N walked out to find the band waiting for her. Y/N looked back one last time to check in on her mother and was happy to see her wrapped up in a conversation with Pauli and Mitch. 

Quinn smirked when she made her way towards them. “Take it your mother-in-law likes you.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She slapped his shoulder, telling him to shut up. 

“Wembley, Wembley, I don’t know if you know this, but London is where I grew up. So, boss man, these are all my hometown shows, too.” Y/N laughed when the crowd cheered. “My mom took me to concerts with her because she preferred to take me with her to create these beautiful memories together instead of me staying home with a relative. So, if you enjoy my music and are happy I pursued this dream, you can thank Reina. Mum, you’re my best friend and my number one supporter. Thank you for everything. I love you.” 

Y/N turned to see the screens where her mother was shown wiping her tears and blowing kisses to the screen. Y/N saw Tiffany reach over and give her a cuddle and knew she’d be in trouble for making her cry, but it was worth it. 

“My name is Y/N, and it’s been a pleasure playing for you. Here’s one last song. Good night, Wembley. You’re in for a hell of a show with Harry Styles, I promise.” 

Y/N ran off stage and straight into the arms of the first person she saw, which happened to be Harry. While she didn’t see him before going on stage because he had been out cheering on Madi, he was now looking at her proudly. Harry spun her around, and all Y/N wanted to do was reach down and give him a kiss. It took everything in her not to do it, especially when surrounded by hundreds of people.

 “You were amazing,” he breathed as he set her down.

“They’re fucking amazing,” Y/N told him, pointing out to the crowd. Y/N rambled on about how the crowd was like no other, that the energy they brought was nothing she had ever felt. “I didn’t want to leave the stage.”

Harry laughs loudly, “should have stayed there think I could have watched you all night.” 

“Awe, afraid you can’t surpass my amazingness,” she playfully mocks, knowing very well he’d knock this out of the park. Harry made a sold-out stadium feel like the most intimate show each night. 

Harry can’t stop looking away from her beaming face. It brings him so much joy to see her like this each night. All he wants to do is celebrate with her, showering her with kisses and telling her how proud he is of her. Instead, he lets her go and tells her he'll see her at the end of the night. There would be no late-night talks tonight as they’d be going to their respective home. “Best of luck, H.” 

He watches her walk away and mentally prepares for his first night of four in Wembley. 

+

Wembley had been perfect each night. His family and Y/N are getting on swimmingly. He hoped for it, but seeing it in person gave him hope that he and Y/N could pursue something. With a day off in between, he was back. He knew the end of the tour was nearing, and his time with Y/N was limited, but watching her on stage each night stopped him from doing anything because he preferred to have her as a friend rather than nothing at all.

Y/N was in a red skirt tonight with a white top with embezzled cherries scattered around. He remembered her mentioning it was his saddest song. It’s not one he would sing again, but he wondered if she was ever in his show's audience to hear it live. The ribbons were cherry red and long. Slowly, as she danced around, they were coming undone. One moment, she was in front of the stage, and the next, she was dancing her way down his long catwalk. She usually kept to the stage but used more and more over time. Tonight, she sang an entire song to his fans, who sang her songs right back to her. Harry knew having Y/N as an opener would be nice, but it’s nothing he ever imagined.

“Wembley, I know you didn’t come here to see me, but thank you to those who sang along. I have one last song, and soon enough, the man of the hour will grace you with his presence. A thank you to my wonderful band. They truly are my best friends. Give it up for Quinny Quinn Quinn on bass. He truly loves all the edits you’ve tagged him in. There is Felix on guitar and the occasional tambourine. Felix always has a new hair color and keeps us whole. Lastly, this band’s hero is Junie. Junie loves the drums and loves me the most,” Y/N teases as Quinn rolls his eyes at her. “Alright, this is–for me?” Y/N asks confused. She bends down, and the security hands her the bouquet of flowers. It’s a mix of pinks and yellows. It makes her tear up. “You sure?” The fan nods, telling her she brought them specially for her. Y/N holds them close to her chest. “I love you. This has made my entire night.” Y/N shows them off to her bandmates, who are all awed by the kind gesture. She places them by her water so she doesn’t forget them. “Alright, one last thank you to you all. This is the Band and I. Good night, Wembley. I love you!”

She hurries off stage with her bouquet in hand. June commented it was a kind gesture. It reminded Y/N how fans travel to see their artist live in concert. Y/N knows she had a sold-out tour when she finished Love on tour, and while it won’t start for a few months, this time is something she won’t ever forget. She’s grateful for the experience, grateful she gets to observe how the crew is treated, and how much comradery there is on this tour. She’s heard the stories of friendship blossoming. It’s beautiful, and now that she’s gotten a glimpse, she’s happy to be a part of but something she wants to take forward with her.

Y/N drops off her flowers and goes in search of Harry. 

Y/N likes Harry. 

She likes spending time with him and likes to sit in silence with him, but mostly, she likes hearing him talk and tell stories. Y/N has never felt at peace with a partner or felt the infamous belly full of butterflies, but she feels them both with Harry. She doesn’t even know when she began falling. All she knows is that she’s ready to tell Harry.

While she wants to share how she feels, she’s mostly dying to kiss him. Their tension is thick, and Y/N is ready to cut through it. She did not think Love on Tour would bring her love, but after hearing Mitch and Sarah’s story, she knows anything is possible and that Harry loves playing matchmaker. He’s a big romantic, which is something everyone has told her. 

She finds him in the piano room, playing an all too familiar melody. “You know, some would call that plagiarism.”  

Harry’s hands fall away from the keys, but he doesn’t turn to look at her. “It’s my favorite song.” 

“Not even released. I barely named it,” she tells him truthfully. 

He shrugs, “special enough to me.”

“Should have named it Harry’s song instead.” 

That gets him a look; his cheeks are red from her comment, and it settles Y/N’s nerves. Harry stands up, and she knows he wants to hug her. While she usually is eager to be wrapped in his warm embrace, she didn’t change coming off stage today and fears she might smell. “Think I might stink.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “stop it and get in here.” 

It is no use fighting it when she only wants to be in his arms. Y/N let herself melt against him, her hands resting around his waist.

“Quite incredible out there. Almost got jealous when you got handed those flowers.” 

Y/N smirks and pulls back the tiniest bit to see the pout on his lips. “Almost?”

Harry huffs out a sigh. “Fine, I did.” 

She grins, “There’s no need to.”

“Why’s that?” 

“You’re the only person who’s got my eye,” she tells him honestly. 

Harry’s face turns red, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he pulls her in closer, resting his chin on her head. Y/N struggles to work up the courage to say those three words. She didn’t realize that the fear of rejection could win out when she really liked someone. 

She decides to go for it.

“Harry, will you do something for me if I ask?” 

“Only if you ask nicely,” he rebuttals.

Y/N pulls away from him, and he lets her. Her hands stay rooted on his waist, letting him know she doesn’t want him to go far.

“Kiss me, please,” Y/N whispers out into the room. Harry was shocked at her request. He stayed staring at her, unsure if he had misheard, but Y/N repeated herself one more time. “Will you please kiss me?” 

He had been waiting for this moment when everything would shift for them, and now that it was here, he was overwhelmed. Harry wanted to kiss her but didn’t know what it would mean for her because he knew what it meant to him. There was a part of him that knew how she felt, but he was dying to hear it.

Instead of questioning it, Harry decides to lean in Y/N, lifting her head to allow their lips to touch, but Harry keeps just enough distance between them to see if she really wants this. Harry lets their lips brush, leaving the ball in her court. He was tempted to go all in but needed to know she wanted him. Y/N was in a daze; she had never felt like she could pass out from a simple touch, but with Harry, it had been like that from the start, from small touches to holding hands. Y/N knew precisely what he was doing and knew exactly what she wanted. 

Y/N connected their lips, and she felt fireworks go off. She doesn’t know why she stayed away for so long. Now, she never wants to go without him. Harry raises his hands to cup her face, taking control of the kiss. It is gentle and full of care. She never wanted it to end, and it seemed neither did Harry. Harry was getting lost in the taste of Y/N. He knew he didn’t care what happened as long as he got to keep her in the end. 

He pulled away breathless, but Y/N pulled him back in for another kiss before he could say anything. It went on for what felt like hours but could have only been a few minutes. There was a loud pounding on the door that made the spring apart. Y/N gazed at his swollen lips and knew she must look the same, if not worse. 

“Y/N–” He shakes his head, not able to wrap everything around his head

“Shh…” Y/N doesn’t want this moment to end, although she knows it must. “We’ll talk later, I promise.” 

Harry frowns. He doesn’t want to give her the chance to change her mind and reject him. He wants her, simple as that. “But–”

“I promise I won’t change my mind. I’d tell you right now, but I wouldn’t let you go for the rest of the night if I did.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he confesses. 

Y/N chuckles and presses a final kiss to his lips. “I’ll be cheering you on, popstar.” 

Harry smirks, “dedicating tonight to you.”

“Menace.” 

The show is a beautiful success. Harry spots Y/N in the crowd tonight and spends too much time singing to her. Not that many fans pick up on it. He wouldn’t mind anyone finding out, but she’s all his right now. He runs off stage and straight into his dressing room. He’s got a car waiting for him, but he doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Y/N. His mom trails in, followed by Jeff and a few others. Harry keeps his door open to keep an eye on her. Harry packs up a few of his belongings, knowing he’ll return tomorrow for a final night. Harry is listening to Jeff drone on about tomorrow and the surprises he has planned when he catches sight of Y/N’s purple bow breezing by. He doesn’t even apologize to Jeff; he runs out after her. 

“Y/N!” He calls out.

Y/N stops and smiles. “Hi you! Nice job out there.” 

Harry blushes because, as confident as he was on stage dancing for her, there’s a difference between being dressed down and having his crush tell him he did amazing on stage. It means everything knowing she enjoys the shows each night. Harry loves seeing her sing on stage each night and is thankful he gets to enjoy it for a few more weeks. 

“I–I’ve got to get going but wanted to see you.” 

Y/N reaches up and cups his cheek. Harry leans into her touch, neither caring if someone spots them nor knowing they are in safe hands with the crew around them. “I hope you have a good night. I’ll see you here tomorrow, ready for one final show. I hear it’s going to be the best one yet.” 

“Is there something you want to see me play?” 

Y/N offers him a soft smile, shaking her head. “All I want is to see you happy on stage.” 

While the sentiment is appreciated, Harry knows her words will be on repeat as he falls asleep tonight. He wants to give her something special tomorrow. “I’ll find out your favorite song,” he promises. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. “H, I mean it. You being happy on stage is all I could ask for.”

Harry turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand. “I’ll figure it out, sweetheart.” 

She stares at him lovingly, knowing they both have to go and get a good night's rest. They’ll be apart for a few hours, and tomorrow, be back together to share a few more kisses. 

“Good night, you.” 

Harry leans in and kisses her cheek. “Night, sweetheart.” 

+

The final night at Wembley had arrived, and she was ready. Y/N knew Harry had most of his family and friends here, which made her slightly nervous because she knew he would want her to meet them but also knew most of them wouldn’t show up for lil ol’ her as an opener. Y/N, when she arrived at the arena, was separated from her band and found at Harry’s side. Harry selfishly wanted her to stay with him; he even sneaked them off to a hidden corner of the stadium, where he kissed her breathless. He promised only a few minutes, which turned out to be thirty. Y/N showed up to her soundcheck with bruised lips and a wide smile. The band decided to tease her later when Harry wasn’t around, seeing they also had lots of questions. 

“Yo–you look gorgeous,” Harry expressed as he walked into her dressing room and saw her dressed in a black maxi dress with embroidered flowers instead of her signature mini skirt. 

Y/N did a twirl for him, “you like? My mum found it at this shop we love to visit together. Altered it to perfection. The extra fabric she used for my bows,” Y/N points out. Harry admires her loose curls, a massive bow holding half up in a messy updo. She looked effortlessly beautiful. 

“It’s wonderful.”

“I got a wardrobe upgrade for the next few weeks. Leaving a lot at home and packing a ton of new outfits. Think it’s time to play dress up,” Y/N laughs, knowing she will have a fun time and lots of new looks to explore. 

“Can you dance in it?” 

Y/N smirks, “don’t worry, Felix made me practice shaking my ass already.”

“Oh darn,” he jokes. “Have a lovely show.”

Harry brings her in for a hug, and Y/N sags against him, loving the comfort he brings her. As she goes to pull away, Harry leans in for a kiss but waits for her permission; with a simple nod, he connects their lips and captures her heart. The kiss is perfect. It’s slow and gentle but filled with passion and yearning. Yearning for more time together, longing for all they have yet to explore. Harry backs away, his lips shining from her strawberry lip gloss. 

With a final wave, he’s gone, and Y/N takes the stage.

“Welcome to the final night of Wembley! Promise you’re in for a hell of a show. I-I’ve never been happier.” Y/N thinks back to minutes before she walked on stage and knows her words have never been more accurate. “Let’s dance!” 

The show passes in a breeze, and before she knows it, she’s reached the end of her set, having one final song left to perform. She never seems to feel time passing when she’s on stage. While Y/N loves playing for Harry’s fans, she’s excited to get back on the road for herself soon enough. 

“Wembley, Wembley. You are a beautiful crowd. I’ve got one last song for you.” The crowd cheers. “Ouch,” she feigns hurt, placing a hand over her heart. “I won’t take offense only because I’m also excited for Harry.” Y/N steps towards the stage with her microphone. “Thank you for receiving me with open arms, Wembley. I love performing and singing all my songs for you. I hope you come out to a show of mine in the future. It would be lovely to see familiar faces in the crowd. Before I continue, there are some people I need to thank. My mum Reina is in the crowd.” Y/N cheers when the crowd screams and chants for her mother. “She’s going to love that. There is someone special who is not here but has a special place in my heart and made me fall in love with singing: my Dad. While it feels like it has always been my mum and I, he’s never forgotten. My mom gave me all his records and always played music he loved. It led me to finding my dream and making it come true. Mumma, thank you for everything. I love you. Lastly, Harry Styles, it has been my greatest honor to join you on tour, but tonight, I feel extra thankful to be here with you. You’ve become a great inspiration throughout this tour, and I’m grateful for you.” 

Y/N wipes her tears, laughing to herself for getting emotional. One last song to sing. She looks at the sky and whispers, “this is for you, Pops.” When she finishes, Y/N blows kisses to the crowd and rushes off stage and straight into her mother’s waiting arms. 

“He would be so proud,” Reina whispers, making Y/N shed a few more tears. “I’m proud of you, my angel.” 

Y/N squeezes her mother tighter. “Thanks, Mumma.” After her mother finishes showering her in kisses, Y/N heads to her dressing room, wanting to change and shower, except when she walks in, she finds Harry reading her lyric journal. 

“Harry?” She looks at him, confused. 

He stands up quickly, setting the book down on the couch. “I-I didn’t mean to. But it was flipped open to 

‘Right Now’ it’s the song you played me on the piano. I still shouldn’t have done it, but I was curious. I–I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?” 

Y/N wishes he wasn’t so panicked. “It’s okay. I think you’ve heard all about these songs. Very comfortable with you reading it. Only June gets a kick at reading the notebook. Think she left it out.” 

Harry sighs. She opens her arms for him, and he falls right in. “You were wonderful! Love seeing you so happy,” he mutters. 

“Special crowd. Don’t know if it’s possible, but it feels like there's more people than the other nights,” she confesses. She wouldn't be surprised if that was the truth; fans sneaking into the pit are much more common when workers are distracted, even if they try their best. 

He laughs, “guess we’ll see, all I know is tonight will be special.”

Y/N enjoyed this downtime with Harry. While they knew a conversation was waiting to happen, they simply chose to enjoy this final night in London before continuing on the road for the next few weeks. Y/N knew how she felt, but this was not the time or place to have this discussion. It’s one she would be waiting for in the days to come.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart. Got a surprise for tonight.” Harry stole a kiss and backed away from her. Y/N could see a twinkle in his eye and knew he had found her favorite song. Y/N knows he went to her Mum. She was the only one who knew. While ‘Fine Line’ was special and he played it every night, she wondered if he would play it for her. 

Y/N doesn’t always watch the show in the audience; sometimes, she is side-stage dancing with Felix and playing air guitar. Then there are times they’re in the green room eating while watching Harry play through the TV in their room, but tonight, Y/N joins his family and watches from the right side of the stage. Anne said they’re close enough that he can spot them but not enough to distract him. For the last week here, Y/N had met most of his friends and family; there would even be a celebration at the end of the night where more people would attend. Y/N knew Harry would be the man of the hour and had decided she’d hang for an hour before heading home. While she selfishly wanted to monopolize all his time, Y/N knew she couldn’t. She’d see him on their flight to Wales in a few days.

“He’s got quite a big crush on you,” Gemma nudges her shoulder. “I would know I’m his older sister.” 

Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Then I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

“My brother’s a shy guy. When he’s onstage, he shines so bright, but when he walks off, he’s back to being my shy brother who, for the life of me, is awful at starting conversations. He cares so much for everyone in his life. Once you’re in, you have a friend with him for life.” Gemma tells Y/N, and she knows it’s as much a welcoming as it is a warning. 

“I-I think he’s amazing. Fuck, I’ve kept a distance for a while only because I wasn’t certain if he was genuine. But repeatedly, he proves to go above and beyond for anyone. Being home puts many things in perspective for me,” Y/N sighs and offers Gemma a timid smile. “I’d be lucky to be given any relationship with Harry.” 

Gemma’s laugh rings loud, causing their mums to look over at them, but Gemma waves them off. Gemma links her arm with Y/N and declares them dance partners for the night. “You’re a good person, I can tell. And even if I couldn't, my mum could, she adores you already. Think she plays your music more than Harry.”

Y/N gasps in surprise, “please tell me Harry knows!” Gemma shakes her head. “Oh my gosh, he said I write sad music.” 

“Well, he writes horny pop songs,” Gemma chips in.

Y/N falls into a fit of giggles, “he does!” 

“You write rock mixed with sadness and a few pop influences.”

Y/N feels her face heat up, knowing Gemma is clearly a fan of her music. It always overwhelms her, but knowing that Gemma, Harry’s sister, enjoys her music is a big win for her. It brings her a lot of joy. Y/N always had an easy time conversing with people, but she feared making relationships and connections. It’s a reason her circle is tight-knit, but chatting with Gemma makes her hope that a new friendship could start here. 

The night is spent dancing and singing at the top of their lungs or as loud as Y/N knows she’s allowed without messing up her voice. After Mitch’s incredible solo for ‘She,’ Harry walked to the middle of the catwalk with the ladies of his band. It seemed as if every fan knew what song was coming as Y/N saw friends embrace each other. Y/N walked over to her mother, knowing her Mumma related a little too closely to the song. However, the familiar notes to ‘Matilda didn’t start; instead, it was a soft guitar intro. Reina pulled Y/N tight into her arms. This was the surprise Harry had mentioned. 

Harry finds his mum and sister hugging as he sings, but he keeps searching until his eyes land on Y/N, who is being embraced by her mother as she sings along to every word of “Sweet Creature” while Harry has no idea what this song means to her, she knows what it means to him and his sister. There are many ways to interpret his songs, and he’s glad Y/N connected with this one. He’s happy he could give Y/N and her mother this moment for it to become theirs.

It’s hard keeping his emotions under control for the entire show, but he does his best. He remembers to thank his family and promises Wembley he’ll see them soon. When Harry runs off the stage that night, he knows he left his heart out there for every single person. It’s something he knows he is going to get back with a lot more love-filled into it. 

There is a celebration that Jeff hosted for everyone wanting a perfect end to four sold-out nights in the city that changed his life and has now become his home. Harry sees his crew mingling. He sees Y/N’s band mixing with his band. It’s nice to see how connected everyone has become over the last few months. The person he is searching for is talking to Glenne. He sees them laughing, and as he makes his way over to them, he is intercepted by Ben, a long-time friend. Harry bounces around the room, converses with everyone, and occasionally drinks with them. Harry had managed to keep an eye on Y/N all night until he was saying goodbye to someone, and when he turned back, he could no longer spot Y/N. Harry knows he’ll see her soon and has her number to call her, but he really wanted to hear her thoughts about tonight’s show.

Harry pulls out his phone to call her when he finds a text from her. 

Y/N

Thank you for the surprise. Tonight truly was magical. 

Did you enjoy the rain? Think the heavens opened up from how emotional you made everyone. I’ll see you soon. Give me a call tomorrow. xx

He pockets his phone with a smile and knows what he has with Y/N is good, and he’ll do everything in his power to make her happy for a long time. 

+ 

In Wales, Y/N and Harry did not go a moment apart as if they had become each other’s shadows. Where one went, the other followed. No one questioned it because it was bound for something to happen, but what happened? No one knew. Y/N and Harry shared kisses behind closed doors, and it was theirs. It was the time to brush everything away and simply be together.

Belgium came much too soon, and there is something Harry has been meaning to ask. He’s lying on Y/N’s hotel bed, knowing they have a few days before their show, and Harry’s dying to take Y/N out on a date. 

“Sweetheart,” Harry calls out for her. 

“In a minute.” 

She walks out of the bathroom a minute later, her skincare finished for the night. They had arrived a few hours ago, and Harry quickly approached her. 

“Beautiful.” 

Y/N rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t stop her face from heating up at the compliment. “Sweet talker.”

“Only yours,” Harry sing-songs. 

She lies down with him. “Any big plans in Belgium, H?”

“A sold-out show,” he teases. 

“Well, obviously.” She plays with a loose thread on her shirt. “Meant sightseeing.”

Harry shrugs and scoots closer, reaching down to take her hand in his. “Not really sure. Thought sleeping would be a good start.” 

“Don’t be silly. You and Brad love an early morning workout.” 

Harry reaches out and pokes her nose, making her scrunch her face in surprise. “No need to be jealous. Early days with Brad mean free days with you, sweets.” 

He had a point. Y/N deflates because while Belgium is famously known for its waffles, she doesn’t want to explore alone. She also knows it is harder for Harry to simply be out. “It’s simply we have time to explore cities I’ve never visited before, and while I selfishly want to ask you to roam the city with me, I know it’s not possible.” 

“Hey,” he speaks softly. Her hand stays cradled to his chest, all his attention Y/N. His eyes say everything he hasn’t voiced yet. “We can walk around any city aimlessly. You don’t have to worry about anything else.” 

“Harry,” she breathes out. “You–”

“Why can’t I? Simply because others will look or because I’m this big name. Don’t I deserve the same respect as others to simply be.” 

“You do. Of course, you do.” 

“Then, don’t worry about anything else. I promise I will be there if you ask me to be somewhere or want to go to a chocolate-making class.” Harry’s words fill her with hope. Hope that whatever this is will turn into something more, something special.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I-I don’t want to go to a chocolate class.” 

Harry falls into a fit of giggles, leaning in close to press kisses to her cheeks, not caring that she tries to push him away because he knows she likes it, knows she craves his touch as much as he does hers. “Would you go on a date with me, Y/N?” 

Y/N freezes, not having expected him to ask her. She always kept it at the back of her mind, but now he’s here asking for more. “A date?” She repeats. “With me?”

Harry’s laugh rings loud, “you’re kind of who I’m asking.” 

She wants to blurt out yes, it’s on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it back. Instead, he thinks about it for a second, wanting to make Harry sweat for a second. “I’d like that.” 

“Tomorrow? I can plan a whole day out for us.” 

Y/N breaks out a huge smile; dates usually last an hour or two, but she has Harry wanting to spend the entire day with her. She knows this is unconventional and that they have already spent so much time together that it will now only be outside the four walls of a hotel room.

“Tomorrow is perfect,” she agrees. 

Harry bids her goodnight and promises to be here at eight with a coffee for her to start the day. 

True to his word, the following morning, Harry is there with two cups of coffee and a paper bag. The smell of fresh bread reaches her, and Y/N knows this is a fantastic start. Harry leads them out of the hotel room and onto the street, promising walking would be better. 

Making it to their first destination, it’s a Botanical Garden, and Y/N practically shines with happiness. From the moment they walk in, they are met with blooming plants. They find out it’s pretty empty, not many people picking a garden for their first visit of the day. Y/N roams around, with Harry trailing close behind. She doesn’t realize Harry is taking photos of her every few minutes. Harry wanted to capture the entire day, and seeing her beauty through his eyes was something to behold.

“H, come on!” Y/N turns to him with a stretched-out hand, and he’d be a fool not to take it. They spend a few hours roaming around, stopping to take pictures and sitting on benches as they take in all the beauty, never letting go of each other’s hands. 

Y/N knew it was always easy with Harry, but she let every touch linger a bit longer in this new context of being on a date. Harry told her it was time for the next destination, and while she didn’t know what it was, she knew the day would only get better. 

“Did you know fries are actually Belgian and not French?” Harry tells Y/N as they share a small plate outside a shop. 

Y/N chews a fry, tilting her head, thinking his words over. “Weird to call them French.” 

It turns out Harry had no real plan for them besides the gardens, but was too worried to tell Y/N. She laughed and promised him she didn’t mind. Spending time with him was more than enough. Aimlessly walking is her favorite pastime when she’s in a new city, but doing it here with Harry, she knows it will never be the same again. 

They walked in and out of shops for the next few hours, laughing at shared stories and buying knickknacks for family members. Harry dragged Y/N into a chocolate shop, where the worker was kind enough to offer them samples. After buying too much, Y/N promised to share it with the crew. It was too good for them not to share.

After some time, Harry pulled Y/N to sit on a bench with him. It gave them a beautiful view of the sun that was beginning to set. They sat in silence for a while, comfortable enough to enjoy each other’s company without saying anything. 

“Did you know I once wrote a song about Rapunzel?”

“The princess?” Harry asks. 

“Mhm…I loved the film, and I thought Rapunzel had lost so much time being trapped that, being free, she didn’t know where to start. It was not my best.” 

Harry nudges her shoulder, “doubt that.” 

She shrugs, “who knows, maybe it was amazing, but I’ll never know, never thought to record it.” 

“What made you want to pursue music?” Harry asks. He has her hand in his lap, twisting the ring she wears on her pinky finger with her father’s initials. 

Her father comes to mind, “I was really young when we lost my dad. He loved music; he was the type to love it all, from Metal to pop to Spanish. He worked as a producer exclusively in London and with close artists, he had never wanted anything to take him from home. He loved my mum too much to ever want to part with her for long. My dad always had music playing. My mum said it was the first thing I reacted to when she was pregnant with me. By the time I was born, music lulled me to sleep and was the first thing I heard when I woke up. By the time we lost him, my Mumma played his records to keep his memory alive. She only bought new ones on his birthday and anniversary. I didn’t realize until I was much older that it also connected them.” Y/N pauses to send Harry a smile, and he answers by squeezing her hand. “My mum knew I had a good pair of lungs during my theater days and pushed me to pursue more if I wanted. I taught myself guitar and took piano lessons because I wanted to improve. It wasn’t always easy, but I loved learning, so it only motivated me. I wanted to share music because I wanted to connect with others and proudly say I’m doing that.” Y/N feels overwhelmed but is happy she shared this with Harry. She can’t remember the last time she was this honest with anyone. 

“Thank you, Y/N.” Harry kisses her cheek. “I-I love seeing you on stage. You radiate this energy that—” he shakes his head. “I don’t know how to describe it, but it makes you want to be part of it. I think you’re one of the most amazing songwriters we have in our generation.” 

“Harry,” she shakes her head to get him to stop, but it urges him on.

“I mean it. You’re incredible, and I’ll forever scream it from the rooftops if you want me to.” 

Y/N feels her face flush and turns to pull Harry in for a hug. She breathes him in for a long moment, “I–thank you.”

After the sunset, they walk back to their hotel. They linger outside Y/N’s door, not ready to say goodbye even after a long day together. 

“We–”

“I–”

“You first,” they reply in unison. 

Harry gestures for her to go first. 

“I was going to say if you want, we can freshen up and have dinner in my room, maybe watch a movie,” she asks nervously.

He nods eagerly, “yes, please.” 

“Good, good. Say an hour?” 

“Perfect.” 

Harry lets her open her hotel room, but before she can wave goodbye, he pushes her against the entrance and leans in to kiss her. Y/N sighs against his lips. She has wanted to do all this all day. His hands hold her waist firmly while Y/N fists his shirt to keep him close. 

Y/N pulls back to catch her breath, “been wanting to do that all day.” 

Harry smirks, “well, here’s another one.” 

His lips are soft, but the kiss is fast and needy. There has been a build-up to this moment all day. Y/N lets him guide her as he explores her mouth. She moans as he nips her bottom lip. Y/N pulls him closer, needing to feel him against her. She’s so lost in the kiss she jumps back in surprise when the door slams shut. Harry rests his forehead against hers, his breath heavy. “Maybe not the smartest thing we’ve done.” 

Y/N bites her lip, “probably not.” 

Harry thumbs at her bottom lip, and she releases it. “Please stop, or I’m going to kiss you again.” 

“I don’t mind,” she confesses. 

“Y/N,” Harry groans. “I’m going to go.” 

“But you’ll be back?” She asks softly. 

“In an hour,” he assures her. “Pick a movie for us.”

“Bye Harry.” 

Harry kisses her cheek, knowing that if he gets another taste of her, it will lead to more kissing, which they clearly do not want to rush. “Bye, sweetheart.”

Y/N shuts the door behind him, a large grin on her face. She’s falling hard, and she’s falling fast. 

+

“Vienna is probably one of the most beautiful songs ever created,” June tells Y/N, who’s lying on the floor of Harry’s stage. “The beauty of getting older.” 

“June, you hated that song when you were younger,” Quinn chimes in.

“Am I not allowed to change my opinion?” She yells. Quinn simply puts his hands up, deciding it is not worth defending. 

“City of Music is nothing I thought it would be,” Felix shares.

“What were you expecting?” Y/N asks curiously.

Felix laughs, “definitely fewer parks.” 

“Oi, is this what we pay you to do?” Harry shouts as he walks over to them dressed in blue jeans and a “Pleasing” sweater. 

“Y/N, save us, please!” They all collectively yell. 

Harry snickers at her, knowing they might not have told anyone about the dates they’ve been having in every city that usually end in one of them staying the night in the other’s room. It started off with neither of them wanting to say goodnight. Harry laid on her blankets while she tucked herself, holding hands; they dozed off to sleep. It was a no-brainer after that because they both enjoyed waking up to one another. Nothing goes on except a bit of kissing. She can’t say she hasn’t been craving something more but knows there is no need to rush her time with Harry. 

“It’s chisme time,” Y/N tells him. “Anything to share.” 

“I love Gossip.” Harry takes a seat next to Y/N, leaving not a single space between them. “Did you know we’re not having soup for lunch?” 

Everyone collectively groans, “banished, you’re no longer welcome,” Quinn shooed him away. 

“Hey now, I got a better one,” Harry leans in closer. He glances at Y/N before telling the others to get close, leaving Y/N out of their makeshift circle.

Y/N sits back, relaxed; with Harry, there is no need to worry about anything. June and Felix lean back, “Oh,” at the news while Quinn looks confused. He looks at Y/N, then back to Harry, then again to Y/N. 

“Lies. Not real. She doesn’t have the game,” Quinn says while looking at her. 

While Y/N has no idea what Harry whispered to them, June’s grin says it all. She knows it has to do with the dates they’ve been going on. Y/N had mentioned she liked Harry, but they all assumed she would do nothing about it.

“H, what did you do? It seems like they’re broken now.” Y/N points out to her two loudest bandmates, who have not said a single word, and Quinn, who has started to pace around on stage. 

Harry leans back on his arms as he takes in the scene before him. “Simply told them I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend. Had no idea you were keeping me as your dirty little secret.” 

Y/N quickly shakes her head, “no, never, it’s ju—” she cuts herself off, seeing that his dimples are on display and not an ounce of sadness or pain. “You’re annoying.”

“But you like me!” 

“Whatever.”

“You brushed of my question.”

“More like a statement,” she rebuttals. “Clearly not how you’re going to ask me.” 

Harry sends her a cheeky wink, “course not.” 

“Then you’ll have to wait for my answer until then. Now shoo, I’ve got to rehearse and answer all their dumb questions.” 

Harry kissed her cheek with a loud “muah” and promised to head to her room tonight. 

There was a sense of anxiety that had been with Y/N all day. Harry had made a bold statement tonight, and she wondered if he did it to give her the time to see if that was what she wanted. Harry was not like someone she had ever been with. She never had to speak on her emotions; she always went with the flow, but Harry is giving her the choice here. Y/N is nowhere near ready for the conversation, and it seems Harry knows because when he arrives in her room and sees the stress in her eyes, he takes her in his arms and tells her it’s time for bed. 

Harry takes a shower while Y/N changes into an old tour shirt and boxers. Harry enters the bedroom to find her lying in the middle of the king-sized bed. 

“You look adorable.” 

“Cute enough for cuddles?” 

Harry laughs, “always.” 

He makes his way to her after double-checking the lock on her door and ensuring his phone is off. He lifts the blankets and settles behind Y/N, his hands slipping under her shirt and pulling her towards him. Y/N sighs and melts against him. 

“There’s no pressure to have this conversation. I want you to know where I stand. I know I might not have gone about it the best way, but I want you to know you have as much control over this relationship as I do.”

With Harry’s reassuring words, Y/N felt at ease. She knew she was overthinking everything, but Harry understood her like no one else had.

“I like you, Harry,” she confessed. “I like you a lot. I-I-how you manage to always have the right words escapes me, but I’m thankful. I like you, and I like where this is going.”

Harry squeezed her tight, pressing a kiss to her neck. “I like you too. Promise, I’m sticking around.” 

Y/N knows she’s lucky to have Harry. 

+

“¡Hola Barcelona! Yo me llamo Y/N, gracias por acompañarnos esta noche.” The crowd cheers after hearing her Spanish. “I know, right, pretty good. My grandpa taught me a living legend he still is. Think he’ll be proud. Let’s have some fun tonight.” 

Y/N, as soon as she gets off stage, feels a heaviness in her heart because, after tonight, there are only three shows left. It means not seeing her friends and the new friends she has made for a long time. Y/N is jumping straight into a tour in two months, meaning she’s got to start rehearsals in a month. While she doesn’t know what comes next, she does hope to finish her album before she heads out on tour. Harry had accompanied her to the studio, and even Mitch had tagged along, wanting to see her process. It led to them playing guitar in a few of her songs. These memories she’s made throughout this tour will live within her new album. 

Y/N didn’t know how much her life would change by accepting to be Harry’s opening act. She knows she should bask in the happiness while she can, but the reminder lingers in her mind. Y/N finds Harry and is not surprised to find him with Mitch. They’re speaking about Mitch’s album while Sarah is lying on the couch with her son, who’s napping. There has been so much to happen since this tour started, and Y/N never gets tired of hearing the stories. 

“Dinner?” Harry raises his head when he hears her voice. Mitch waves at her but doesn’t offer her a word; instead focuses on Sarah. 

Harry rushes over to her, wrapping her in a hug. “Promise I watched. Mitch stole me away quickly.”

Y/N laughs. Harry not watching didn’t even cross her mind. “You’re fine. Wouldn’t blame you, boring for you with the same ol’ setlist each night.”

“Hey now,” Harry defends. “That’s my favorite singer, you're insulting.” 

“Oh, Stevie Nicks is not going to like that,” Mitch comments.

“Wanker!” Harry gives Mitch the middle finger and guides them to get soup, Harry’s favorite food, before a show. It’s known to settle his nerves. 

“That’s okay, Hozier is mine,” Y/N chirps, sharing a laugh with Mitch.

“Irish tend to be superior,” Mitch agrees. 

Harry walks out with Y/N, sending Mitch a wave. Harry walked them to his green room, requesting his soup and Y/N’s sandwich to be sent. She told him she’d pick it up, but Harry shared he wanted a minute alone with her. Y/N hadn’t technically been with Harry long; it’s only been two weeks, give or take a few hours, but she’d known him for months. There was no need to talk as Y/N settled on the couch with him. She felt tired after her set, all the adrenaline gone. Harry asked her for dinner, and then she’d watch Harry from her dressing room with the rest of her band. The final days were approaching, and Y/N knew she’d prepare to say goodbye to them, too, even if it was for a few weeks. 

They settled in the silence, no need for conversation. Y/N was content to be wrapped in Harry’s arms as he closed his eyes, breathing her in. Y/N had not let herself think about the end of the tour because she wanted to enjoy every moment, and now, with the end so close, she honestly never pictured herself falling in love with Harry. She knows she wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. She had him and would protect this relationship for as long as she was allowed to have him and even long after.  

After a successful show, Harry came to sleep in Y/N’s room with the promise he wanted to be close to her. Y/N was not one to deny him of any request, not when he kept her safe. Y/N woke up feeling too warm with Harry’s hand flat against her warm skin. He loved physical touch and kept his hold on her even in his sleep. Y/N shimmied behind him but stopped when she felt how hard he was. She knew it was normal, but a part of her wanted to take care of it and take the next step with him. 

“Baby, you got to stop moving,” Harry groaned in her ear. Y/N paused, thinking he might not be on the same page but as if he could read her mind, “unless you want me to take care of you.” 

Y/N stayed frozen because her mind was running wild on the possibilities that could happen. She had dreamed about Harry taking care of her, but now, making it happen, Y/N was at a loss for words. 

Harry turned Y/N, making her lay on her back, and he shifted above her with a gentle smile. “Morning, pretty girl.”

“Morning,” she breathed out. 

Y/N knew she didn’t look her best, with tired eyes and crazy hair, not even mentioning she hadn’t brushed her teeth, but by the way, Harry was gazing at her, it was clear he wasn’t thinking the same. 

“You’re beautiful. Thought you were a figment of my imagination, but here you are, spread out under me.”

She feels her face heat up, loving how warm his words make her feel. 

“Tell me what you want. I’ll give you whatever you ask for.” She knows he means it. He’s a giver. It’s what brings him the most joy. 

“Want you to touch me,” she spoke softly. 

Harry kneeled over her, careful not to let his entire body sit on her. He ran his fingers up her arm, biting back a smile at the goosebumps that raised over her body. Y/N’s breathing slowed down as her eyes never left his. “Where, baby?” 

Y/N shimmied, her face burning. She couldn’t, but she knew he’d continue to play with her if she didn't. His hands now tracing over her stomach and up to her breast. Y/N pushed against his hand, but he pulled away, tutting at her greediness. 

She didn’t have the words, but Y/N guided his hand, resting on her stomach to her wet pussy. Harry moaned when he felt how ready she was for him. “Here, baby. Need me here?” 

“Please, Harry. Need you to take care of me,” she begs. 

“Are you sure about this, Y/N?”

Consent had never felt so sexy. 

“Yes, please, Harry.” 

“You’re not wearing panties.” 

Y/N has to hold back a laugh because she is begging him to make her come, and he is focused on her having no panties. “I run hot, you know that.” 

He glided his fingers around her pussy, spreading around her wetness. She let out a needy moan when he slid his fingers inside her. The feel of her clenching around his fingers made him eager to add another. Harry loved seeing her like this. It made him want to give her everything. In and out, he moved his fingers inside her, rubbing and stroking her swollen lips. She laid their legs spread out, head back, taking it all. Harry knew she was close, but he was greedy for a taste. 

Harry lowered his mouth to her stomach, pushing her shirt up, allowing him to kiss her breasts before continuing down the path calling for him. He kissed along her thighs, and Y/N felt her breathing slow down. He continued with his slow kisses along her hips up to her belly and back down again. Sliding his hands under her ass, he pulled her closer.

“Oh baby, I need to taste you.” His warm breath tickled my skin as he lowered his mouth and bit into the inside of her thigh. Y/N let out a loud moan, urging him to continue. He kissed her repeatedly, knowing it would bruise. He was glad to mark her his. 

Y/N let out a soft cry as his tongue licked up her thigh. She needed everything as he moved closer to where she was ready for him. He slowly dragged his tongue through her folds. 

Fuck. 

“Harry, Harry,” she chanted his name. 

Y/N could only beg for more as Harry muttered something about how delicious she tasted. As he licked into her, he slid one finger into her as his thumb rubbed against her clit. In seconds, Y/N was lifting to meet each thrust of his finger. 

“You sound so beautiful with my name on your lips,” he dived back in. “Want me to make you mine?” 

“Yes,” Y/N moaned. “All yours. Only yours.” 

Y/N was writhing and wiggling anything to keep him pressed against her clit as his tongue thrust inside her. Everything was on fire; every nerve in her body was firing off. He slipped another finger, and Y/N exploded. It all became so much, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her as she felt her orgasm rip through her. Y/N felt Harry slow down, lazily moving away from her, with no apparent rush in wanting to leave her. Harry slowly sits up; she sees hooded eyes, her eyes focused on the mess she’d made on his face. Harry raised his hand and slipped his wet fingers in his mouth, cleaning the last of her juices. Y/N knows they’d get going for a second round if he's not careful. 

“Let me kiss you,” she begged, her voice rough.

Harry ran a tongue over his lips, making a show of cleaning her off him, “not ready to share yet.” 

“Nasty,” she chastised before she leaned up, placing her hand on the back of his neck and pulling him for a heated kiss. “Will you come for me, Harry?” She mumbled against his lips. 

She pushed away, removing her shirt, throwing it to the side, and lying back, allowing him the view of her breasts, her nipples hard as she begged him to come. Harry slid down his briefs, and Y/N gasped at how beautiful he looked hard and thick because of her. Y/N reached for him, but Harry shook his head, a clear sign this would be quick. Harry wet his hand, moving it steadily up and down his base. Y/N was mesmerized. She played with her tits as he stroked himself, knowing he loved the show. 

“Come for me, Harry,” she purred. “Show me how good I helped make you feel. Show me how much you loved making me come. The feel of your tongue is something I never want to forget. How well you take care of me.”

“Fuck, baby. Didn’t know you could be so dirty.” 

“Promise to take you down my throat next time. Let you use me any way you want. Please, Harry, come for me.” 

That was all he needed for him to come on her skin. 

“You’re a dirty girl,” he comments.

Y/N winks, “only for you.” 

As they settled down from the high, Harry cleaned her up with an old shirt of his. They stayed cuddled on the large bed, sitting in silence. There was so much said between them, but they both knew they meant every word. It would be only up from here, even if only a few days were left. 

+

Y/N has enjoyed meeting new people, but this tour introduced her to new friends. Harry’s band is lovely and quite large; he has his main band, but during the disco medley, as he likes to call it, he brings out the horns. She found herself overtime making her way to their dressing room, watching them get ready for the night. Throughout her time on the tour, she earned her spot in their room as she watched them get ready before her set or after. 

Tonight was no different. Y/N was talking with Lorren and Parris about their plans after the tour. They shared they had shows lined up, but a break was the first thing they were looking forward to, and Y/N had to agree.

“Lorren, can I ask you something?” 

Lorren turned to Y/N with a bright smile, “well, of course.”

“Well, I was wondering if you could add stars to my face. Quite good at my eyeliner but shit at anything else,” Y/N confessed. 

Lorren looked thrilled. “Yes, please, yes. Thank you for asking.” Lorren stood up from her chair, giving it a pat for Y/N to make her way over. Lorren complimented Y/N’s skin and makeup, stating it was flawless. Y/N thought it better be she was religious with her skincare. She learned over time less was more and stuck with it. Sometimes, not even Y/N could escape her eyebags when she worked too long in the studio. 

She sat perfectly still for Lorren, continuing to talk to Kalia about her new musical release. It was something everyone had been waiting for; they were all incredibly proud. They segway to talking about Pauli, who, thanks to him, had brought them all on from the North America tour to right here in Lisbon and a final show in Italy. 

Y/N soon felt the room fall quiet. She got lost in her thoughts when a shutter made her snap her eyes open. It was only Georgia, her photographer, taking photos. “Scared me, Georgie.” 

Georgie laughed, “sorry, but you did tell me to capture everything.” 

Y/N wondered what she meant by that; before she could ask, Lorren declared her finished. She looked in the mirror and gasped at how perfectly they blended with the purple eyeshadow she used today. Y/N noticed Lorren added glitter to give it that extra glimmer. 

She hugged Lorren, thanking her over and over again. She would have continued if Georgie didn’t remind her she had to change. Y/N wished the room luck and rushed to her dressing room, where her outfit was laid out. 

One final look in the mirror, and Y/N’s ready to go. She walks out, happy to find Zahara, who came to celebrate the end of tour with her. “You made it!” Y/N cheers. 

Zahara wraps her in a hug. “No thanks to stupid United. Canceled my flight twice.”

Y/N winces, “don’t even want to imagine the conversation you had.” 

“It was not pretty,” Zahara shares. 

Y/N stands side stage with Zahara, chatting while Ash helps secure her mic pack while Zahara makes her promise not to do anything she wouldn’t do. Zahara doesn’t even know what she’s asking of her, especially because she has no idea who Y/N has been kissing behind closed doors. 

She rushes on stage; her signature mini skirt is back tonight, paired with a baby tee Harry ordered for her. It’s black and has bedazzled constellations all around, a big reason she asked Lorren for stars on her face. Y/N spent a large portion of her morning with Harry, thanking him for the gift. 

Harry watches Y/N sing her heart out to the crowd. This song Harry knows Y/N wrote when she was going through a bad breakup. While it hurts him to think about her with anyone else, he also knows he’s started to write endless songs about her and knows she’s done the same. Zahara greets him courtly, and he wonders if she knows. 

“Listen, Harry.” He steps closer, but Zahara never looks at him. “If you do anything–and I mean anything to smear her image, I’ll make you regret it. This girl has fought tooth and nail to be where she is.” Harry sees the fire in her eyes. “Y/N doesn’t open up easily, and I know you wormed your way in. You’re a good guy, but even a good person can break a heart. You know what it’s like to be talked about.”

Harry knows first hand how ruthless the media is. “I would never want that for her.” 

Zahara sighs, “I know. She’s special, and I think she’s proved that even more because of this opportunity you gave her.” 

“I-I- didn’t expect to fall for her,” Harry defends because he hadn’t, but one conversation with her, and there was no stopping it.

“She’s got that charm,” Zahara laughs. “Look at me here to watch her finish a tour when I’ve got so much to do. You’d do anything knowing you put that smile on her face.” 

Harry knows Zahara is right and goes back to watching Y/N. He can’t help it when he takes out his phone to record her because he wants to remember these moments of her on stage. He knows her setlist by heart and knows she’s got three songs left. What he doesn’t expect is for her to shoot a wink towards Zahara, and then they watch her jump off the stage. She makes it look effortless, but he’s worried and moves forward to try to stop her. Zahara shoots her arm out to stop him. “Slow down, rockstar. She’s got this.” 

“You’re okay with this?” 

“Oh, I’m furious,” she confesses, “but she did it with me in the audience, knowing I’d keep her safe.” 

Y/N walks through the barricade, serenading fans and security in front and behind her. It’s the only thing that brings him a bit of comfort. The cameras follow her around, showing her on the large screen, making him laugh because he can see how much she enjoys it. She walks the entire catwalk, hugging fans who are clearly there for her as much as they are for him. She reads a few signs, and by the time she returns to the stage, she has friendship bracelets lining her wrist, a shirt on her shoulder, and two bouquets of flowers. Y/N laughs in their direction, clearly noting the disbelief on both their faces. Y/N continues the show, giving 100% energy until she sings her final note.

She hurries off straight into Zahara’s open arms. While he can’t hear what Zahara is whispering to Y/N, he knows it has to be about him for her face to look flushed and not from her hour-long performance. Zahara pushed her towards Harry, who was waiting for his turn. Y/N settles in his embrace as he kisses her head repeatedly. “You’re mental, absolutely insane.” 

Y/N giggles against his chest, “how rude.” 

Harry puts his hands on her cheeks, pulling her back the slightest bit to get her to look at him. “You were brilliant! A shining star, you have the crowd in the palm of your hand.” Y/N’s smile shines at his words. 

“You’ve got lovely fans. They make it easy.” 

He holds back from kissing her but promises to see her later. 

Y/N watches him go, not caring that Zahara and the band will tease her endlessly for it. She doesn’t mind one bit. 

+

“I’ve been on tour with one of my favorite artists, Y/N Y/LN.” Harry lets the crowd cheer for her, knowing Y/N is waiting for him to call her onstage. “She’s got amazing songs, and lucky for you all, I asked her to sing a song with me for you all. So everyone welcome Y/N to the stage.” In her outfit from earlier, Y/N walks out, guitar strapped to her chest, waving to the fans. She sees hundreds of phones in the air as she stands at her mic stand. They had rehearsed today, with Harry promising he was ready. He seemed to know the entire song by heart and had his band learn it. “Let’s go!” 

Y/N never imagined being on stage singing her dirtiest song with Harry to a sold-out stadium. Y/N can’t seem to look away from him; it has her bringing out all her sensual dance moves when she plays this song. It’s a reason she cut it from her setlist tonight to play it specifically with him. When it comes to an end, Y/N turns to the Love band, giving them a round of applause. 

“How about one more?” Harry asks Y/N into the microphone. 

She smirks, “I'd be honored.” 

Y/N hands off her guitar to Chloe, waiting to pack it away for her. Then, he prances back over as Harry begins ‘Daylight.’ Y/N had always enjoyed this song, the sweetness packed in the lyrics. It's a song about a lover coming and going. While they’re home, he’s happy and full of joy, but once they’re gone, the mood falls, and he’s left missing them. It’s a feeling she’s familiar with, and she knows that Harry has lost a person due to being away for so long. It does make her think about her finished album and how it was influenced by everyone around her, romantical or not. 

As she comes over to sing into Harry’s mic, not minding the closeness, the cheers get louder as they stay together. She feels Harry’s eyes burning into the side of her head, and she dances away, letting him continue. When it’s her turn again, she returns to his mic, looking straight at him. She smirks, singing his lyrics. She sees his eyes darken and knows she’s in for a fun night.

Once the song ends, Harry lets the crowd give Y/N a long applause. Harry pulls her in for a tight hug, “thank you for doing this with me.” 

Y/N gives him a light kiss on the cheek, thankful her face is hidden from the crowd, “thank you for inviting me.” 

“I don’t want to let you go.”

Y/N laughs because she feels the same way. “Promise, I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done. Go have fun, rockstar.” 

She runs off stage straight into June’s teasing arms. Y/N doesn’t even mind not when her thoughts are running wild watching Harry continue with the show. 

“Babes, we’ve got to spend the show down there,” Felix begs, pointing to the crowd of fans leaning against the barrier.

Y/N’s eyes widen, “in the pit?”

They nod. Y/N knows they won’t stop until they do, so she compromises with them. They’ll go in between the catwalk and barricade for the last songs.

“I’m down,” Quinn quickly says.

“Can you get Harry to wet us?” June asks seriously. 

Dear God. What is she going to do with them?

Once they’re down watching Harry prance around, he changes it up and plays a surprise song that makes them all lose their mind. Followed by screaming their lungs to ‘As It Was,’ nothing better than yelling “Leave America” with a sold-out crowd. By the time Kiwi rolls around, Harry has spotted them and jokes for Y/N to give him her number. There are many oohs in response, but Y/N sends him a wink. The band got what they wished for, and Harry gave them a good splash, one Y/N avoided by hiding under Quinn’s jacket. Harry is about to do his signature exit when he freezes and spots the cup of beer in her hand. She offers it to him as a joke but complies when he signals for her to pass it over. He mouths, “thank you, baby,” and the next thing she knows, he’s doing the whale with her beer. Fuck, if she didn’t want to get him naked now more than ever, as she saw the beer run down his neck and bare chest.

“Fuck me, I’m glad one of us is fucking him,” June mutters to her. 

Y/N doesn’t bother correcting her friend. As her friends walk her back, she’s lost in her head because she enjoys being with Harry. Y/N knows she took her time discovering her feelings and allowing herself to fall for Harry; now that she has, it’s all-consuming. She is filled with so much safety and love; she’s used to being overwhelmed, but Harry makes her feel at peace. Having these conversations about what they are to each other is stupid, but she knows she owes it to Harry to tell him how she’s feeling. 

She walks to his dressing room to find him changed and has his bag swung on his shoulder, meaning he’s leaving. “Heading out?” 

He turns his head when he hears her voice. “Yeah, beat traffic.”

Y/N nods and stays quiet. She knows she’ll see him back at the hotel but feels like this can’t wait. 

“Harry, I—”

“H, we got to go,” Jeff interrupts, rushing in behind her. 

Harry frowns but doesn’t argue. He stands in front of her, reaching for her hand. He intertwines her fingers between his and pulls her along with him. “Come with me,” he begs. 

Y/N begins to tell him she can’t when Quinn swings her bag at her, telling her she’s good to go. Harry gives her a deadpan stare, waiting for her to try to provide him with a reason why she can’t, but decides to give in. “Lead the way, H.” 

The car ride to their hotel is quiet. Y/N leans her head on his shoulder as Harry comes down from the night's adrenaline. Her hand rests on his lap. She knows they will leave for Italy tomorrow. While excited for the last show, she’s sad it’s all ending. Y/N and Harry walk in together through a private entrance and say goodnight to Jeff as they head into Harry’s room. Her stuff never made it to her room, and it won’t in Italy either. 

Harry heads to the shower while Y/N heads to the sink to remove all her makeup. This all feels domestic to her, doing this routine with Harry as if they’ve done it for years. 

“You taking my beer was pretty bold,” Y/N comments when she hears the water shut off. 

He dries off before exiting. She sees a towel wrapped around his waist and laughs when she sees it fits him a bit too small. “Thought you were offering it.” 

“Ever heard of a cheers,” she teases. 

Harry kisses her cheek and promises to warm her side of the bed. While Y//N showers and does her skincare, she thinks of what she will say to Harry. Her mind is going crazy, and she wants to get it in order before she just spills it all to him.

“Baby, you coming?” 

Y/N replies to give her a second. She finds Harry sitting in bed, his book on his lap and the blanket untucked, waiting for her to settle in. Y/N kneels on the covers facing Harry, knowing she has to get the words out tonight.

“Need to tell you something,” she breathes out. 

Harry looks at her concerned but gives her his undivided attention. “Course, love.” 

“I-I like you. I know I’ve said that, but I like waking up with you. I love going on dates with you. Holding hands brings the biggest smile to my face. Your hugs bring me so much love and safety. I enjoy having conversations about everything and nothing, but I also love sitting in silence with you.”

“Y/N,” Harry begins, but she shakes her head. He reaches for her hand and holds it tight. 

“I feel like it’s so soon to say these words, but I hope you feel it in every action and touch. I’m head over heels for you, Harry. I-I know I made you wait; I had to figure out my feelings, but I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am of you. Will you be my boyfriend?” Y/N asks. Once those words are out, she sinks her face in her hands. “God, that’s so fucking cheesy.”

“Hey, hey,” she hears Harry moving, then feels his hands pulling her hands away. He’s careful not to pressure her but lets him see her. “There’s my pretty girl.”

Y/N shakes her head; she really said all that.

“Thank you for sharing your feelings with me. I appreciate it. I like knowing where you stand. Do you want to know how I feel?” Y/N nods her head. “Well, love. I’m crazy about you, too. I like sitting with you and watching you play the piano. I love trading books we’ve finished reading because yours always have different annotations for me to find. I like seeing you watching me perform. I love watching you perform for an audience, and I can’t wait to see a show soon where the entire audience is there for you. I’m falling in love, and I know you’ll be there to catch me.” 

She feels her eyes well up with tears because Y/N has never been good at expressing her emotions, but with Harry, she’d conquer every fear to make sure she can make him feel loved and seen. She presses her lips against his and melts against the familiar taste. With a soft moan, she shifted close as his mouth opened over hers, and his tongue slid between her lips. She might have initiated the kiss, but Harry seems to be the one who always takes control. She was always okay with that. She tilted her head so he could kiss her more deeply. He didn’t need more encouragement. The kiss became intense; heat flashed through her, making her thighs clench, and while she would love to take this further, she knew they needed to rest. 

His hands trailed up her nightshirt, and she broke away to let out a loud moan when she felt him squeeze her ass. “H-h-harry, not tonight,” she managed to make out. 

Harry slows his hands, bringing them back to her waist. “But we can kiss,” he asks against her lips. 

“All night if you want.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” he teases.

Harry pats her ass and helps her get under the covers. Y/N laughs when he turns her to be facing him. He wedges himself between her legs to be close; there’s no way of knowing where she begins, and he ends. 

It’s a perfect night. 

+

Italy has always been perfect to Y/N, from the people to the food to the views. While Y/N knows enough Italian to get around and understand it, Harry is basically fluent. He’d been practicing his speech all morning. His only break was to give Y/N one last wake-up call that had her screaming his name. 

Y/N and Harry spent a few days roaming Italy together. They were officially a couple and were enjoying it. Harry kissed her every chance he could get. Y/N always had a hold of Harry, whether it be his hand or at the small of his back. It’s clear everyone knows they’re together, not that they made an announcement but because they are always spending time together. Where one goes, the other follows. 

June, Quinn, Felix, and Y/N sit together in the green room, discussing their favorite moments from the tour. Quinn said in Amsterdam, some strangers let him join their bar hopping. He ended up finding he could not hold his liquor like they could. Felix shared it was playing at Slane Castle. They heard stories of never thinking it would be them on that stage. June made them all cry by stating that every moment on stage with them was special to her. June is going on a break after this, needing to go home and be with her family, while Y/N accepted that she would miss her best friend. Y/N shared it was exploring new studios while writing her new album. 

“You have to play it for us soon!” Felix expresses. 

Y/N nudges her friend, “who else would I show first?” 

Quinn nudges her. “Someone named Harry.” 

“Promise it’s almost done. Think I’m just missing an album name,” she shares, knowing she finished recording most songs. 

Before the band can start throwing names at her, there’s a knock on the door, and Harry comes in with the Love band, all holding something behind their back. June narrows her eyes at Harry, not one for surprises, but Y/N knows this will be good. 

“Y/N and band, thank you for joining us on an amazing, successful tour this year. I enjoyed listening to you every night,” Harry tells them honestly. Everyone echoes his words. “That being said, we got you a gift.”

They were all presented with a bag, and June and Quinn were quick to rip into it while Felix made sure not to make a mess. Y/N held the gift close to her chest but watched her friends open their presents first. June held a black sweater to her chest. It had her name embroidered on one side and Love on tour on the other. “Shit, we get some too!” June exclaims. “I was so jealous of y’all.” 

Quinn pulls out a pair of shoes, “satellite stompers,” to be exact. His smile is wide, and he quickly bounces over to pull Harry in for a hug. “Thanks, man.” 

Y/N doesn’t open hers because she was the one to give Harry their sizes, so she’s not expecting anything else. 

June turns to Y/N, pointing a finger, “how did he know our sizes?” Y/N grins while June gasps accusingly. “I bitched and moaned about not having one. Is this a pity gift?” 

Harry quickly assures her he wanted to give them to all of them in private. Everyone in the crew got some; he meant everyone from the band to Y/N’s photographer. Every person was necessary on this tour, and Harry wanted to make it known with a gift. Harry stepped close to Y/N and gestured for her to open hers. She gives him a suspicious look but does as he asks. She removes the jacket quickly, slipping it on when she spots a bow at the bottom. Y/N looks at him surprised because when she pulls it out, she sees it’s one she had shown him a few weeks ago. It’s an intricate bow with wildflowers embroidered on it. It has unique beading to create this delicate bow.

“The meadow bow,” she whispers, delicately touching the ends.

Harry’s cheeks warm when he sees her expression. Y/N blinks away her tears because it’s unreasonable to cry, but the fact that Harry listened to her when she went on about something as silly as her bows and ribbons. Y/N doesn’t think about what she’s about to do; she only knows she wants to thank Harry. Y/N hugs Harry, but she pulls away quickly, connecting their lips in a kiss. Harry is frozen for a second but promptly responds, both easily sinking into each other. The hollers and cheers make her break away, leaning her head on his chest.

“Sorry, H,” she sighs. 

“Don’t mind. Think you should do it again.”

“Not again,” June yells. “You cute together, but I don’t want to see that.”

Harry promises to let them get ready. 

“Will you be watching?” Quinn asks. 

Harry nods, “we wouldn’t miss it.” 

“The entire family is watching,” Gemma chimes in. Harry gasped, not knowing she had arrived. 

“Gems!” Harry rushes over to scoop his older sister in a hug. Y/N knows when Gemma says the entire family, she means it. They all promised to sing their hearts out for him. Y/N had met most of them during the few shows in Wembley, but she was merely an opener, and now she is Harry’s girlfriend.

“Come on, Y/N. Mum wants to say hello,” Gemma calls for her as she drags Harry out. Y/N promises not to be long, but the band brushes her off, telling her they already have good company. 

Y/N has the best time with Harry and his family. They share laughs about young Harry being nervous to sing in front of a crowd and now ending a tour with over 90,000 people. Anne can’t stop her tears, which makes Harry emotional, too. He stays cuddled at her side. Anne asks Y/N about her tour, and Y/N invites them to opening night. “Don’t know if you’d be able to make it, but it’d be lovely to have you there. My mum and a few cousins are attending.”

Anne reaches over Harry to squeeze her hand, promising to be there. “Course we’ll come. Your mum is lovely. Can’t wait to catch up.” 

Starting off a tour in London was the right choice for her because she wants to be in her own bed before she sleeps in a different one each night again. Y/N excused herself, needing to prepare for one final Love on Tour show. 

Y/N huddled her band before going on stage. “You are my favorite people. I feel so lucky to do this with you every night. One last night with June, let’s make it unforgettable.” 

“I love you,” Felix shouts. They laugh, squeezing each other tight, echoing the words to each other. And with that, Y/N and the band take the stage one final time. 

“Italy, you have been an absolute dream. Each night, every crowd welcomed us with open arms, and when you sing back my lyrics, that is something I will never forget. I couldn’t do it alone, though. My amazing, amazing band. Felix, June, and Quinn are my family. Without them, I would not be where I am, and I will never forget that. June is actually taking a break after this tour. She’s going away, but she’ll be back. The spot is open if Sarah Jones is looking for a job.” The crowd laughs while June shakes her head in disbelief but also knows Y/N would never pass up a chance to work with someone at the caliber that Sarah Jones is at. “Most importantly, thank you to Harry Styles for inviting me out on tour. It’s the best choice I could have ever made. You have shown me kindness from the first moment we met. Thank you for allowing me to use your stage each night, but most importantly, thank you for showing me how music inspires you to do good and always do better. This last song is dedicated to you, H.” 

Y/N hurries off stage after playing “The Last Man on Earth” and runs straight to the dressing room, where she cries into June’s shoulder. This tour has her saying goodbye to her best friends but opening new opportunities because she knows there is a conversation she’s been dodging for some time now and knowing Harry today won’t end until he gets his way. 

“That was beautiful. Every night, honestly.” Y/N steps away from June, wipes away her tears and is thankful she decided not to do her eyeliner tonight, or she’d look worse than she feels. Harry had come to see them all but mostly knew his girlfriend would need a bit of comfort. 

“Harry, my man. Thank you,” Quinn answers, pulling him into a hug. Everyone does the same, but Y/N stands frozen. It seems everyone can pick up on the tension and give her a moment alone with him. 

Harry hurries over and takes her in his arms. Y/N relaxes in his hold because he’s always had that calming effect on her. “You were wonderful. Had me in tears.” 

Y/N giggles against his chest, “stop it.” 

“Seriously,” he laughs, and Y/N feels it go through her. “Jeff was recording me, laughing at my tears.” 

“Thank you, H. I know you said you’d watch, but knowing you were in the crowd made tonight even more special.” 

Harry kisses the top of her head. “It was all you. Don’t know how I will survive without seeing you every day.”

“You can follow me on tour,” Y/N offers. 

“Now that’s a thought.” 

They settle in silence, neither one having anything to say. Simply enjoying their time together. Y/N doesn’t know how much time passes, but she knows he’s got to get dressed. 

“I really like you, Y/N,” Harry whispers into the quiet of the room.

“Harry,” Y/N pulls back to look at him. Those emerald eyes are full of love, and Y/N knows it for her. She has to let herself be happy, and it’s clear Harry is a big part of bringing that joy to her life. 

“I like you,” he repeats. “And I’ll keep liking you tomorrow and every day that is to come. I’m letting you know how I feel. We’ve discussed it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t remind you. Will forever be crazy about you.” 

“I’m crazy about you, too,” Y/N breathes out. “You fill me with so much happiness.” 

Harry smirks, “enough to join me on holiday for a few more days?”

She looks at him, confused. 

“My family and a few friends are spending time in my home here. If you’d like to join us–join me,” he offers timidly.

“You mean it?” 

Harry nods, “nothing better than you in a bikini,” he teases. 

She slaps his shoulder, “I’m there.”

“Good.” 

Harry kisses Y/N. She is quick to soften beneath him and eagerly reciprocates the kiss. Y/N loves his touch, and with each kiss, she feels herself heat up and knows where this could lead, but there is just no time. “Harry,” she mutters against him. “You’ve got to get ready.” 

He sighs against her, “one more.”

Y/N happily agrees.

+

Y/N can’t stop her hands from shaking. She’s done everything she could think of, from doing math problems in her head to focusing on her breathing, yet nothing is working as she waits for Harry to introduce her.

“I don’t know if many of you know, but I personally requested for Y/N to join us on tour. I didn’t know if she would be available, but my manager told me to have hope, and here we are now. I-I-honestly know she’s one of our generation's best writers and singers. I feel fortunate to have shared this time with her. Something none of you know is that Y/N loves playing my piano. She’s written a lot of her second album on it. So I thought it would be fitting to bring it out and sing with her. Everyone, please welcome Y/N!” 

She walks out from behind the stage. Y/N waves at the crowd she had greeted an hour earlier. Y/N feels like her heart is going to beat out of her chest. It wasn’t a feeling she was familiar with; it was something she told the crowd. 

“Feel special. Y/N is the definition of calm and collected,” Harry teases. “Now, this is Y/N’s song, and I thought maybe you’d want to hear a bit.”

“It’s called ‘Right Now’. I hope you enjoy.” They had planned this: Harry would play the keys, and Y/N would sing, but for some reason, her nerves were getting the best of her, and Harry started the song for her. Hearing Harry sing her lyrics comforted her because he genuinely enjoyed her music. Her voice blended in with Harry’s before it was her all alone. Y/N stayed on the bench with Harry, feeling too vulnerable to go out to the crowd. It was insane debuting a song to a crowd that maybe wouldn’t relate to her words, but she sang with every emotion she could pour out for the odd chance that someone did. Y/N felt Harry’s eyes on her and turned to smile at him. Thanks to Harry, she finished this album and finished this song. These songs weren’t written about him; they have him intertwined in the stories she’ll share about this album. 

Before she knows it, she’s singing the final lyric, and Harry plays the last note. “Everyone, Y/N!” The applause is thunderous, making Y/N tear up. She tries to imprint this moment in her mind because she never wants to forget it. Harry walks her off as the piano is taken away, though none of the fans know it will return by the night's end. Harry leaves her backstage, wiping away the few tears that escaped her. 

“Thank you, that was beautiful,” he kissed her cheek.

He goes to walk away, but Y/N pulls him back in by his vest and kisses him. One of his hands moved to the back of her neck, holding her to him as he devoured her mouth. “I’m so lucky to have you,” she breathes out. 

Harry is tempted to kiss her again, but he knows if he does, he’ll get lost in her and can’t do that when he has a show to return to. “It’s me. I’m the lucky one. ” He runs back, asking the crowd if they’re ready to do some dancing. The cheers are enough for him to continue on.

The show goes on, and Y/N has the time of her life. She goes out after her song to dance and sing with his family in the crowd. Harry finds them all easily, but the tears don’t stop when he takes his time to thank his mum and sister. To thank his friends who have been there from the start, Y/N knows he’s including her in the thank you’s because he reminds her time and time again that she changed his life in a way he never expected. 

Y/N knew about the ballad he would be playing on the piano. It’s something they worked on together, but something she didn’t expect was the quietness of the crowd. There is no sound except a few people crying as this lovely melody fills the area. 

Harry walks off the stage in tears, and the band soon follows. Y/N knew she’d be emotional, but she can’t seem to stop crying. She walks hand in hand with June backstage, where she sees Harry hugging his mother and moving on to his sister. They all huddle in Harry’s dressing room as they erupt in cheers, celebrating the end of the tour. Y/N knows she’ll find a minute with him alone but, for now observes Harry being showered in the love he deserves. The room slowly began to filter out, giving Harry a moment to shower and change out of his clothes, but before she could leave, she felt someone grab her wrist, and the door shut behind her. Harry stood in front of her dimpled smile on his face. His emerald eyes were shining bright. 

Happiness looked good on him. 

“Congrats on a successful tour, Harry!” Y/N wrapped him in a hug, aware of his bare chest. 

His arms held her tight as he swayed her side to side. “Thank you for writing that song with me.” 

“Our first of many,” she promises. 

Harry breathes her in, letting them stand in silence, soaking in the moment. This is a day they both would look back at fondly. It’s a story they’ll tell their future children.  

“Thank you for bringing love to me,” Harry whispers. He loved touring and, at times, found it lonely, but ever since Y/N joined, it’s like he found his missing half. He never felt alone because he knew she was always close by. 

Y/N shakes her head, “think it was all you.”

Harry ponders for a second. He was the one with the idea to bring her on as a tour opener. “Think it was.”

He connects his mouth with hers in a passionate kiss. She feels him grin against her as he pushes her against the door. His hands roam her back before resting on her waist while hers find a home in his hair. Y/N had been craving him since he kissed her halfway through his show. She kissed him, hoping her mouth said everything she hadn’t spoken aloud. 

Y/N knows this is the next part of her story. It’s not ending or starting; she’s simply turning the page to create a new chapter. Y/N has no idea where she’ll be in one year, let alone five, but one thing she does know for certain is that she loves Harry. 

+

thank you for reading 💜💜💜 please feel free to send me a message of what you loved from the story

[dangermousie]

This bit - with his father pointing a gun at him point blank, and nothing in Ivan’s experience leading him to believe he’d do anything but pull the trigger with pleasure, and the Nazi leader promising him a permanent cure if he just lets go of his plan to bash in the machine containing Nazi leader’s frozen, sick daughter - makes me think of when Ivan refused to turn Maria over even though that means he’d not get the medicine and thus die and Maria might not even be saved because all that mattered that it wouldn’t be him betraying her.

Because on one hand there is certainty of death without even much probability of success (he might very well be shot before he breaks the glass) and on the other the promise of life, all for the cost of putting his own life above a loved one’s.

And Ivan’s choice is, once again, the same. He takes a look at barely conscious Julia and even with a gun pointing at him point blank and the offer of salvation at hand, prepares to bash in the glass.

The sole decent thing Noiret has ever done for Ivan was to lower that gun. I guess shooting him point blank was his breaking point; I think though even that might not have been a no-go zone except for Noiret bonding with his bio kid and mellowing out a tiny bit and especially the last convo they had with Noiret perhaps wanting to live up in a tiny way as to how that kid thinks he’s an awesome dad to his older brother.

And then as Wolf frantically tries to fix the apparatus, Ivan gets Julia out of there. As Noiret stares. And this is the last time the two will see each other - fittingly it’s Noiret’s moment of mercy that dooms him with his buddies. But how fitting that the end of that relationship is not Ivan getting vindication or vengeance for all the abuse or Noiret repenting (he is incapable) or really anything. Because having the man out of his life permanently is all Ivan wants and the best for him.

Awwwww. You know, it is not at all surprising he does insane things in s7 - breaking up with her so she won’t be hurt, giving her last medicine he has so she’d live even a little longer etc. He clearly has no stops when it comes to her.

And season 6 ends - with Wolf finally dead (thanks to Camilo, who also prevented Eva from being put inside that machine again) and got to taste what it’s like to be defeated and lose a loved one before death. Vicki finally blew up and told Elsa about horrors going on in the school she runs. Marcos rescues Paula. But Fermin has been infected and sent into the world to spread and it might be too late when he realizes it. Oh, and the vial of virus just exploded in school, seemingly dooming everyone inside it to a brutal death.

We only have one season left, which I am sure for all of you going wtf at my posts is a relief. I am mad excited since it’s my fave season, aka the writers decided since they are about to be done, they will take a whole whump and torment factory of hammers to Ivan. It’s the apotheosis of photogenic suffering and breakdowns and I cannot wait!

[ladyshandioftheendless]

Shandi’s Writer’s Month Prompts!

Day 15: Word: Comfort | Setting: Soulmate AU

So I’m gonna try something different here. I like (most of) the concept and the characters in Detroit Become Human but overall I think the game is complete trash (because David Cage is complete trash). However it left me with a myriad of ideas. I’m gonna try one out on ya’ll now and see if it goes anywhere. Enjoy! <3 

THIS IS GONNA BE MY LONGEST ONE YET SO STRAP IN!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Greetings, Mr. Eisen. I am an Android sent by CyberLife.” 

“So you are.” William opened the door fully to let the Android enter. Eva stood in the living room with her two children hiding behind her dress. The Android addressed them with a polite smile. “Greetings. I am CyberLife Model TT500, designed for domestic duties. Never doubt that your children will be in safe hands.” 

Eva frowned. She still wasn’t sure about allowing an Android to be responsible for her children. But her husband insisted. “Do you have a name, Android?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I am called Thomas.” 

“Have you ever cared for children before, Thomas?” 

“No, but I can assure you--” 

“Then what are you good for?” She glared at her husband. “William, why did you even bother with this thing? I would’ve taken one that at least had some experience!” 

“He’s a state of the art Android, Eva! If he doesn’t know about something I’m sure he can find it in that memory of his!” 

Eva huffed but said nothing else, conceding William’s point. “Alright fine. You might as well meet the children. This is our daughter Julia..and our son Stanley.”

Thomas knelt down, the polite smile still on his face. “Greetings, Julia and Stanley. My name is Thomas and I will be taking care of you in your parents’ absence.” Julia didn’t answer but Stanley looked at the Android curiously. He reached out and touched his face. “He feels real, Mama! He’s warm and everything!” Thomas could see Eva’s expression change to show she was a little more tolerating. “Why don’t you..take Thomas to your room and have him help you study?” 

“Okay, Mama! C’mon Tommy!” The boy grabbed the Android’s hand and pulled him upstairs. 

“He’s creepy, Mama. I don’t like him.” Julia finally said after the two had gone. William sighed and closed the door. “Well he’ll be here for a while so you’ll have to get used to him.” 

~*~

Stanley was so happy that he could finally be one of the cool kids who brought their Android to school with them. Other kids would admire Thomas and ask him questions. If anyone ever bullied Stanley, Thomas would be the first to come to his defense. 

One afternoon Thomas carried an injured Stanley home after stopping other kids who were throwing rocks. He said nothing. He just clung to the Android’s clothes and sobbed. 

“I don’t understand. Why were they calling you a monster? You’re just as normal as any of them.” 

“I’m not normal!! You see this?!” Stanley pointed to his deformed ear. “This is what makes me a freak!!” 

“I have studied your history and I know that is an unfortunate birth defect. A lot of human children have them. I don’t see why it makes yours stand out.” 

“Of course you don’t..you’re an Android!! You have a perfect face, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect everything!! You’ll never understand!!” Stanley squirmed out of Thomas’ arms and ran upstairs, slamming the door. 

“He throws tantrums like that a lot. I’d just ignore them.” Julia came in from the kitchen with her hands on her hips. “Are you gonna make dinner soon? I’m hungry.” 

“Yes..of course.” Thomas took one last look up the stairs before following Julia into the kitchen.

~*~

Years passed, and Stanley soon entered high school. His hair was much longer. He’d grown it out mostly to cover his deformity. Every morning before school he’d come down and..preen himself in a hallway mirror. Thomas just stood off to the side and watched. It was just the four of them now. Julia had gotten married and left. He vividly remembered her looking at him and saying “I always thought you were creepy.” before walking out the door with her new husband. But Stanley had always accepted him. Sure, he had the occasional outburst but later he would always come back apologizing and asking forgiveness. That’s the way Stanley was. He would probably be leaving home too at some point, and the thought of that..actually made Thomas sad. Of course he was an Android and he hid emotions very well. 

And then something unexpected happened. 

Thomas was in the kitchen washing the dishes when Stanley came up to him. “Hey. You wanna be my date for my Senior Prom?” The Android turned and stared with wide eyes. “E-excuse me..?” Stanley laughed at his expression. “I’m serious! Between you and me I’m kinda..too afraid to ask anyone at school. But you..you’d be the perfect date~ So what do you say?” 

“You’re not..afraid of showing up to a school dance with an Android..?” 

“Look, I studied your manual and uh..gimme a minute.” He quickly went into his father’s tool drawer and took out a flat screwdriver. “Now if we just..” He gently pried the LED off of Thomas’ temple. “..get rid of that..nobody will be the wiser~ And now that your hair is longer..you’ll look amazing~” 

“O-oh..thank you..” 

“Oh my god..your cheeks are blue! Are you blushing?!” 

“No! Wha--” Stanley dragged him to a mirror so he could look at his reflection. The blue tinge in his cheeks made him utterly confused. “I-I’m..not supposed to be able to do that..” 

“You know..CyberLife always says that artificial humans can’t evolve..but maybe they’re wrong~” 

Just maybe they were. Thomas pondered this while he prepared himself for the dance. 

~*~

More years passed. Thomas watched Stanley change from a shy, awkward kid into a beautiful man. A man gifted with musical talent. He formed a band that quickly became popular. He changed his name. He started wearing makeup and leather and platform heels. He would stay gone for hours at a time for band rehearsals. Very soon they would release their first studio album. Thomas had never been prouder. Unfortunately as Stanley’s parents grew older they could no longer afford the expensive upkeep for their Android. Eventually they were forced to sell him. He never got to say goodbye to his dear Stanley.

~*~

It was now 2088.

At the age of 70 Paul Stanley has everything he’s ever wanted in life..except that special connection with that special someone. No, that was taken away from him without him even finding out until it was too late. He would still have dreams about him sometimes..his Thomas who vehemently defended him from bullies on the school playground. His Thomas who comforted him whenever he had nightmares. His Thomas who protected him from the unhinged tirades of his sister. His Thomas who danced with him at his Senior Prom making him the envy of the entire school. Where was his Thomas now he wondered? Had he been destroyed? Dismantled and sold for parts? He hated thinking about it.

Until..

“Stop the car!!” 

His driver slammed on the brakes making the car screech to a halt. “W-what is it, Sir..?” 

“Wait here.” 

Paul got out of the car and ran into an alley where a large group of old CyberLife models had been dumped. He looked over each one carefully, clinging to the hope that maybe..one of these..

“S-Stanley..?” 

Paul nearly had a heart attack. One of the Androids reached for him. He was a blank model. Just a shell without a distinct human form. But it was him. Paul knew in his heart that it was him. “Tommy..?” 

“I’m sorry..you have to see me...this way..” 

“I-it doesn’t matter..” With tear filled eyes he pulled the Android out from under all the other empty shells. “..you’re back where you belong~” 

“But my--” 

“I’ll make sure that you get your form back. The one I remember..my Tommy~” 

“Stanley..” 

“It’s Paul now~ A lot has changed since I last saw you. I’m not..the same boy who fell in love with you..” 

“No..that is who you’ll always be to me..no matter your age.” 

“Let’s go home, Tommy. Our home..together~” 

~END~

[pinencurls]

“I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

Hiii so this is my entry to @stellarboystyles‘s three year anniversary fic challenge! I’ve been busy with getting ready for classes starting and balancing other stuff so I wrote it on and off for a week and a bit but I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is so so encouraged and appreciated <3 

Here’s my masterlist of some other stuff I’ve written x 

Enemies (more like friends but oops) to lovers, prompt 9 “I could just hold you and listen to your voice all night long.”

14k+ :) Not read through sorry! pls let me know of any mistakes and I’ll correct them <3 (also i k n o w the title's bad but i couldn’t think of anything, pls feel free to leave any recs.)

- - - - 

It isn’t that I hate Harry. He just makes me feel...insecure. He’s never said or done anything directly but it’s hard to feel good about yourself when all your closest confidants seem to compare you to somebody else, somebody they so clearly hold higher above you. There wasn’t a single day I could meet a mutual friend of mine and Harry’s and not have them sing his praises, and apparently everyone was a mutual friend. I’ve known Julia and Theo for years, we all met in uni when they first started going out but it wasn’t until a year ago that I somehow ended up finding myself a regular within the friendship group they’d formed when they both went into the music and fashion industries. They had ties everywhere and after a pure coincidence of running into them and their circle at a pub, almost all my weekends were spent in various art galleries or new restaurants owned by somebody’s cousin or the guy they met last night at a Fleetwood Mac concert. 

I’d met Harry about five months into hanging out with the group. He’d known them a lot longer than I had, weaving his way into the little pockets of interesting people for years since the x factor. I was busy with work the first few times he was in town but after a while, Nick, the persistent party planner of the group who always managed to wrangle us together, insisted that I just had to meet him.                  . . . . . 

Eleanor’s house is huge and buzzing with hundreds of strangers. I cling to Julia and Theo’s side, Nick and Eleanor are nowhere in sight - most likely playing host or drinking too much chardonnay in another corner of the house. These four are the only people I can say I really know here, sure there are a few familiar faces on the dance floor, either from having met them at any of Eleanor's past elaborate parties or just because of they’re not so subtle fame. That’s another thing, all the people sipping wine and dancing around me are fairly...well known. Either just within the industry or to the general public too, they’d all gain fairly high status. It was a fluke really that I got on so well with Julia when we first met on a fashion course in uni. 

Julia had big goals, all of which she was on track to fulfil, that conflicted slightly with mine. Her goals consisted of runway show models clad in designer brands she might one day contribute to whereas mine were more...anti, that whole world. It took a few years to find a steady footing but eventually, I was proud of where I’d ended up: a comfortable little cubby in the fashion and sustainability columns of a handful of independent magazines. After a few nights out with Julia, I was pleasantly surprised to find her shared interests and solidarity in my work and ambitions of her own within the same ideology. But whilst that’s all well and good, I’m still very much the small indie journalist that slips through the cracks when it comes to small talk at these kinds of events. It became apparent pretty quickly that my latest articles on how fast fashion had begun its destruction of a liveable environment in developing countries weren’t as relevant or interesting to the people promoting Prada and Calvin Klein as the next met gala theme. 

“Do you want another drink?” Theo asks from beside me, pulling my focus from my scan of the room. 

“No thanks..I’m good.” I murmur, debating how long I have to stay before I can slip out and feel a little less awkward around all the people I have no clue how to talk to. “Think I’m gonna head off actually..”

“Look I know you hate networking, but this is just a chill get-together yeah?” Theo chuckles, squeezing my shoulder before taking another sip from his gin and tonic. “We’re in the same boat about these snooty things but tonight’s not like that, relax a bit will ya.” 

Theo works mostly with small-time music artists, producing debut albums and such so we share the same deep discomfort for the many events we often find ourselves at. It’s how we got close really, week after week we’d trail behind Julia as she strikes up conversations with Hollywood elite...and he always makes getting piss drunk in someone’s pool house exceptionally fun. 

Before I can further any excuses about getting home to start on the legitimate and ever-growing pile of work deadlines on my desk, a tall man in far too much Gucci to belong anywhere but in a room full of models and artists makes a beeline straight from the bar to our awkward party. 

“Harry!” Theo shouts, embracing the slightly tipsy man in a hug he reciprocates. 

“It’s been too long mate, how ‘ave you been?” Harry cheers, leaning back from the hug and grinning down at his friend. 

“I’ve been good - busy, enjoying the free bar as always.” Theo jokes, motioning between his and my matching G and T’s. Harry’s eyes wander up from the drink, realisation dawning on his face as he smiles again.

“Ah and you must be the famous Olivia,” He reaches his hand out to mine and shakes it lightly. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself, ‘m Harry, it’s good to finally meet you, love.”  

“Likewise.” I smile, trying to suppress the blush his words of endearment tease. I can’t deny the natural charm and charisma everyone always talks about now that it’s hitting me straight on. There’s something about the way he doesn’t hesitate to hold eye contact just that little bit longer that makes the room go still for just a second. He’d got it down to a T.

“Aww I see you two have finally met!” Nick interrupts. My hand falls from Harry’s grip as he’s welcomed into another hug. “About fucking time as well, been trying get this one to take a night off for weeks!”

“I literally came out with you last Thursday!” I counter, not missing the smirk setting on Harry’s face as he watches Nick and I’s back and forth. “And the Saturday before, come to think of it I’m always out with you Nicky.” 

“Not when Harry’s in town though n’ that’s a different kinda night.” Nick laughs, his beer sloshing slightly in his free hand as his other remains draped over Harry’s shoulders. 

That was maybe the first sign of my slight resentment for Harry. All night I wandered around with Theo hearing little bits of conversations, all surrounding the star of the party. I understood this wasn’t his doing, his humility was clear in every one of his bashful attempts to turn the conversation away from his growing achievements and onto literally anything else. He was, however, a self-proclaimed narcissist. Every time somebody would swoon over him and insist he stay the topic of conversation, a smirk tugged at his lips and stayed there as he consumed the endless and animated praise from almost all the party guests. 

I’d expected some of his qualities to be untrue, learning from the past never to believe blindly of someone’s pure character when you didn’t truly know them. Especially when they frequented the gossip columns. But it wasn’t him so much, he was true to his motto of kindness and courteous even as people fawned over him, it was more the attention that surrounded him. As the night went on it became clear what Nick meant even if he didn’t know it himself. A night out with Harry was different because everyone made sure to capitalize off how different he made them feel.

. . . . .

“Can I get you anything else M’am?” The young waitress asks as she clears up my empty mug and saucer. My eyes falter a little as they adjust from the blue light of my laptop I’ve been staring at for the last twenty minutes. 

“Um- oh please could I just get a refill?” I ask. 

“Sure thing - mint tea right?” She smiles, adjusting the mug in her hands to make a quick note. 

 “Yeah..s’perfect - thank you.” She’s gone before she hears my delayed gratitudes, definitely used to the throngs of bemused writers tapping away at their laptops for hours. 

I turn back to my open google doc. So far it’s written in two parts I have no idea how to connect and my senseless rereading hasn’t resulted in any legitimate progress in almost an hour. I’d accept the rut I’m stuck in and work on something else for the day if I didn’t only have the day. Last night had been filled with plans of settling in early and finishing the last two thousand words on an upcoming sustainable clothing brand. That all went out the window of course as my phone buzzed off the kitchen counter with Nick’s insistence of yet another night out to celebrate ending the work week - his was quite different to mine. It was easy to ignore the persistent beeping of my phone as new texts and call notifications popped up every three minutes, but less so when the rhythmic bursts of noise were replaced by knocks on my front door. 

Within 40 minutes of opening it to Nick in a silk shirt and jeans too skinny for someone pushing thirty, I was two drinks in and dancing to Blue DeTiger with a pair of hands on my waist that I didn’t entirely recognise. It was just the six of us: Me, Nick, Ellie, Theo, Julia and Harry.

He was hard to ignore, not that I was trying particularly hard. On the drive over, the limited backseat space in Nick’s car and close proximity had practically forced me into his lap. Even with thighs pressed tightly against each other, we hardly talked, a few polite hellos here and there and then silence as we listened to Eleanor recall her latest night with whichever blonde bassist was her ‘soulmate’ that week. The whole ride over, Harry kept his hands on the thigh closest to the door and leant his shoulders the same way as to touch me as little as possible - which was still quite a lot considering the packed five seater pushing seven passengers. It was fairly common knowledge we weren’t close and I got the feeling he wasn’t too keen on me, but he could at least not act like touching me would be the worst thing ever. 

As the night went on he clung to Theo, ever the cuddly drunk, and I stayed more to the pleasant stranger I’d found on the dance floor.

No meanest was ever intended between us but I couldn’t help but watch the kindergarten like bitterness grow as everyone just loved him. We couldn’t go anywhere without a crying fan or two approaching the sweet and smiling man who always answered their questions affectionately and hugged them goodbye. The times he was out of town were always filled with comments about his absence, as if none of us were good enough without his added presence. I couldn’t help but wonder why they even bothered to bring me into their little group. The lack of closeness between Harry and I felt almost like a lack of closeness to the group as a whole, despite how much my individual friendships with everyone advanced. 

Just as I thank the waitress - Alice, her name tag read, and take the first sip of my third tea (I had to switch after a particularly strong starter coffee) I notice a familiar man out the corner of my eye looking just as rough as me. Of course he’s wearing it better than I am. 

Harry collects a drink from the counter and bows his head slightly in thanks, turning and catching my eye just as he’s on his way out. He waves with his free hand and shoots me a candid smile before making a quick change in direction towards my small table. 

“Long time no see,” He pulls the chair opposite me out a little as he chuckles at his own joke. He perches lightly, temporarily. “How’ve you been?”

“A little hungover, I won’t lie..” I laugh, surprised by the whole encounter. “You?” 

“Same, I might have had a shot or two too many,” I nod knowingly and shut my laptop softly. He sips what smells like coffee before going on. “Are ya workin? Sorry to interrupt.” 

“Oh no- I mean I am but it doesn’t matter really, ‘ve kinda hit a dead end.” His eyes hover, waiting for me to go on. “I was gonna get it done last night but Nick had other plans..” 

“Yeah Nick’ll do that to you,” He laughs, “What’re you writing ‘bout?” 

He leans slightly forwards, holding eye contact and shuffling comfortably into his chair. 

“Oh just this promotional piece on a new company, they’re hiring young women and training them to make these handmade clothes. They’re paying them above minimum wage and focusing on sustainability so this editor I’ve written for before offered me it.” I’m not really sure how sincere he is in his curiosity, he always seems to have time to listen when Julia has a new design plan or Theo’s found a new artist but that’s different really. I stop before I start to ramble, just in case. 

“That’s so cool, what kinda stuff are they making?” He prompts, resting his chin on his fist, imitating the posture of an eager little kid. 

“They've started stocking stuff by other independent artists but mostly dungarees and these cool cord trousers, they’d suit you actually, even got some 70s style ones.” Now that the two worlds are colliding in my head, I can’t help but imagine Harry in a pair of their forest green cords, the wide legs would almost bury his vans but a part of me is pretty sure he’d love them. 

“Thanks, if they come at your recommendation I might have to get my hands on a pair,” He smiles, his tone’s a lot different to the usual polite cheer, it’s difficult to place where it’s landed before he’s talking again. “Reminds me of that show you took us to with the upcycled clothes, all those dungarees made of old quilts - remember?” 

It’d been a small exhibit just outside of London I’d mentioned offhandedly and somehow ended up showing everyone around. It was nice to have them all in my world for an evening. Marcus, a friend of mine from college, had put it together and created a lot of the pieces. He and the others I’d met through my work were fairly shocked to say the least when Harry Styles came traipsing through the doors behind me. All night he quietly asked Nick questions, to which Nick only responded by motioning towards me and wandering off to the bar. 

“I do - I’m surprised you do to be honest.” It slips before I can decide if it sounds passive aggressive or not. To be fair, it had been a surprise to me, meeting everyone at the train station and watching Harry and Nick scramble out a taxi and run towards us. He’d been dressed in proper gallery attire and seemed genuinely thrilled to be joining in on the rare night I actually played host. 

“Course I do, it was a good night...I’d choose it over Nick’s tequila Tuesdays anyday.” His phone buzzes on the table, a text popping up in green. “Oh I- my manager’s waiting sorry.” 

A sheepish smile is accompanied by a loose arm movement towards the door where, out on the street, I see Jeff. He’s shaking his head and motioning for Harry to hurry up. Had Harry sat down to talk to me whilst his manager had been waiting this whole time? 

“It was good running into you, good luck with it all,” He stands. “See you friday yeah?” 

I’d totally forgotten about his “Whenever I’m in town Friday film night.” until he mentioned it. I’d been twice in the past and stayed quietly to my corner of the sofa, only watching as everyone else laughed at whatever romcom had been chosen that night. 

“I-maybe.” He shakes his head as I smile, not quite ready to commit a whole evening to watching Nick raid Harry’s wine cellar. 

“You better, I’m gonna need to hear more ‘bout those cords.” He points his hand in a kind of joking reprimand/wave before he’s gone back down the aisle of tables to the door where Jeff ruffles a hand through his hair and laughs when his hands fly to fix the now birdnest of brown curls. 

I open my laptop back up, skimming over the last few lines I wrote to get myself back on track. I take a sip and my tea’s gone cold. 

. . . . .

“Are you coming to Harry’s tonight?” Eleanor asks down the phone, her voice chipper as she no doubt raids her closet. 

“Maybe, I don’t know..I’ve got this deadline Monday morning that I’m nowhere near meeting.” 

“Come on Liv, we haven’t seen you all properly together since last month, and last week doesn’t count it was too loud to actually talk!” She chimes in, the sound of clothes being tossed to the floor clear in the distant background. “Have you got a problem with Harry or something?” 

“No Elle, of course I don’t-” 

“Then why do you guys never talk? You hardly come with us when he’s around and when you do you barely even say hello.” Eleanor complains, she’s mentioned it in the past but it’s been easy to blow off with excuses of how busy he usually was making his way around the room to greet everyone or how we just hadn’t known each other that long and weren't particularly close yet. 

“I just...I don’t know, I don’t think he likes me very much.” I pause. I still haven't decided what last Saturday was in the cafe. “We’re not really close and I’d prefer not to spend another night listening to people tell him - and everyone else - how great he is.” 

“You’re saying that like he’s some arrogant twit, if you came out with us more you’d see what he’s really like around his friends. Or you know, you could actually talk to him when we’re together and see that he’s not a dick?” 

It was a fair point. I haven’t made much of an effort over the past year to spend any time with him outside of larger gatherings or to have genuine conversations with him that went past the weather or a new jacket one of us had on. Maybe he really is a good guy away from all the pretentious crowds and watchful eyes he usually called to our group. He’d certainly seemed different in the quiet Saturday surroundings of Blondies Coffee Roasters in between sips of coffee. 

“Okay, okay yeah I’ll see you there.” We hang up a couple of minutes later and I’m left alone in my kitchen again.

. . . . . 

“Hey!” Harry cheers as the door swings open to reveal him in yet another pair of flared pants that hung comfortably around his waist. “Come in, come in.” 

We all pile in through the doorway as he steps aside. Arms weaving through each other as we hang coats and jackets and Julia passes Harry the fruit platter she’d made (and scolded us all for picking at on the drive over.) 

“Oh very appropriate,” Harry laughs as he uncovers the tray to reveal an array of sliced watermelon, strawberries and grapes, He sets the fruit down on the table in the lounge for us all to eat and shakes his head lightly. I look up at Julia for an explanation but she’s too busy claiming the comfiest loveseat for the night. “I’m never telling you anything again, Jules.” 

Julia and Harry tease each other for a moment more until Theo catches my confused stares and laughs to himself. 

“Harry wrote a song ‘bout fruit- another one actually,” Theo starts, tucking himself beside Julia and letting her take over before he can finish. “S’not just about fruit though is it H?” 

Harry blushes slightly and settles his glare on Julia as he carries six wine glasses through to the table. 

“‘S about watermelon, it just has some..” He clears his throat as he fumbles for his next sentence. “Other themes to it too.” 

“As if mate,” Theo’s laughter booms, “ Basically Liv, he wrote this new song the other day all about how much he loves to-” 

“Watermelon!” Harry yells, pointing an accusatory finger at Theo. “S’all about how much I love watermelons...I’m a fruit guy.” 

“Oh are we talking about the pussy song?” 

All heads snap round to see Nick, obviously having let himself in and now chuckling softly to himself as he leans against the archway into the room. 

“Oh sorry H, were you tryna give an interview answer?” 

Harry just slaps his palm over his eyes and lets his shoulders shake for a minute before he bounces back to host mode. 

“Okay!” I can’t help but notice how flushed the tips of his ears are as he claps his hands together, desperately trying to move on from the conversation. “Who wants wine?” 

Fifteen minutes later everyone is settled onto the sofas with an array of throws between us and a layout of fruits, crisps and other mid rom com snacks that make me feel bad I left my flat in too much of a hurry to remember anything but hummus. 

“Okay - Sixteen Candles, When Harry Met Sally or Mamma Mia?” Nick calls out, waving the tv remote above his head to get everyone's attention. An outpour of votes follows - you’d think between only six of us we’d be able to sort out a process by now but still we fall into momentary anarchy as the room divides. 

“Mamma Mia is a classic!” Eleanor protests as Nick’s shaking his head. 

“And Billy Crystal isn’t?” He yells back, eyes wide and genuinely offended. 

“Colin Firth is arguably more iconic, Nick really, come on.” Theo sighs. He accepts the high fives Ellie and I reach out to him and saluts us both. 

“We’ve all seen Mamma Mia before though, we’ve never watched When Harry Met Sally all together,” Julia points out, winning a smirk and nod of approval from Nick. 

There’s a beat of silence while Nick weighs up the votes in his head. He tilts to the side slightly and eyes Harry up, our gazes following. 

“Harry?” 

“Ellie?” 

“Come on, you’ve got the last vote here, and I know how much you like Meryl.” Nick gasps a little, the mention of Meryl Streep as a wager to win Harry over to his opposing team was definitely foul play in his eyes. 

“Yeah but he loves When Harry Met Sally...and he is a narcissist..” Julia offers into the debate, a few snickers follow her comment before we all turn to look at Harry. We’re all already half a glass in but I could swear for just a moment his eyes lingered over me, fluttering down to my smile before turning back to announce his decision to Nick. 

“I’m afraid I am in the mood for a bit of Abba,” Cheers and not so subtle murmurs of frustration fill the lounge as Nick scrolls through the Romance bar on Netflix before clicking on the film of just over half of our choosing. 

Everyone goes quiet as the film starts, breaking out into bursts of song only as the cast does. From the conversation in the car, it’s pretty clear everyone has just been through a pretty tiring week. We all tended to pile our workload a little heavy so it was always nice to escape for a few hours at the weekend and relax together.

Just as Voulez-vous plays through the room, a slightly tipsy Nick leans into Harry to serenade the singer with his own rendition. The duo sway slightly, both narrowly avoiding Nick’s wild limbs before there’s a crash and Harry’s cursing. 

“Oh- H, Sorry!” 

Nick’s wine glass that’d been balanced on the coffee table in front of him moments before now lays on its side. The, luckily white, wine trickles down onto the rug but most noticeably splashes into Harry’s lap. I’m not entirely sure how he managed it, it must have flown forwards when it was knocked but Harry quickly stands to access the damage. 

“I’m so sorry Harry I-” 

“Don’t worry mate, I’m just gonna go change and toss these in the wash..could you wipe that up for me?” Nick nods, looking a little less cheerful and a lot more guilty now as Harry makes it way out the room. He calls behind him: “Keep watching I’ll only be a second!” 

Nick finishes wiping down the table and rug just as Harry jogs back into the room. I don’t mean to and I’m never one to check people out..unless very subtly, but I can’t help but let my eyes linger a little. 

He’s still in his plain tee but instead of his fancy pants he’s found some soft wash denim jeans. The whole look paired with his thick rimmed glasses and how his hair's gotten tousled about by Nick throughout the night just made him look so...ordinary. Not in any bad way, anyone who met Harry knew he could never be ordinary, no matter how casual he dressed, but something about seeing him abandon the more dressed up looks and go for the comfortable option just made him seem different. 

In a second his green eyes are complimenting the look too as he gazes down at me. 

“Hi,” He mouths, nobody’s taken much notice of his return, yet another musical number taking everyone’s attention. It’s my turn to blush a little now. I avert my eyes quickly, anywhere really, before sneaking a quick look up at him to smile back. 

Ellie had helped Nick in the “For fucksake save Harry’s rug it probably costs more than your car” mission and had stolen the seat beside him after they were done. It slipped my mind until Harry set the new bottle of wine on the table and sunk down into the space beside me, He curls one leg underneath him and slips me one more smile before turning back to the screen just as Donna and Sam start singing SOS.

. . . . . 

“Ah shit, I think I left my book!” I curse just as we make it down the road to Julia’s car. Parking was shit so by the time we found a spot we’d ended up a good 15 minutes away from Harry’s house. “You guys go on, I’m only round the corner anyway.” 

Theo and Julia were familiar with my stubbornness so let me go, yelling their goodbyes after a few hugs as they drove away, Ellie and Nick do the same as they clamber into a taxi. I turn quickly in the chilly air and make my way back down the street to Harry’s drive, punching in the familiar code at his gate before running up to the door hastily. 

It was open - as always, so I let myself in. He was probably still cleaning the lounge up after we all got a little too tipsy. 

“Hey it’s me...just left my book sorry!” I call down the hallway. It’s quiet despite the light Paul Simon playing in the distance so I make my way quickly to the sofas I’d spent most of the night on, praying to avoid an awkward run-in with Harry. 

Although we’d actually shared some light conversation throughout the night and a handful of smiles, I’m not sure we’re quite at the stage in our friendship that me more or less breaking into his house wouldn’t be awkward to run into. 

The lounge is empty when I get there. The side tables are still littered with wine glasses and tacky red rings on coasters but no Harry in sight. Or book for that matter. 

I start pulling back the cushions carefully - god knows how much they cost. Despite scouring the one spot I’d pretty much clung to the whole night -  incidentally beside Harry -  I have no luck. Nick tossed the book back to me at some point in the night after reading it by my recommendation but knowing him it could have ended up anyway. I follow the breadcrumbs of our night down another hallway as I vaguely remember Nick talking about a certain plot twist as we searched Harry’s kitchen cupboards for the wine he’d sent us off to restock. 

As I come around the white archway into his kitchen I catch a glimpse of him from around the kitchen island. He has his back turned to me but he’s leant forwards against a counter with ring covered fingers clutching the edge, a glass of amber liquid set slightly away from him. 

“Oh, sorry I was just-” He jumps a little at my voice, turning quickly to face me with his now free hands coming up to hold his chest. When his eyes finally meet mine they’re red and it takes a second for him to register the tears still streaming from them before he replies. 

“Shit, fu- what are you..are you alright?” His hands bat between tangling into his hair and wiping the tears from his cheeks, anything to avoid actually looking up at me again. 

“Yeah, I just..um..left my book,” I mumble, taking a step closer to him when I notice how his hands shake as they move timidly around his face. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Uuuh um.” He wanders for a moment before slapping a palm lightly atop the counter and pulling out his infamous grin. “Nothing much, how bout you - find your book?” 

“-Harry..” I take another step close, “I know we’re not, ya know..close. But you can talk to me.” 

There’s a beat of silence when he keeps up the act, I’d almost believe it if it wasn’t for his bloodshot eyes and anxious fingers drumming against the tile. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He pauses for a moment, assessing whether or not to tell me whatever’s weighing so heavy on his shoulders. But the dam bursts. 

“Fuckin’ everything Love” He laughs, rubbing his palms over his face. I try to focus on the matter at hand: Harry weeping in his kitchen. But that name’s only ever left his mouth directed at me a handful of times and it’s never made my stomach flutter quite as it did just now. “Just..Fuck I’m so lonely Olivia.” 

I don’t really know any of the details but between conversation - mostly overheard, and the media frenzy, it was hard not to be aware of Harry’s break up two months ago. I can’t claim we were close enough to discuss it, having hardly ever talked beyond trivial issues, but I knew that despite them only being together two or so months, he’d been incredibly distant for the weeks that followed the break up. 

“I hear about you and Aubre..I’m really sorry it didn’t work out for you guys-” Harry laughs almost, a pained sort of chuckle that told me I was way off with this one. 

“It’s not..that isn’t why I..” He takes a deep breath before lifting his head up slightly to focus on where his fingers still tapped out a nervous beat on the counter. “I was lonely before her...and with her. I just, I can’t seem to get it right ever...feels like nobody wants to be with me for the right reasons.” 

“Hey no..what about tonight? Your house was full of so many people who love you yeah? Maybe your bougie wine collection had something to do with it but still,” He laughs at that, peeking up from behind his fringe for just a moment. “They- we love you ‘k?” 

“I know but, ‘clock hits the am and everyone leaves, it just gets...it gets so fucking lonely to see everyone in perfect pairs ya know?” 

I don’t really know what I’m doing but I’m doing it - my arms wrap over his shoulders and lock with a hand at the nape of his neck. We’ve never hugged before beyond a general greeting but anyone watching wouldn’t know it, his face burrows quickly into my shoulder and his arms cocoon over my waist, holding me tightly and slipping under the thick layers of my jacket. 

“I know exactly what you mean, H.” 

The hug lasts longer than I imagined it might. He smells of vanilla and the coffee he brought back in bulk from Jamaica. He lets out a shaky breath and melts further into me, nuzzling my neck softly with the tip of his nose. His curls are soft between my fingers and I find myself shhing him, lulling us both into a tired kind of calm. 

Another moment passes in the silence of his kitchen before Harry lets out an awkward cough and straightens up, pulling out of our hold and immediately covering his face with his palms again. 

“I..sorry Jules and Theo must be waiting for you..” Harry murmured, wiping the last of his tears away and letting his hands fall and fidget by his sides. 

“Oh no don’t worry they..um they already went I was actually just gonna walk.” I tell him, making his head perk up a bit. 

“Wha-It’s past twelve Liv it’s not safe, how far do you even live?” He clears his throat and his voice is clearer now, it feels like a whole different world to the one we were in just a minute ago. 

“It’s fine honestly, only take like thirty minutes walking - I’ve done it before-” I ramble, eager to put this situation behind me before I embarrass myself anymore. 

“No - let me drive you yeah?” Harry shakes his head, adamant. 

“Harry..we’ve been drinking all night, I think that’s more dangerous than me jus’ walking.” I laugh, holding his gaze for a second longer than I usually would - fuck, how do we usually act around each other?

Before I come to a conclusion, his eyes rest heavy on mine and I can see the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to work his way out of this one. Ever the people pleaser. 

“Then stay.” 

“Harry-”

“You said you know how it feels.” He cuts in, unwavering now as he doesn’t let my eyes fall from his. “So stay …’s safer anyway.” 

. . . . . 

“I can take the sofa, really Harry I don’t mind,” I reassure as he tosses me an old t-shirt and joggers to sleep in. “It’s comfier than my bed anyway. 

His guest bedrooms had just been painted and were still pretty fume filled so the sofa or his bed were the only options. For twenty minutes now he’s tried to convince me to take his bed and leave him on the sofa, despite the fact we both know he’s a little too tall to sleep without his feet hanging off the end. 

“But you’re my guest!” He protests again, coming up from his wardrobe to stand in front of me, hand on hips and an expression of concern on his face. 

“And you’re almost six foot!” 

“Hey, I am six foot.” He takes a deep breathe, exhaling through his nose in defeat before speaking again. “Okay, you can sleep on the sofa but if anyone asks I was the perfect host and you bullied me into this.” 

I laugh softly, this whole new side of Harry had never been directed solely at me before and it was honestly refreshing. Usually Nick or another friend was the target of his jokes and playful demeanor and I only noticed it from afar but now he was right in front of me, hauling pillows off his bed and sticking his tongue out when he caught me staring. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” He asks for the third time since I agreed to stay the night. We’ve just finished setting up the sofa to sleep on and despite the duvet and many quilts far more lush than my own actual bed, he seemed unconvinced it was enough. 

“I’m sure” I sit back into the pile of blankets and pillows, tucking my feet underneath me and looking back up at Harry. “If you’re really not, just come watch a film with me and see how cozy it is.” 

The quick change in dynamic was a lot smoother than I’d imagined. Within an hour of being alone together we’d already talked more than in all our past interactions, not to mention how close we’ve gotten. He only nods his head quickly and he’s settling under a quilt beside me, rummaging around for a controller to pull up netflix again. 

“Mamma Mia two?” He asks. 

I chuckle a bit and nod. At the beginning of the evening I hadn’t quite seen it ending in a Mamma Mia marathon with just me and Harry. 

He presses play and as the opening display begins we both lean back into the sofa and pull the blankets up over us. It’s only in the quiet of the first few scenes that I notice we’re matching. We’re both dressed fully in his clothes, grey joggers and t-shirt - his rolling stones, mine fleetwood mac. And it all smells of him. I pull the blanket a little higher over my chest and the faint, but now familiar, scent of vanilla and coffee fills my lungs and for a second all I can focus on is how desperately I want to be in his arms again. 

. . . . .

“-ow” A groggy voice mumbles from above me and I feel myself being pulled forwards slightly against something hard - and warm. 

I’m a few seconds from falling straight back asleep before I feel the painful ache in the side of my neck. I reach a hand up to gauge my current situation and feel my fingers plunging into soft hair - soft hair that ends too soon to be mine. 

“Hi..” I recoil my hand quickly back to my side and push myself up so I’m sitting slightly. I look down and see Harry, half asleep still and hand still resting on my side. 

“Oh-hey sorry,” What do you say when you wake up beside the guy you barely knew but simultaneously had been incredibly vulnerable with just the night before? 

Harry seems to be waking up now and certainly more aware of our predicament as he pulls his hand away from where it was holding firmly onto the material of my - his - t-shirt and pushes himself up to sit against the arm of the sofa. 

“We must have fallen asleep..sorry I didn’t mean too, ya know…” His eyes flutter between where I sit opposite him and the “Are you still watching?” Netflix screen. 

“It’s fine, accidents happen an’ everything.” I smile, slipping out from the warm cocoon of blankets to stand. “I’m just gonna wash up quickly and I’ll be out of you hair.” 

Before I can rush off to tame my hair and hopefully find some toothpaste to rid me of my morning breath, Harry clasps his hand gently around my wrist and tugs slightly to get my attention. 

“Not in a rush Love, I’ll make us some breakfast.” He says it effortlessly, like it was a regular occurrence for us to fall asleep cuddling on his sofa. He stands, groaning as his knees pop appreciatively and lets my hand go before he’s disappearing into the kitchen.

“Okay…” I murmur to myself. “....okay.” 

. . . . .  

Alice is back at my table with my second refill before 11am. I thank her and take a gulp of the fiery ginger tea before reading over the last three paragraphs I just wrote. The spice licks my tongue as I tip the cup up for a second sip; it’s autumn after all. 

In the last two weeks September had slipped into October and all the trees in London had received the memo. I’d been busy, hoaled up in the quietest corner of Blondies the whole time with coffee filling all my senses. I haven’t seen everyone together since that night at Harry’s. I grabbed lunch with Eleanor the Monday afterwards and told her nothing, preferring to avoid the texts my phone amassed over the fortnight. I've turned down all proposed group activities and focused on work instead. To be fair, I do have a lot to get done. There were always seasonal pieces in my to do list and with the weather getting colder it was time I got to them before it was Christmas already. 

I haven’t talked to Harry either. He made us pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup in the morning and we haven’t even texted since; I’m not sure that we even have a private text between us. Eleanor and Julia have told me how much fun they’ve all had the times I’ve politely but persistently declined, I can only assume Harry’s in the mix with them all. He’s in town for awhile if I’m remembering our breakfast chatter correctly, it makes sense that they’re all hanging out together really when they don’t often get time together. Ellie’s phone calls keep me from sliding into thoughts of how easily I could fall right out of the group and not be missed, at least. I was just taking space for work. The fact that most of my afternoons at the cafe disappeared into me analysing anything I might ever have felt or said to Harry means nothing at all. 

Neither does the heightened pace of my heartbeat when he walks through the stiff wooden  doors of Blondies. 

He orders what I assume is his regular black coffee, scans the room for a second and lands directly on me. He hesitates a little to hold my gaze, turning his head to look outside before looking back at me and smiling. He thanks the server and takes a few quick steps towards me, weaving in between the packed tables to my little spot hidden away in the corner. 

“Hi,” He smiles again, although his toneos overshadowed by a slight anxious hilt. “Can I sit?” 

Nodding, I close my laptop and pull my tea closer to me to make a space for him. 

“Hi.” He repeats, smiling a little sheepishly. 

“Hi,” I wait a second, nervous to start when I’m so unsure of how this conversation has already gone in his head. But he doesn’t say anything so I push through and bite the bullet against my better judgement. “Look, about that Friday I-”

“Can I just-” He cuts me off, leaning forwards and opening his hands out as he mulls over his next few words. “I’m sorry if it was awkward at all, I didn’t mean for anything to happen and I thought we were fine an’ everything but then I haven’t seen you in two weeks and Ellie keeps saying you’re not comin’ out. Did I do something wrong?” 

“Oh god no,” I hurry, “You didn’t do anything it was just - I didn’t expect to wake up..like that...and it was just a really quick change because we’ve never really been close and suddenly it was just, us, like that.” 

He nods, pushing a loose curl back a second later that broke free in the motion. He seems understanding as he looks down before leaning his elbows against the table so only the two of us can hear what he’s about to say. 

“I know, I didn’t expect it either but, can I just tell you I’m glad that it happened?” He leaves a three second pause for me to flounder in confusion before continuing. “What I told you, ‘bout feeling lonely, it messes with my sleep all the time. I just get stuck in my own thoughts but the night you stayed over I slept fine - perfect even.”

Not sure what else to do with this new information, I nod for him to continue.

“I know we’ve never been close, but hanging out with you just really calmed me down.” He smiles, gaining confidence now in his vulnerability tucked away in our little hiding place. “Thank you for staying.” 

“I get what you mean.” I mumble, slightly anxious any of the busy customers with prying eyes could overhear my confession. “I never really know when to stop working and I think I got the best night sleep on your sofa I’ve had in awhile, which really speaks volumes about how crappy my mattress is.”  

He chuckles. Relief seems to settle in as he lets his shoulders relax and face soften. 

“I was thinking - especially now that I know it was good for you as well, maybe it could become more of a regular thing?” He asks, his forefinger and thumb pinch together and twist one of his rings a little - a nervous habit, I’m sure. 

“How do you mean?” 

“Like..when we all go out, maybe we go home together, you know - so we can sleep better.” He moves down to focus on the metal rose he’s still fumbling at. “If..if you don’t want to or you think it’d be weird it’s fi-” 

“I’d like that.” I reach forwards to comfort him, absentmindedly cupping my fingers around his. “I think it’d be nice, to get a good night's sleep I mean.” 

“I’m glad.” He beams.

“..That and you make a mean blueberry pancake.” I tease, earning a light chuckle from Harry. 

Just like our last cafe encounter, the ping of a his phone beats me to my new few words. He checks it quickly, shaking his head and glancing down the large room to the shop front where, once again, Jeff waits. He seems a little more agitated this time, waving vigorously whilst trying not to attract the attention of passersby, all  rather unsuccessfully. 

“Bollocks okay - I’ve gotta go,” Harry swears, collecting his coffee from the table and pushing his chair back quickly. “I’ll just - we can text before we go out next yeah?” 

“Cool, yeah - wait a sec, let me just give you my number.” I reach up for him to hand me his phone but he doesn’t make any effort to move, instead he blushes slightly and stares at the floor. “..What?” 

“I um, I already have it.” He fiddles with the hair at the nape of his neck before talking again. It’s hard not to remember how it felt when it was my fingers carding through his brown curls. “I got it from Theo awhile back when we were going to this thing, felt weird not having it. I hope that..okay and everythin’” 

I nod, smiling up at him. The idea of him having a part of me for this past year without me even knowing is oddly precious. The fact that he felt odd about not having my number and going to the effort of getting it from Theo was unbelievably endearing. 

“That’s fine, helpful actually.” I smile still, “Text me before we meet everyone and we’ll make a plan or somethin’” 

“Okay,” He smirks, his slight cocky nature reemerging. “Will do, Liv. See you soon?” 

“See you soon.” 

Jeff flies a hand up to his hair like before but this time is met with a grinning Harry who doesn’t seem to mind so much. 

. . . . . 

Unknown Number 

‘Hey! Is tonight good? We can slip off after drinks at the gallery. H x’ 

I look down at my phone. Caught off guard by the sudden text, I’d almost forgotten out arrangement. Julia invited us all to a gallery opening of one of her friend's new exhibits. Even as I flicked through my wardrobe for the right jacket, I hadn’t put two and two together and realised I’d be seeing Harry again for the first time since our chat at Blondies four days ago. 

I save his number and I think quickly, not wanting to leave him on read when he knew I’d be leaving to see them all any second and most likely spend the whole tube journey on my phone. 

‘Hi :) That’d work for me yh, just let me know when you want to leave and I’ll make an excuse. Liv x’ 

With another thought rushing through my head, I send a quick follow up. 

Me

‘Can we keep this between us right now? Might be a bit tricky to explain to the others.” 

Harry

‘Read my mind love.’

‘See you in a bit :)’ 

I’m still not the hugest fan of the airy feeling that rushed through my stomach as I read over the pet name. He was just from Manchester, it was normal up there to call everything by casually affectionate little names. It didn’t mean anything at all. 

. . . . . 

“Livia!” Nick calls out when he sees me scanning over the faces at the entrance to the gallery. I smile instantly and make my way over, quickly falling into his arms as he rocks us for a second. “Haven’t seen you in an age!” 

“‘Ve been working, we can’t all piss about Monday to Friday.” I giggle, smiling wide as he murmurs something under his breath and plants a big kiss on my cheek. “Is everyone here?” 

I try not to look suspicious when I peak over around us, trying to pick a certain brunette from the crowd.

“Yeah, they’re just over there with Julia’s friend.” Nick points and I see him immediately. He’s dressed just as I expected - half gucci half grandpa sweaters. “I’m gonna get us drinks, meet you there?” 

“Mhmmm” I hum, breaking out of his hold and slipping through the crowds to our small group of friends. 

“Hi!” Julia smiles brightly. She hugs me quickly before stepping aside to give Eleanor and Theo their turns. They all whisper quiet ‘Missed yous’ in my ear as if I’ve been gone for years. 

“Hey,” Harry appears by my side as everyone else turns their attention to the front of the crowd where it looks like the artist is setting up to introduce the night. “How’ve you been?” 

“In the last four days?” I chuckle, “Good. Not been sleeping great, but I’ve got a lot of work done so that’s been great.” 

He nods approvingly. A smile tugs at his lips at the mention of sleep, almost like some secret inside joke we’ve managed to form between just the two of us. 

“Me neither. Jeff’s been buggin’ me what feels like every hour with deadlines.” I find myself squeezing his hand a little under his long coat sleeves so nobody can see. “Looking forward to just collapsing tonight, if I’m honest.” 

“Me too.” I smile tiredly, tonight had been a big ask come to think of it. I've had work piled up twice my height all week and even having worked day in and day out I’ve still only made a crack in the mountain of final edits and emails to respond to.

Harry squeezes my fingers back and our hands linger in each other's hold until Nick emerges beside us and the artist begins her speech. 

. . . . .

 The comfortable chatter surrounding the booth we’d taken up a few hours ago died down as the clock ticked later and later. We’d left the gallery a while ago now in favour of the after party at a pub down the road but by now the heavy scent of beers and various gin based concoctions were giving us all headaches. 

“I think I’m gonna call it a night guys,” Harry announces, a slew of groans following from the group. “Sorry, sorry! It’s been great but it’s getting late.” 

Julia and Theo move out the way to let him out the booth. He slides across the red cushion to stand, pulling his coat over himself as he sneaks a quick look at me. 

“I think I’m gonna head off too,” I smile, waiting for Eleanour to stand and let me out as another wave of complaints flooded me. “Sorry! I’ve got work and the tube’ll be hell any later.” 

“Well if Harry’s going too couldn’t he take you home?” Julia suggests, looking between the two of us as we now stand slightly away from each other. “You drove right?” 

“Yeah, I did.” Harry turns to smile at me, amused clearly by how our plan was being unknowingly encouraged by our friends. “C’mon, I’ll drive yeh.” 

I nod, biting back a smirk. We say our goodbyes and wave as we slip out the heavy pub doors out onto the road outside. It’s started to drizzle slightly and I resent choosing the jacket without a hood. 

“I’m just over here,” Harry points a little ways off. “Hurry, think it’s about to pour.” 

We walk quickly down the street and through a metal gate into a car park when there’s a loud rumble of thunder and immediately the rain thickens. 

“Fuck!” Harry laughs as he scrambles for his keys, we match each other's paces until we’re practically sprinting to his car in the far corner of the lot. The click of the locks sounds out and his lights flash red a second before we’re both pulling the doors open and throwing ourselves inside onto warm seats. 

We catch our breath, chests rising and falling with uneven pants before our laughter settles and Harry slots the keys into the ignition. 

. . . . . 

“Do you want anything to eat?” Harry asks as he closes his front door behind us and we kick out shoes off in his hall. “I think I have some takeout menus somewhere..” 

“I’m not really hungry, thanks though,” I cut off his search as he walks through to his kitchen and starts opening draws. “Kinda just wanna go to bed now.” 

He nods and rubs a hand under his eye in silent agreement of my exhaustion.

“I’ll make us a tea, meet you up there yeah?” He calls over his shoulder, having turned quickly to retrieve various packets from his cupboards. “Chamomile okay?” 

“Yeah chamomiles good,” I hover for a second in the archway leading into the kitchen, suddenly awkward to be alone in his house again. “Where um..where is it?” 

He looks over his shoulder at me, slightly confused. His eye brows unfurrow when I motion behind me. 

“Oh- just up the stairs and third room down the hall..on the left.” He smiles, turning back to the cupboard to look through his extensive mug collection. 

I nod to myself, spinning on my heel and making my way up his stairs. I’ve never gone beyond the downstairs of his house before and even then I stuck to the kitchen, dining room and lounge. It felt odd to suddenly have access to something as intimate as his bedroom, I try not to overthink things as I push open the third door I see.

The first thing I see is his large bed, there’s probably enough room for three people on it and there’s definitely enough pillows to go around. The room as a whole is tidy, whether it’s always like that or only organised so precisely for my visit, I don’t know, but the thought makes my stomach flutter. 

I walk up to the side of the bed with no charger on it’s table and set my bag down. We hadn’t talked about the logistics of our...arrangement, but I’d brought the basics to last me through the night. I plug my charger into the wall and take out my wash bag and a set of clothes to sleep in before sliding my bag under the table. I look around for a second. Somehow I hadn’t really thought through the fact that by the end of the night, I’d be in Harry’s bed. With Harry. In a completely platonic way with the only function to soothe our mutually crappy sleeping habits. 

I hear Harry walking up the stairs just as I slip into the un suit to wash up and get changed. He’s humming a song under his breath. The clink of mugs being set down is followed by wardrobe doors opening and closing and a light thud of clothes being thrown on the bed. 

I wait a few minutes to make sure I don’t walk in on him changing. Opening the door tentatively, I step out into the room in a large sweater and pajama shorts. Harry turns to look at me, he’s in the same t-shirt he wore last time and a pair of boxer shorts and the whole situation suddenly seems so amusing. After just one night of falling asleep on the sofa together, not having ever talked before, here we are standing at our most vulnerable about to cuddle in his bed together.

“Hi.” 

“Hey,” He nods, looking down at himself. “Hope this is okay...I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or-” 

“It’s fine,” I reassure him, “I didn’t really know what to wear either.” 

His eyes flicker down my body and he smiles back up at me. He motions to the bed and we both nod a little awkwardly before making our way over to our sides. I climb in and instantly let a small groan out as my body sinks into the mattress, the pillows and duvet feel almost like a cloud as I burrow under and pull my tea up to my lips. 

Harry chuckles from beside me, I peak over the mug to seem him grinning down from where he sits slightly taller in the bed.

“Sorry, you look comfy.” He laughs a little, 

“I am, your bed’s insane.” I set my mug down and turn to him, bouncing slightly to emphasise the quality of his mattress that probably cost more than a year of my rent. “I really should start earning millions, feel like it’d suit me.” 

He returns his tea to the bedside table and copies me, turning to face me with his legs crossed. 

“It definitely would.” He smiles, bouncing a little before I let out a yawn. “Tired?” 

“Exhausted.” I mumble, hand still covering half my face. Harry reaches behind him to turn to switch the lights above his headboard off before pulling the duvet back for us to slip under.

“C’mere,” Without hesitating, I shuffle back slightly until I can feel his chest behind me and an arm come up to rest around my hip. “‘This okay?” 

“Mhmmm,” I hum, “What about our teeth?”

“We’ll brush ‘em in the morning,” I nod, groaning again as all the aches in my body subside as I sink into his arms and the foam mattress. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” I mumble, embarrassed to have let myself go so easily around him. “Your mattress is just unbelievable. Might have to make this a regular thing.” 

I speak before I think, mind clouded with sleep and my eyes already fighting to stay open. 

“That’s the plan, love.” 

. . . . . 

When I wake up, Harry’s arms are tight around my middle and his body’s like a furnace behind me. I vaguely recall pulling my sweater off in the night to cool down as I lay now only in a vest and shorts. I slept better than I have in months though, despite the warm breaths on my neck turning my cheeks flushed. 

The mix of Harry’s company and his safe haven of a mattress made for the perfect night sleep. I push back slightly into his chest and feel his arms tighten around me and a low murmur of his voice in my ear. The clock on my bedside table reads 6:30. It’s a Saturday and I can quite easily imagine spending the rest of my day - weekend even, exactly like this. 

I slip back to sleep for a little awhile before I’m woken up to a low groan behind me. Harry shifts slightly, burying his face in the base of my neck and squeezing around my waist again. He must still be half asleep to be this comfortable with me. 

I’m proven right when it takes another fifteen minutes for him to poke his head up over my shoulder and mumble: 

“Breakfast?” 

. . . . . 

Our routine works smoothly for weeks. After sleeping so well the first few times, it became a given that we’d pile into Harry’s car after every night out with our friends and go back to his. Sometimes we’d get takeout or watch a film, but it wasn’t so rare that we’d just stumble out of his car, or a taxi - depending what the night had entailed, and walk with eyes almost closed straight to bed. 

I stopped bringing things every night about two weeks in when a new toothbrush appeared next to Harrys and an oversized t-shirt of Harrys found its way onto my side of the bed. We also ditched the awkward pleasantries. Spending two or three nights a week in his house, I’d become pretty familiar with it all. I sometimes brought us breakfast if it was a weekend, or left a coffee beside the bed for him if I left for work first, We had very easily slipped into an oddly familiar sense of domesticity. It was strange to never mention any of it to our friends, it made it special though. We helped each other, and it was all just between the two of us. Nobody else knew Harry taught me how to make coffee just the way he likes it, or that we share his lavender shampoo sometimes. 

“Ols?” Harry calls up the stairs to me. We’re running late to Julia and Theos anniversary dinner. 

“Coming!” I yell back, reaching into his wardrobe to snatch a jacket before running down the stares. 

“Oi! Slow down love, you’re gonna fall,” He complains, holding his hands out at the bottom of the stairs to catch me as I skid a little on the wooden floors of his hallway. “Hey! This’s mine!” 

He tugs playfully on the opening of his jacket. I pull the fabric from his grasp and smile up at him. 

“Not anymore…” He scrunches his nose up and pulls me towards him. The sudden movement pushed the air from my lungs suddenly. “-Fine! Just for tonight...nobody’ll notice anyway, you only just got his one.” 

He shakes his head, bringing his fingers up to tickles across my stomach quickly before letting me go and clapping his hands. 

“Shoes now!” He points down at my sock clad feet, “Come on we’re late already.” 

I sling my bag over my shoulder and slip my boots on before trailing after him to the front door. He’s pulled his large green coat off the hangar before he’s looking back down at me, brows pulled together in confusion. 

“What’ve got yeh bag for?” 

“Ah see Harry, I tend not to leave my stuff places I don’t actually live.” I laugh.

“You’re not coming back tonight?” The confusion’s not joined by a hint of sadness as his hands fall from the door knob and he turns to face front on. 

“Oh I..hadn’t thought ‘bout that. I’ve gotta water my plants.” I haven't been home in two days, I spent the whole day at Blondies yesterday then headed to Harry's after a few drinks with him and Nick. We’ve hung out around his house all day, sleeping in and finishing our last few bits of work for the week. “I can let them go a little dry I guess-” 

“Can I come to yours?” Harry cuts me off to ask. “It’s just, I haven’t ever seen it..and that way your plant’ll be fine.” 

I stay quiet for a second. Our world of sleepovers and movie marathons and home made curries for dinner existed within his house. My flat was small in comparisons to the homes of our friends, who were all, delicately put, pretty well off. Not that I wasn’t, I’d just gone into a lower paying area of my industry. I lived alone anyway so there wasn’t much point paying thousands in rent when I didn’t need much space. 

“It’s fine it you want a night to yourself I can just-” 

“It’s not that, H, I just didn't really think about how we only ever come here.” I mumble the last part, “Come back to mine, I don’t feel like going back on my own anyways.” 

I smile a little, unsure of where we stand on the whole admitting we’d grown pretty dependent on each other’s presence, front. He smiles back, twisting the door open and holding it for me as I slip under his arm. 

The car clicks unlocked and I settle into my seat. I reach over to push my seat belt in as Harry pulls his door shut and the car rumbles to a start. 

“Can’t believe Jules and T have been together so long.” He sighs as we pull out onto the main road. 

“Tell me about it,” I gaze out the window as rain dribbles lightly. “Feels like the year just went straight by.”

“They seem so happy still, like they’re still honeymooning,” Harry hums. 

“I remember when they just started going out in Uni, even then it was obvious they’d end up together.” 

“I like those kinds of people. The ones who make each other just completely themselves, ya know?” He glances over at me before turning back to the road. 

“Yeah...they’re proper soulmates aren’t they.” 

. . . . . 

“Okay but seriously, what the fuck is up with you and Harry?” Eleanor bursts out as soon as we reach the bar. We’ve been sent off to get the third round whilst the others stayed at our favourite booth of the pub we frequented. 

“Wait what?” I yell over the loud chatter of the pub, “What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean!” She’s still waving her hand out for the bartender when she glances down at me again. “You’re tryna say you’re suddenly so close and nothing’s happened between you?” 

“We’re not that close.” I quip, “We’ve just talked a bit more lately, I guess.”

“And nothing’s happened?”  She raised a brow at me suspiciously. “You guys have left together every night for the past few weeks, just admit you have feelings for each other.” 

“No, nothing’s happened.” I sigh, unsure if I sound convincing or not. “We just live close and it’s too cold now to get the tube back so late, he’s just being nice. You know Harry...he’s like that with everyone.” 

Eleanor laughs a little, shaking her head. She places our order with the bartender when he makes his way to our side of the bar before turning back to me with her arms crossed. 

“He’s nice to everyone, but he’s not just being nice to you.” She smirks, “And he usually doesn't give just anybody his clothes.” 

She reaches out and rubs the fabric of my - Harrys - jacket between her thumb and forefinger. She looks up and quirks her brows up a little again. Before I can splutter out an explanation our drinks are being laid out on the counter beside us and Eleanor is pointing to the ones for me to carry and turning back to our booth. 

A surge of anxiety washes over me as I follow Eleanor back to the group. My breaths feel unsteady and I can’t help but dart my eyes to get a quick glance at Harry to see if he’s experiencing the same kind of interrogation. He seems fine though, laughing at something Nicks said. 

Soon we’re at the booth, slipping back into our seats and setting the drinks out in front of everyone. Harry’s eyes hover on me for a few seconds, brows raised a little in question. I smile and shake my head - everything’s fine. 

I don’t miss how Eleanor glances between us throughout the whole night. Especially not when a different two get up for the next round and Harry and I are pushed next to each other when they climb back into the available seats. Harry seems a little suspicious too. He clearly hasn’t noticed Eleanor’s strange behaviour - or doesn’t care - because he’s kept gazing down at me every now and then since we came back with drinks hours ago. When I stop looking up at him, nervous Eleanor might question me about his constant and slightly nervous glances when we’re alone, he reaches his hand under the tables and pulls mine into his lap. He squeezes our hands every now and then. He’s always a touchy, cuddly drunk. Normally it’s a bit more obvious; he’ll wrap his arms around one of us on the dance floor or lap his head on a shoulder, nothing too intimate. Just friendly. But now he’s stroking his thumb over my knuckles and tapping out the beat of the current song playing with his foot, his knee bumping mine. 

Julia and Theo are the first to go. Relief settles in me at the idea of not being the first two to leave for once. There’s no way Eleanor wouldn't’ve have noticed me and Harry sneaking the other a glance like we usually do to signal we’re ready to go, without some kind of distraction. 

“It was so lovely guys, feels like we haven’t just sat down and talked in so long!” Julia smiles, leaning into Theos side tiredly as they say their goodbyes. 

“I think I’m gonna head off too, it’s getting pretty late,” I smile, waiting for Harry to speak when Theo pipes up before him. 

“Livs, you want a lift?” Theo looks down at me. 

“Oh Olivia, that’s a good idea, you were just saying how it’s too cold for the tube.” Eleanor beams, smiling cheekily as she knows I’m the only one who’ll understand her subtle teasing. 

“Oh I-” I stutter before Harry’s squeezing my hand again and looks up at Theo. 

“I was actually gonna take her home, we’re only 10 minutes apart so it’s just easier.” He smiles politely, if I couldn’t feel his foot hooking over mine I’d believe he was just being nice and helping out a friend. 

“Yeah but you’re gonna stay a little while aren’t you?” Julia countered, “We’re pretty close, it’s fine really.” 

I nod, motioning to slide out of the booth. Harry lets me by, dropping my hand before anyone else could see. Julia, Theo and I say goodbye quickly and head out to the car park. As soon as we’re all strapped into their car, I pull out my phone and click Harry’s contact. 

Me 

Meet me at mine x

Harry 

Okay - what was that about? 

Me 

I’ll explain when u get here, just something w Eleanor

U might have been right about the jacket :/ 

Theo pulls up outside my flat and I jump out the car, thanking them quickly and waving them off. I climb the stairs of my building and click the keys in my door, pushing it open and kicking my shoes off the second I get in. After a fifteen minute frantic clean, the place is looking slightly better. There’s no time to perfect it as I hear my phone buzzing on the counter, a dorky photo of Harry in one of his infamous sweaters all sprawled out on the sofa and sticking his tongue out at me flashes the screen. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, I’m just outside,” He talks softly, “What number are you?” 

“24, wait a sec and I’ll buzz you up.” 

I tread quickly to the button by my front door and let him up, hearing a quiet thanks over the phone and a “See you in a sec”  before the line goes dead. 

A minute later there’s a quiet knock at my door. I open it and see Harry, he looks a little more tired than when I left him forty minutes ago, he rubs his knuckles under his eyes and sighs softly. 

“Hey, come in.” I pull the door a little wider, stepping aside to let him inside. He walks past me, eyes watching the floor whilst I lock the up behind us and turn to face him. There's an awkward tension in the air that I haven’t experienced with Harry before, maybe a little that first night when I walked in on him in his kitchen, but nothing like this since we’ve gotten closer.  

“What happened?” He asks quietly, lifting his head with an uncertain look on his face.”You barely even looked at me. 

“I..” I stumble over what to say, I’ve been thinking I could just explain what Eleanor had said and have it done with but now I know we’re not going to be able to just leave this. If somebody’s going to find out about our arrangement then something would have to change. “Ellie thinks there’s something going on with us and she kept staring all night. I just, I couldn’t give her anything to be suspicious about.” 

“S’that what you mean about the jacket?” I nod, “What did she say?” 

“Just that we seemed closer, talk more I guess.” I sigh, “She didn’t believe anything I said.” 

“What did you say?” He presses. His tone is unclear, he seems less hurt now and more focussed on getting answers from me. 

“I just, I told her nothing’s happened.” I mumble, “She asked about us leaving together and I told her it was just because we lived close and it’s easier than the tube.” 

Harry bobs his head a little, taking in what I’ve just told him before laughing a little. He shakes his head and brings his palms up to his face, cursing under his breath. We stand in the quiet of my hallway before he speaks up again.

“Can we still do this?” That catches me off guard. Of course I knew we’d have to stop sometime when one of us started dating or a friend found out, I just hadn’t thought seriously about it happening anytime soon. “If she does find out, would that be the worst thing in the world?”

I shake my head, taking a step towards him to close the gap between us that’d been building my nerves throughout this whole exchange. 

“I don’t wanna stop hanging out.” I confess. Harry quirks his lips up a little, obviously relieved as he pulls me to his chest. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and rests his chin on my head as we breathe together for a moment. All the while we’ve been spending nights at his, there’s been no serious moments like this. We’ve opened up about vulnerable subjects and confessed more than we probably should have to each other, but never anything like this. There’d never been a  time I thought I could lose him. 

“What if something did happen.” He whispers into my hair. 

“Like what?” I murmur, voice a little muffled by his jacket. 

“Like..” He trails off a little and I’m pretty sure I hear him inhale a little and smell my hair. “Like what if I kissed you..or something.” 

“Or something?” My chest tightens, stomach fluttering suddenly. 

“Mmhhhmm,” He hums, “What would happen then?” 

“Eleanor would have a field day.” 

Harry laughs, shoulders shaking a little as he giggles above me. He loosens his grip on my and pushes away to create a little space to see me again. 

“Oh yeah?” He teases. 

“Uh huh,” I smile, “She’d never let us forget it if she knew she was right.” 

“And what would she be right about?” Harry lifts his hand to cup my face, tilting it slightly to make sure I’m staring right up at him. 

“..Something..happening.” I whisper, “Having feelings for eachother.” 

Harry grins, cheeks a soft rosy between the outside cold and the new blush. He strokes the pad of his thumb against my cheek and beams down at me. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Uh huh…” 

“Really..she’d be right about that?” 

“I’m pretty sure-” 

Before I can tease anymore, Harry’s leaning down to press his lips against mine. I inhale sharply, closing my eyes and looping my arms around the back of his neck to hold us in place. His hand still holds my face firmly, thumb fluttering over my cheek a couple times before he pulls away and we both breathe in deep. 

“She’s definitely right.” He smiles, tone turning serious for a moment. “I really like you Olivia.” 

Butterflies surge through my stomach for the millionth time since he walked through my door. Blushing and happy, I tighten my arms and push my face back into his shoulder. 

“I like you too H….just a little bit.” 

“We don’t have to tell anyone, just want this to be ours for a little while.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he leans back down to whisper into my ear. 

“I want this to be ours forever.” I hum, words quiet and part of me hoping he doesn't hear my honest confession. 

A comforting quiet settles over us. I remember how tired I really am as I melt further into Harry’s body, breathing in the sweet cinnamon and vanilla scent. His breathing lulls me half to sleep as I let my eyes flutter shut and bury my head further into his neck. I feel him lifting me up as my body relaxes against his and I catch his last few words before I he’s shifting me into his arms and walking us up the stairs. 

“I could hold you ‘n listen to your voice all night long, love.” 

. . . . .    

“Oh my god!” Julia yells out, unravelling a long shawl from pristine white tissue paper. “Okay whoever got me, thank you so much!” 

She continues to squeal a little as he wraps it over her shoulders and presses the end to her nose, inhaling the lavender scent of her favourite designer brand. 

I’d only spent one Christmas with the whole group before but it was clear secret Santa was a bit of a tradition. Between the six of us we all had other friends, family and mostly, relationships. Organising a secret santa within our group just relieved some of the stress of present buying - and it was fun. 

We’re all sitting around Harry’s living room, it felt the homiest  to us after all. The kiddy advent calendar I bought for him hung by the fireplace reading December 21st. We’ve all finished our egg nogs, meaning it was officially present time. Over the next few days we’ll all be driving up and down the country to visit family, meaning today’s the last day most of us will be seeing each other. Harry had whined about me leaving, begging me to stay another day with him or better yet - spend christmas with his family up north. 

It was when I told him my own parents were spending the holidays visiting my sister and her kids in New York that his campaign started. We kissed almost three months ago now and have been on a slew of dates since. Between all the secret dinners out, brunches and farmers market trips, we haven’t found time for the talk. We had no official title. I’ve heard Harry refer to me as “m’girl” a couple times when I’ve wandered into the kitchen and overheard him on the phone to mitch, but nothing he’s told me himself. Despite this, he still insists I have to come and spend christmas with him and his close family. The idea of me hanging out with my young cousins and distant relatives apparently doesn’t satisfy him. 

“Are you serious!” Eleanor gasps as she unwraps her own present. Everyone had picked the perfect gifts for each other this year. In a pure coincidence, I ended up with Harry’s name after Nick made me trade because he’d already bought Julia’s present for her. I’ve been nervous about it all evening, I was sure he’d like it, a little too sure. That was the problem. One night, wrapped up in Harry’s bed, he’d recalled his latest tragedy to me: He’d taken shroom with Mitch on his last trip to LA and subsequently decided to skinny dip in the sea, losing his favourite mustard cords in the process. The only times we’ve seen everyone else has been with the both of us present and , to my knowledge, he hasn’t mentioned this to anyone else. The brown paper package that sat on the coffee table could invite a few more questions that I was prepared to answer. 

“Harry, you’re next!” Ellie grinned, hugging her present to her chest. 

Thanks to our early secrecy, there’s been no opportunity to tell our friends we were dating. Eleanor hasn’t stopped her constant questioning but we’ve kept up a pretty good front of excuses. It was still freezing out so it made sense for us both to climb into his car together at the end of the night. Nobody had to know we would be going home to the same house where we’d climb into the same heavenly bed and scramble eggs together in the morning. 

“I’m going, I’m going!” Harry laughs as Ellie tries to hurry him up, playing perfectly into her role as the youngest in our group. 

He pulls the first fold of paper back with his ringed fingers and immediately looks up at me as the mustard fabric shines up at him. He grins wide, beaming back at me before pulling the rest of the paper back and laying the trousers out in front of him. 

“No babe...where did you find them?” He’s running his fingers down the cord, in awe to have his favorite trousers back - or at least a copy. 

I don’t miss how Eleanor and Nick’s heads turn to share a look of shock as the pet name tumbles out. Before I can put anything together, Harry’s standing and leaning over the coffee table. He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug and whispering his thanks in my ear. 

“Wait I dont - how did you know it was h-” Julia pipes up, before she can finish she’s cut off by the joint gasps of Nick and Ellie as Harry plants a wet kiss to my cheek - then my lips, and laughs at our friends reaction. 

“I knew it!” Ellie yells, pointing frantically between the two of us, Harry now having stepped over the table and come to sit next to me, pulling me into his side.

“What was-” Julia stammers, “Since when!” 

Harry’s eyes flutter down to my face. He giggles quietly when he catches on to my glare. This wasn’t exactly how I’d imagined the evening going. 

“Have you just been lying to my face for the past three months?” Ellie asks, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips. 

“Five,” Harry mumbles, almost just as an inside joke for the both of us to enjoy. I slap my hand against his shoulder to shut him up but the damage is already done. 

“Five months!” Even Theo’s joining in now. “How didn’t we know?” 

“It didn’t start out like this honestly, we would’ve told you.” I try and explain, eager for this to quiet down so we could get to the roast dinner waiting for us in the oven. 

“How did it start?” Nick pokes, drawing Julia and Ellie’s attention as the same puzzled expressions adorn their faces. 

“Unimportant,” Harry brushes off, standing up to tower over us all and reaching a hand back for my own. “We better get dinner, we wouldn't want burnt potatoes.” 

Harry pulls on my arm gently, leading me out the room before anyone can object. 

In the kitchen, he picks up a tea towel and starts to check on the food, prodding at the parsnips. I roll my eyes as he ties his lavender apron around his waist and tentatively pulls the potato tray from the oven. 

“Harry..” I sigh, trying not to laugh as he turn to face me, spatula in hand. 

“Yes dear?”  

“What was that?” 

“Oh - You’ve gotta shimmy a little spatula under the potatoes or they’ll break apart-” 

“No, obviously not that,” He makes it so hard so stay stern, a giggle leaks out as he lifts a hand to rest on his hip. “Why did you do that?” 

“I want them to know.” drops his utensils, tone sincere as he takes another step towards me. “I want our friends to know how much I love you already, and you remember about my mustard cords so..it felt like the perfect time.” 

“What?” I stutter, looking up at him from where he’s pulled me into his chest. His hands rest on my waist, rings a little hold against my exposed skin. 

“You remembered the trousers I lost last month in LA -”

“You love me?” 

His eyes go a little wide, a smile peaking through as the sides of his mouth quirk upwards. Realising what he just said, he lifts a hand from my waist to rest it against my face and lean down a little. 

“Of course I love you.” He whispers, his voice a little croaky and I can see tiny droplets gathering in his eyes that make my heart flutter. 

“Love you too..” I mumble. I wipe a thumb over his cheek before pulling him down into a kiss. I feel his smile against my own, and everything’s perfect for just a second. 

“So you’ll come to Christmas with me?” 

. . . . .

Hiii I hate the ending :)

Tysm for reading !! pls leave a like or reblog (it rlly helps <3) if you enjoyed it x

[triviareads]

This might sound strange but whenever I see head canons of Kate on tumblr, I have to remind myself I actually like the character. She was interesting in canon and while she did have the ‘not like other girls’ energy all the heroines did, fandom takes it to another level. Especially with the debutante bashing to uplift Kate. I mean it’s like she has no flaws. Like good lord do you realise that the Bridgerton girls and Kate lived in a family environment where their families actually encouraged/allowed them to speak out and show their minds. Whereas for most of them would have come from severely restricted families who didn’t really allow them to do much other than sit still and look pretty and be a good wife.

That’s my biggest worry with S2. I don’t want them to girlboss Kate’s character (like fandom) or go along the lines of Eloise character and have her bashing debutantes. Or I swear if Anthony has some line about how she is not like all these other dainty debutantes or how she was the only one who never fell at his feet I will puke 🤮. I mean look at S1! Unlike in the books Anthony was not some revered rake. Everyone from Violet to Daphne to Siena to Genevieve to Simon to Colin were calling him out on his bullshit!!! Sometimes deserved, sometimes not.

It's interesting, isn't it, how fandom can warp how we view characters? I'm not going to judge others' interpretations, because what else are fandoms for?

I laughed at the girlboss bit- I feel like since last year especially, people are starting to realize the pitfalls of the term, since it glorifies non-intersectional, white, corporate fake-feminism that's all about that "hustle". I wonder what the regency equivalent of girlboss would be? If anybody has an idea, lmk.

I think a lot of female characters in Julia Quinn's world recognize that they're being oppressed to some extent (they have less opportunities than men, or they can't screw around like men or something like that), which is why if they do go against the status quo, they proudly think to themselves that they're "not like other girls", instead of feeling sympathy for their fellow women that are regularly described as silly, twittering idiots because they haven't been actualized to that degree or they do not have the power/ability to do as the main females do. Nor do the main females ever really seek to uplift any female outside their very small family/friend circle (who inevitably end up marrying into their family anyway).

Slightly off tangent (but pertaining to your ask), I honestly think they're going to open S2 with a sex montage or an orgy (wait that's Benedict's thing...?) or something just to reinforce Anthony's (suspect) rake status.

[janeyseymour]

Dangerous Desires- pt 6

chapter 1. chapter 2. chapter 3. chapter 4. chapter 5. 

“Tea’s ready love,” Jane smiled lightly as she handed the mug to her girl. “Let’s go get comfortable on the couch, yes?”

The pair made their way into the living room, and the blonde gestured for Kat to take a seat before crossing the room to turn on a light. Kat, who was more than happy to wait for Jane, stood in her place as she watched the woman adjust to the light in the room.

“Oh gosh,” the foster mum mumbled as she blinked a few times in rapid succession. “There we go.” The teen couldn’t help but giggle at the woman’s antics.

Jane sat first, placing her mug on the side table, before Katherine unceremoniously fell into the spot next to her and curled into her warmth.

“Alright love, what else did you want to touch on?” Jane stroked the girl’s hair soothingly.

“Well,” Kat took a sip of her warm drink. “I know you already told me why you didn’t give up on me that first night but...”

After being in the foster system for some time, Katherine Howard had learned that she needed to fend for herself when it came to dining. Few houses had provided her with three meals a day, and even fewer houses had provided her with enough food to leave her full after each meal. Over the years, she had learned to hold onto a plastic tupperware container that was gifted to her by an older girl in one of the first homes she was in- a tupperware container that she would never lose.

So far, this Jane Seymour woman had provided her with more than enough food at dinner, often being told that she was more than welcome to dig into seconds. Above that, the kind woman that had recently taken her in? She had a loaded pantry that the teen was supposedly allowed access to whenever she was feeling a bit peckish. Katherine remembered being shown the pantry for the first time, having feelings of this house being too good to be true.

“And here is the pantry. I’ve got it stocked with some things I thought kids your age might like. Feel free to come and grab a snack whenever you’re feeling hungry. Any time of day or night is fine; just try not to spoil main meals, okay?” the blonde encouraged.

“Wow,” was all Katherine could breathe out. “You don’t like, lock your pantry or anything?”

“The only things that stay locked in this household are the front door at night or when we aren’t home and my wine cabinet, which- no, you will not have access to until you’re eighteen,” Jane laughed a bit. “The pantry has never been locked, and will never be locked. It’s always stocked with more than enough snacks for you to enjoy if you so choose. I promise you dear,” she let the term of endearment slip out, noticing the way that the girl before her had tried her best to conceal her smile upon hearing it. Had others really locked their pantries, not allowing the foster children to eat?

Jane Seymour’s house almost seemed too good to be true. The foster mum would stay true to her word- the cabinets and pantries were never locked. The only things that would lock were Jane’s wine cabinet and the front door when they went to bed. That didn’t stop the teen from preparing for the worst though.

She never quite trusted the “you can get food even when I’m not around” idea that Jane had thrown around like it was nothing. The teen would only get a snack when Jane invited her to- at least in the beginning of her stay.

“I’m back,” Katherine would call into the house as she came back from school, dropping her bag onto a in the living room.

“Hi love!” Jane would poke her head out from the kitchen. “How was school?”

“It was... school,” Kat laughed lightly, still a bit bashful about genuinely being cared for. “I’m glad I’m back though.”

“I am too! It’s so nice to have someone else around the house. Would you like a snack dear?” Kat would shrug at this. “Well, I know I’m feeling a bit hungry. How about we have a snack together?”

“That... would be nice,” the teen would agree. It was still odd being offered food at all, much less snacks.

“Is there anything you're in the mood for?” Jane would hum while stirring whatever concoction she was making for that night’s dinner. “Go on and look in the pantry and pick out what you’d like. I’ll be good for anything.”

The two would find themselves in this situation often.

Katherine Howard had studied the blonde very closely, and she seemingly followed a daily schedule strictly. Wake up at 6, head to work by 6:45 to be there at 7, and return home before Katherine was finished with school. The teen assumed she would shower quickly before preparing dinner to be served at 6, settle onto the couch until around 10:30, and head to bed by 11. 

The teen watched where the woman would step, making note of any particular spots that would creak as she walked through the rooms carelessly. She would make note of where the different furniture was laid so as to not bump into it. 

And so, one night a few weeks into her stay, she found herself doing what she had done in so many of the other foster homes: creeping down the steps in her silent manner to the kitchen where she could safely steal stash away a few things in case she wasn't to be provided with a meal in the future. The girl was fairly certain Jane was in a deep sleep in her room, and so she started on her journey for the night. Opening her tupperware as quietly as possible, she slipped out of her own room and down the stairs, careful to not make a sound. She had made her way into the kitchen before carefully opening the pantry door. Grabbing a few granola bars as well as a small bag of crisps, she shoved them into her container before turning to close the door. 

“Kat?” Jane’s voice, clearly rough with sleep, sounded confused. Quickly, the teen hid the tupperware behind her back.

“Uh,” Katherine couldn’t say anything else. What was she supposed to say? She had just gotten caught stealing food, and on the first attempt. A rookie mistake if you asked the girl. “What are you doing down here? I thought you were asleep.”

“I woke up a bit thirsty and figured a nice cup of tea would help. What are you doing up love? Hungry?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Kat winced at her unconvincing tone. So foolish.

“Well, go on dear. You know you’re more than welcome to anything in the pantry at any time. What were we thinking tonight? Would you also like a cup?”

The kindness that this woman was showing her at one in the morning was enough to make the young one burst into tears.

“Wha-What’s wrong honey?” The blonde didn’t seem angry or annoyed in the slightest at the sudden emotion the girl was showing- just confused.“Are you alright?”

“I- Why are you being so nice to me when you clearly know I’m stealing your food?” Katherine produced the tupperware container filled with food and forcefully held it out for Jane to take. “Here. Just take it. Take your food back, throw me out, but please give me my container back.”

Jane’s eyes went wide as she gently pushed the container still full of food back into the girl’s possession. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Jane sighed. It was clear to the woman that the girl in her custody had some tough times in the system before her if she was resorting to taking food when she thought the blonde was asleep. “No. I...” How was she supposed to go about this?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Katherine cried before clearing her throat and speaking again. This time her voice would be strong. “Just take your food back, and I’ll be out by the time you wake up tomorrow.” It was almost as if the girl had said those words before, for there was no emotion behind it. 

“You don’t have to leave Kat. I don’t want you to leave,” Jane said earnestly.

“Well then, at least take your food back. I’m sorry. I won’t go into the pantry again.”

Jane opened her arms, only to watch the teen before her flinch slightly. “Oh shoot. Honey, I’m sorry. I’m not going to hit you. C-can I hug you?” That was certainly different from the past. Someone was asking permission to touch her? Katherine thought she lost that right years ago. She nodded slightly, making her way to the woman- food container still clutched in her hands.

“I-I’m sorry.” The emotion returned to the girl quickly as she fell into the warm embrace of her foster mother. “I- I’m really, really sorry.” And she meant it. She hadn’t meant most of her apologies to the other foster parents in the past, but it was different with Jane.

“Darling, it’s really okay; I promise you. It’s okay.”

“B-but it’s not. I was about to steal food from you, the kindest person to take me in,” Kat blubbered on.

“Oh honey,” Jane cooed. “Come on. Let’s make some tea and get cozy on the couch, and then I’d like to have a talk with you.” The blonde could feel the girl tense in her hold. “And no, it’s not the “get out of my house” talk, so don’t even think of it as that, yes?” Her tone was gentle, but it left no room for questioning. 

The two had settled on the couch, Katherine refusing to uncurl herself from the kind woman. 

“Alright love,” Jane started softly. “I want to ask you a few questions, and I want you to answer them as truthfully as you can, okay?” She felt Kat nod on her shoulder. “Okay, have there been houses that haven't fed you properly?”

“Uh, a lot. Yeah.”

“Have you taken food from others without them knowing before?”

“Yeah,” she said, guilt evident in her voice.

“When did you start this?” There was no malicious intent behind this question, or at least there wasn't from what Katherine could hear.

“It was the third house I was in. There was a girl who had been there for a while and was basically just waiting to age out of the system- Julia. She gave me the container. She... something happened, and that container is all I have left of her.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss honey,” Jane mumbled to the girl. This girl had gone through more heartache than any child her age should have to.

“It’s-” the teen stopped herself. It wasn’t okay, and she felt as though she didn’t have to say it was to Jane. “-Thank you.”

“Okay, so here’s... here’s what I’m going to say about tonight: we forget it happened.”

“We- we forget it happened?” Katherine was beyond confused. Most would’ve shouted at her until their faces turned purple, and then some. 

“Yes. It never happened. But I do want to say this, and I want you to remember this: I know you’ve been hurt and lied to before in the past about the availability of food. But I promise you- it is never an issue for you to take what you want. It doesn’t have to be in secret, and it can be at any time of day or night. Anything in the pantry is up for grabs, and you should never feel bad about taking food. That being said, I completely understand your hesitation to believe me. So, I want you to take the tupperware container from Julia, and the food in it. Put it in a safe place in your room if you feel like you should- somewhere I won’t find it. And that way, you’re always prepared. I won’t ever stop providing you with meals and snacks as long as you're in my care, but I’m sure it might help you feel better to know you have food if I ever were to stop. Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t be mad if I did that?”

“Of course not Kat. You have your reasons to have your guard up, and I understand that. I’m never going to stop you from preparing for the worst; I’ll just show you it’s never going to happen.”

“T-thank you.” The teen was shocked. In a true act of bravery, she decided to ask her own question. “C-can I ask you a question?”

“I think it’s only fair that if I asked you something, you should be able to in return.”

“H-have you ever stopped feeding a child in your care before?”

“Never, love.” Jane stated determinedly. “No child should ever, ever have to go hungry. And I would never let a child go hungry. I’m so sorry homes have let you down like that.”

“O-okay. Uhm, thank you Jane,” Kat stifled a yawn, almost leaning into the warm woman more.

“Of course honey. Now, I think it’s about time to head on up to bed, yes? We’ve got things to do tomorrow.” Jane’s gaze was still as soft as it was when she entered the kitchen, and even though Katherine knew she had done wrong, she couldn’t help but feel slightly better about the whole situation. 

“Yeah,”Kat untangled herself from Jane’s light hold and stood, forgetting about the container of food she had set on the coffee table. “Goodnight, and thank you again.” She went to walk away when Jane’s soothing voice stopped her.

“Kat, dear?” She turned around to see the blonde holding out the tupperware container. “You seem to be forgetting this.”

“Oh,” Kat let herself crack a smile. “Thank you Jane. Goodnight.”

The girl would head to bed, falling asleep rather quickly and peacefully knowing that she was safe in the house, at least for another day. Jane Seymour on the other hand would sit on the couch to finish her tea, wondering how anyone could treat Katherine in such terrible regard. She may have only known the girl for a few weeks, but she was certain that whatever happened in the past was not the teen’s fault. It was entirely the foster families’. 

“Kat dear?” Jane had knocked on her bedroom door a couple days after the pantry situation happened.

“Yes?” she heard the sweet voice.

“Can I come in? I have something I’d like to give to you.”

“You can come in!” The blonde opened the door slowly and smiled at the sight of Katherine sitting on her bed doing her homework. 

Leaning against the doorframe, she said, “Hun, it’s a Saturday. Why are you doing schoolwork?”

“I just- I want to get good marks.” A lie. Before, Katherine Howard couldn’t have cared less about her grades. But being in the Seymour household had changed her mind- she wanted to do good for Jane.

“Mhmm,” Jane hummed. “Well, I have something for you. It’s not much, but...” she crossed the room and handed a present bag to the girl on her bed.

“Oh, thank you so much.” Kat hesitated to open what was in the bag.

“Well, I appreciate your gratitude, but you haven’t even opened it yet,” Jane giggled. “Go on, you can open it.”

The teen peered inside of the bag, to see two more tupperware containers filled with non-perishable food. She pulled them out to get a better look of what was in it before setting them down.

“Thank you,” she smiled genuinely. “C-can I hug you?”

“Oh you’re welcome dear. And of course; you don’t have to ask.”

“I stand by what I said three years ago Kat,” A present day Jane Seymour smiled down. “No child should ever, ever have to go hungry, and I would never let a child go hungry. Never have, never will. And I also understood where you were coming from. You had reason to not believe me. I wasn’t going to stop you from preparing for the worst- it would’ve only made you more anxious not having food in case. I just knew I had to show you I would never leave you without food. And I do hope I’ve gained your trust on that one.”

“You have. Do you wanna know something crazy?” Kat’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she took another sip of her tea.

“Lay it on me,” Jane laughed lightly, stroking the girl’s hair.

“The food that you gave me that night? It was the first and last time I ever filled those tupperware containers. They’re sitting empty in my room and have been for about two years now.”

“Yeah?” Jane looked surprised.

“Mhmm,” Kat nodded. “I didn't need to fill them again. You never stopped providing, and after a year, I figured I was pretty safe to stop preparing for the worst.”

“That’s wonderful love.” The woman pressed a tender kiss to the girl’s hairline.

The older woman thought they were done going down memory lane and addressing why Jane hadn’t given up on her. The younger girl had different thoughts though as she dove into her next question.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Boogie Shoes (baon)

Summary: Andy Jeff really isn't one to celebrate his birthday, but when you have someone like Stretch for a best friend, what's a guy supposed to do?

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Found Family, Friendship

Notes:  I like to write a short for my birthday as sort of a present for all my readers, but this year there is Stuff going on so I'm posting a couple days early. 😁

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Jeff was concentrating so hard on the spreadsheet in front of him that the knock on his office door made him jump, banging his knee on his desk.

“Come in,” he called, rubbing his wounded leg. The door opened to reveal not Catty with more work, as expected, but Stretch, carrying what Jeff sincerely hoped was an iced mocha latte with his name on it.

“heya, handy andy,” Stretch set the cup down carefully away from the laptop and Jeff took it gratefully. He seriously loved his job, but everyone could use a quick coffee break from time to time. “i came up to pester my shorter half and thought i’d stop and say hi.”

“If you come bearing caffeine, you can visit any day of the week.” Jeff took a sip and couldn’t hold back an appreciative groan. The Beanery knew its coffee, for sure, and they made their own mocha syrup in house. Perfection in a recyclable cup.

Stretch plopped down in the only other chair in the office, propping his untied sneakers on the corner of Jeff’s desk and Jeff let him, payment for the tasty goodness. “so. right to brass tacks…tacts? who the hell came up with that phrase…anyway, a little bird told me your birthday was coming up.”

“A little bird?” Jeff said dryly. He saved his spreadsheet and pushed his laptop aside; this conversation might require actual attention before he got swept away in some kind of crazy scheme. Been there, done that, lost an eyebrow to prove it. “More like the cat who should’ve gotten your tongue.” Catty was a gossip of astonishing breadth and commitment.

“could be,” Stretch grinned, “but hey, birthdays only happen once in a blue moon, didn’t wanna miss the boat, you’re the apple of my eye, don’t wanna be a fair-weather friend—”

“Enough,” Jeff laughed. “Before I run out of here like a bat out of hell. What did you have in mind?”

Stretch dropped his feet back to the floor and sat up so straight Jeff could hear the joints in his spine pop in protest. “as your best bud, i’m pretty sure i’m supposed to throw you a party or something. didn’t want to go the surprise route, ‘cause as fun as that sounds to me, i kinda think you need to feel out that sort of thing before you plan it. don’t have a bladder, but it doesn’t take a crystal ball to figure out that making someone piss their pants in front of friends and family is kinda the opposite of fun.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” Jeff shuddered. “To be honest, I’d rather not have a party at all.”

“oh. okay, if that’s what you want.” Stretch didn’t sound put out, only a little disappointed as he slumped back into the chair. He wouldn’t pry, Jeff knew, but it was okay. A lot of his old hurts stung less these days.

“It’s just…my parents used to throw me a party every year, but they didn’t invite my friends.” What few he had, but that didn’t seem worth mentioning. “They invited theirs and kids from our church who didn’t even like me. I’d spend the whole time being ignored at a party that was supposed to be about me, unless it was to blow out the candles for the photo op.” The memory of sitting miserably alone, waiting for his father to scold him in a low whisper through clenched teeth to stop embarrassing him…Jeff shook it away. He was done letting his dad hurt him, thanks. “After I moved in with Julia, we just had a little cake and dinner together with some presents.”

He could practically see Stretch eagerly latch onto that idea. “we could do that, if you want! edge could make dinner, you and antwan could come over. have some cake, play some games—”

“Play games? I thought you wanted me to have a nice, quiet night,” Jeff teased. Their game nights hadn’t reached the level of the legendary (and fiery) last game of Monopoly before it was permanently banned, but not for lack of trying.

Stretch’s grin was unashamed, but then, he didn’t usually start the gaming fires, he only fanned the flames. “yeah, okay, maybe a movie. how about it?”

“I’d like that.” One of Edge’s delicious dinners, followed by one of his luscious desserts? He could do things with chocolate that would make angels swear and devils weep, Jeff’s mouth was already watering.

Stretch was nodding thoughtfully, probably already plotting at least something unusual and whatever it was, Jeff knew it would make him laugh. He started to climb to his feet and Jeff hastened to stop his escape. He was starting to get the hang of all this, figuring out the steps to Stretch’s internal dance, and he knew the best time to probe for his own info was when Stretch just dug up his own.

“What about for your birthday,” Jeff asked, lightly, “party animal or homeboy?”

Either way, Jeff figured he could rope Edge into helping and they could have some real fun with it, come up with some sort of crazy party theme. Mad scientist was probably off the table, unless they stuck with classroom experiments, but Stretch would think rubber chickens were hilarious, or wearing anything but clothes or even a 70’s disco bash, Jeff had a cute pair of go-go boots that he was dying to wear.

Of all the answers Stretch might give, from actual honesty (unlikely) to some kind of sly pun (far higher on the list), Jeff was not expecting his friend to only shrug his narrow shoulders. “dunno, i’ve never had a birthday party.”

“What? Seriously?” Jeff said, startled. He’d honestly expected that if nothing else, Edge would make sure Stretch got a little celebration, not to mention Blue.

Stretch only rolled to his feet and lived up to his namesake with a joint-popping groan, tall enough that his fingers brushed the ceiling as he stretched. “don’t even know when my birthday is, none of us do. it was always just me and blue until we got here.”

He didn’t seem bothered by it, which, yeah, it wasn’t like he knew any different. But knowing that Stretch never had any kind of parent…sure, his own parents were kind of shit, but he’d at least had Julia. Stretch was the older brother, had anyone ever taken care of him, made sure he had presents and hugs and treats when he needed them, made him feel any kind of special, before Edge stepped up?

Jeff was afraid he knew the answer to that one. No wonder the whole Skeleton family went all out on Gyftmas.

“anyway, i better let you get back to work.” Stretch waggled his fingers in a lazy little wave. “i’ll talk to edge, makes some plans for this weekend, yeah?”

“Sure, sounds great,” Jeff said, but he already had a plan of his own forming and knew just the accomplice to help.

It was how he ended up crouched behind a sofa a few days later with the entire skeleton clan, plus extras, waiting for a door to open and the lights to turn on before jumping out with the rest of them to a loud chorus of, “Surprise!”

Surprise was probably an understatement, Stretch nearly jumped out of his non-existent skin and he dropped the bag of books he was carrying, a quick call from Thomas at ‘Classic Books’ the perfect ruse to get him out of the house for a couple of hours.

Jeff really hoped someone recorded that shriek, it deserved a place of honor on Twitter.

“what the hell?” Stretch didn’t seem happy, only bewildered, looking around the room at the streamers, the balloons, the haphazard pile of presents with the rubber chicken in a white leisure suit standing guard, and the banner that declared, ‘happy birthday!’. There was an entire buffet table full of mouthwatering treats, more than enough for the hungry guests, and eh, maybe the huge disco ball was a bit much, but when you had a theme, you had to run with it.

“It’s a party for you, Papy!” Blue chirped out, like maybe somehow his brother missed the clue. His cheery smile dimmed a little, the party hat on his head almost drooping when Stretch only stood there in confusion with his bag at his feet. Edge started towards him in obvious concern and Jeff held out a hand to stop him. This was his idea, he’d take the heat.

He walked over to Stretch and picked up the bag, heavy books shifting within it. The shiny white leather of his go-go boots reflected the light of the disco ball, but Jeff forced himself not to stare at them. Instead, he pulled off one of the wide gold chains around his neck, the one with a medallion on it that had ‘Let’s Boogie’ engraved in it. He held it out, looking into his friend’s pale eye lights as he admitted, a little nervously, “I figured since I didn’t want my birthday, I’d give it to you.”

The confusion on Stretch’s face faded into something more complicated, harder to interpret, but there was no mistaking the strength of the hug Jeff abruptly found himself pulled into, the books thumping back to the floor.

“thanks.” A single word, maybe a little too soft and thick. Tears pricked Jeff’s eyes as he hugged Stretch back, the best friend he’d never even thought to wish for, much less imagined he’d have. Then he was biting back a laugh as Stretch murmured, “we’re still doing dinner and a movie, you shit.”

“Deal.”

Stretch let go after a minute and his grin was enough to rouse the rest of the guests who were starting murmur apprehensively. He snatched the necklace still dangling from Jeff’s hand and looped it around his neck with a loud, “c’mon, let’s party!”

It was one of the best ideas Jeff thought he’d heard all year.

-finis-

[cinema-tv-etc]

‘Bridgerton’ Isn’t Bad Austen — It’s An Entirely Different Genre

Critics and viewers have dinged the show for being a cliché-ridden period piece or a sloppy historical drama. But it’s neither: It’s Regency romance, and it’s spectacular.

By Claire Fallon

I was deep in a Regency romance binge a few years ago when I pitched a highly self-interested piece to my editor: an investigation into why this didn’t exist onscreen.

This was a creature apart from the Jane Austen adaptations and sedate period pieces I already enjoyed, or sexy but bloody cable costume dramas. A Regency romance is set in a fantasy version of British high society in the early 19th century, and the central action revolves around the courtship between a woman (often a well-bred beauty) and a man (often a rakish peer). They consummate their attraction in improbably acrobatic sexual encounters, and then they live happily ever after.

In the post-2016 election malaise, these novels became my anxiety palliative of choice. They piled up next to my bed and in my e-reader. But sometimes I wanted more, wanted to see the gossamer petticoats and lingering glances and gently unfastened bodices. The piece I pitched never materialized, but the object of my longing did. On Christmas Day 2020, Shondaland’s “Bridgerton” arrived on Netflix.

What ensued was both somewhat exhilarating — getting to see my Regency escapism come to life — and unnerving. My private indulgence, one generally viewed with dismissiveness if not contempt by non-romance readers, had become the target of a full-blown cultural discourse. “Bridgerton” was met with valid and vital critiques, especially over its treatment of consent, but also ones that made me wince: that it was formulaic, predictable, vapid, historically inaccurate, best suited for teens.

Many of the critiques, understandably, seemed rooted in unfamiliarity with the genre’s conventions, or in the expectation that “Bridgerton,” which is based on a series of books by Julia Quinn, would resemble a “Pride and Prejudice” remake. “You don’t get it!” I wanted to shout. “That’s not what this is!” The historical romance has finally gone mainstream — and that means a whole new audience is learning how to read a genre so long relegated to the margins. Sometimes that can be a bumpy ride.

With its bounty of sherbet-hued satin gowns, scandal rags full of malicious gossip, unblinkingly earnest romance, and on-screen lovemaking, “Bridgerton” seems to defy easy categorization for many critics, journalists and viewers — and even Regé-Jean Page, who stars as the smoldering Duke of Hastings.

“It’s a little bit of Jane Austen meets ‘Gossip Girl’ with maybe ‘49 Shades [of Grey’],” he told The Wrap in a December interview. Critics and viewers, at their wits’ ends trying to make sense of this sexy, gossipy, frothy Regency costume drama, also tried to characterize it in terms of beloved on-screen classics: “Pride and Prejudice,” “Downton Abbey,” and, yes, “Gossip Girl.” These comparisons convey some bafflement, an uncertainty about how to categorize a show that isn’t really a realist historical drama, nor an edgy satire, nor a campy soap.

Though it’s true that Austen was the inspiration behind the whole subgenre — the first Regency romance novelist, Georgette Heyer, was emulating Austen’s work — it has evolved into a well-established genre with its own tropes, conventions and standards.

“There’s a way that those kinds of incredibly popular adaptations of Austen will make you, I think, expect that you’re watching a certain kind of thing, and romance novels are not trying to do the same thing at all,” critic Aaron Bady said in a phone conversation. “If you go in watching ‘Bridgerton’ and say, ‘I think I’m watching Jane Austen,’ you’re going to be disappointed. It feels a little Jane Austen-y, but it doesn’t work like a Jane Austen novel.”

Nor is period romance merely a form of realist period fiction. In her review of the show, Patricia Matthew, an associate professor of English at Montclair State University, placed it in a long artistic tradition of Black women depicted in Regency settings. But ultimately, she said in a phone interview, “Nobody’s reading Julia Quinn because they’re looking for disquisitions on historical precedent.”

Bursting though a romance novel may be with carefully researched, period-accurate details about Vauxhall entertainments, Almack’s vouchers or ribboned chemises, these novels really aren’t about the Regency era, or at least not primarily.

“Historical romance does a different kind of work than historical fiction,” Sarah MacLean, a popular historical romance author, told me during a phone call. “The work of the romance novel is not to tell the story of the past. It is to hold a mirror to the present.”

By building a love story between the primary couple, one that is guaranteed to end “happily ever after” or “happy for now,” a romance novel not only provides escapism and the heart-pounding rush of vicarious passion, but a space in which to explore how romantic relationships can and should be, and how women can find fulfillment and happiness. And that means these stories have little to do with how the marriage market of Regency high society actually functioned; they’re about what readers — predominantly women — want to see in their lives today.

“The appeal of the time period for readers is very much about being able to distance readers from certain kinds of social issues and then reframe them as a reflection of society now,” MacLean explained. In the 1970s, novels typically featured brooding alpha males who took what they wanted sexually ― a narrative device, MacLean argued, for the fictional heroines of the time to have plenty of sex without being seen as loose and deserving of punishment. Historical romance novels today often feature heroes and heroines having what seem like rather anachronistically tender exchanges about consent.

Ella Dawson, a sex and culture critic, sees period romance as a way to provide a balm — an experience in which violence and trauma are, if not absent, superseded by a reassurance of ultimate well-being — while also walking readers through more thorny questions.

“Romance as a genre is really interested in consent, in diversity representation, in political issues,” she said. “Romances are so infused with these issues that I [am] really passionate about, and they explore it through this really fun, romantic, swoony, but still very intellectual, thoughtful, accessible lens.”

As odd as it felt to see a straightforward romance adaptation dissected as if it were a failed attempt at matching Jane Austen, it makes sense. Because the genre is generally regarded with such disdain in mainstream culture, it occupies a rather marginalized niche. A non-romance reader is unlikely to have a firm grasp of many things about the genre, outside of well-worn jokes about throbbing members and Fabio’s flowing hair, and though romance is among the bestselling genres in the book industry, it’s rarely adapted for TV or film.

Why has this omission persisted for so long? “I can’t imagine that it isn’t a huge amount [due to] patriarchy, in the sense that for the same reason it gets disdained on the page, it gets disdained on the screen,” said MacLean. To this day, the people deciding which films and shows to finance are almost entirely men. Shonda Rhimes is that rare exception — a woman with creative control over a TV empire, and a fan of the Quinn series.

Practical obstacles to adapting romance also pop up. A novel stuffed with sex scenes and building toward a tidy happy ending may be tricky to adapt for network TV, which needs to keep things a bit cleaner — and keep the narrative drama going indefinitely.

And it’s not just the network TV standards and the tidy endings. The heightened reality and bodice-unclasping of the genre, Matthew said, rely on an intimacy between the reader and the page that’s difficult to translate to the screen.

“I think the plot lines are bananas. I think they’re so extreme that they strain credulity,” she said, laughing. “You have to believe that a sane man, an adult, would say, ‘Oh, I’m just not going to have children so I can spite my father.’ It only works if it’s you with a glass of wine, kind of throwing yourself over to the world of romance.” It’s awkward to sit with someone else, knowing they’re watching the same melodramatic story unfold, partaking in a pleasure that feels somewhat private, if not embarrassing. “We all have these fan worlds that when they’re exposed to other people that aren’t a part of that world we might feel protective of, or feel bashful,” she said.

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/bridgerton-netflix-romance-genre_n_60086fd5c5b6ffcab969dafa?utm_source=pocket-newtab

[goldandbluesmiles]

Joker’s Killer

Chapter 2: A Father’s Rage and it’s aftermath

Summary: In the end, it’s not Batman that kills the Joker. It’s Bruce Wayne.

May 29, 1:19: Bruce Wayne walked into Arkham undetected by any security cameras or guards

May 29, 1:25: Bruce Wayne entered Joker's cell.

May 29, 1:35: A guard realized that the hysterical laughter and gurgling from the clown's cell weren't just for show.

May 29, 1:37: Bruce Wayne was found standing over Joker's body with a steel bar in his hand, Joker's head bashed in.

XXX

Note: This is an A/B/O fic though the only tropes that are focused on are the protective omega parent and bonding.

TW: Non-consensual bonding (It’s an a/b/o fic)

Ao3

Chapter 1

XXX

Joker bit Jason.

Joker bit his boy, his pup.

That monster hurt his son. Again.

Red Rage rose up inside of him.

The monster will never hurt his baby again. The Omega would make sure of it.

His baby would be safe from now on.

The drive took twenty-one minutes and forty-three seconds.

The omega knew how to get around the cameras and guards. Enter from the supply chute, count the seconds between the camera rotations, walk when the guards turn the corner.

The cell was easy enough to get into, he knew the code after all. Make sure the alarms didn't go off. Make sure they click back into place.

The monster greeted him with a smile and a laugh, the pale face twisting in unnatural ways.

The Omega took out the steel bar he had in his sleeve. The joker look at it and laughed mockingly. The omega picked it up and broke the monster's hands first and then his legs. He then moved on to the jaw. The monster was still laughing, the sound coming out in gurgles and gasps.

The monster's head was bashed in next, the blood and bone flying all over the place, the sound of laughing finally started to die down as the door of the cell opened. There were arms holding the Omega back and keeping him down, but he didn't care.

The Red Rage subsided and was replaced with an empty calm.

The monster was gone.

His baby was would be safe now.

XXX

May 29, 1:19: Bruce Wayne walked into Arkham undetected by any security cameras or guards

May 29, 1:25: Bruce Wayne entered Joker's cell.

May 29, 1:35: A guard realized that the hysterical laughter and gurgling from the clown's cell weren't just for show.

May 29, 1:37: Bruce Wayne was found standing over Joker's body with a steel bar in his hand, Joker's head bashed in.

XXX

Detective J. Morales and E. Rosario were the ones to go down and get the report on Bruce Wayne's bloodwork.

"So what's the verdict doc?" asked Julia, "What drove our dear billionaire bonkers?"

"Please, Julia," sighed Estella, older and a little more polite than her younger partner

"What? I'm just saying," said Julia

The ME, Ethan, turned to them with a grim smile.

"There were no drugs," said Ethan, "His hormones spiked first and then stayed that way for a while but then they came down when-"

"And this is where we remind you that not all of us went to med school," said Julia

Ethan smiled, "Right. Uh...it's a little unprecedented. You know the two defences of when omegas take the defence of themselves or their pack?"

"Sure," said Estela, "The first one is where they go 'up' and they go into a rage protecting their pups and sometimes packs, constitutes as temporary insanity,"

"I mean it would make sense," said Julia, "We all know what happened with the Joker and Jason the first time,"

At that, the mood in the room dimmed even more. Jason Todd's disappearance and return might not be the hot topic of the headlines anymore but any person with a half a mind knew that the consequences of it would stay with the family. And with the realization that Joker had hurt Jason again, bitten him, well...who could blame a parent?

"The other one is when they 'retreat' into themselves," said Ethan, "Don't really realize what they're doing and go on autopilot, It's less common but it happens,"

"I've seen it before," said Estella, "Woman got a year's probation and mandatory therapy for running over a guy while driving away from an abusive partner. She was taking the fastest route on autopilot to her mom's house. Poor thing just wanted the baby in the backseat safe,"

"So which one is it here?" asked Julia

"That's where it gets weird," said Ethan, "His hormones are very low now, dangerously low, indicating that he's not all there-"

"So the second one," said Julia

"That's the thing," said Ethan, "We have other indicators that show if someone was recently in a charged state and they're all there,"

"So...?" said Estella

"As we know, the Joker but Jason and Bruce didn't find out until about half-an-hour before he killed the Joker. My assumption is that he got charged, did the deed, once he realized that his pup was 'safe', he retreated into himself,"

"Why?" wondered Julia

"I can't be sure but there are so many things different from the usual cases. For one Jason is an adult but on the other hand, we know what kind of life that kid had so it's pretty understandable that his parent jumped into defence mode. As for the 'retreat', Bruce is a public figure, this might be his mind's way of protecting his pack from the vultures but again that's just speculation,"

"There's no point in assuming things," said Estella, "What do you have to say that we can relay?"

"Officially, this man does not have the capacity to stand trial from a biological standpoint, you should ask a psychologist but I believe they will say the same thing. This man also needs medical care,"

"You said officially," said Julia, "What about unofficially?"

Ethan took a deep breath, "It would be a little early for me to say it and might interfere with the case but this man might need long-term care. Gotham might have to say goodbye to her oldest hero,"

A dark stillness settled in the room. While Gotham's public might speculate, among the police force, the justice system and everybody in between, the identities of Gotham's vigilante family were an open secret.

"May they rest," murmured Julia. She didn't say who, nobody ever said it out loud but the idea, the thought, was there.

May they rest, Gotham's original legend.

XXX

The press conference was held at 10:00 AM the second day after Joker's death.

The day before had been spent by the Wayne siblings, along with Jason's pack, huddled in their nest, barely leaving, eating, sleeping and cuddling under the mountain of blankets. Their pack, the ones less affected, and their friends had taken up their mantles for two nights. Superman had been called in, a few of the arrows, the birds of prey had taken the night and Bluebird had also stayed out, giving Bruce's kids the time they needed. Barbara made sure to coordinate them efficiently. Martha Kent and Diana watched over the family, making sure Alfred spent time with his grandchildren, and not working himself to the bone in the kitchen.

Early on the day of the press conference, Alfred took his second grandchild aside and quietly spoken with him.

"You don't have to do this, my boy," he told Jason, "No one will blame you for waiting to do this or not doing it at all. Someone else can handle it. We could even do a private interview with friends in the profession if you are really intent on telling your story,"

"No," whispered Jason, "They will still speculate. I want this to be done as open as possible and then put a cork in it. This way they can't come up with their own ideas,"

"If you're sure," said Alfred

Jason nodded and Alfred gently hugged him close, wishing with everything inside of him that his own son was here to comfort his child. Instead, he was lying in a hospital bed under guard, waiting for the courts to decide his fate.

The press conference was held in a room on the WE building to be able to keep some control over the event and to keep Jason at ease. The commissioner was also present to carry on the conference once the siblings were done.

Dick was the one who went up first, introducing them as his five siblings, Kate, Selina and Alfred stood behind him.

"We are here today, not to talk about the incident but to give you context as to what lead to the incident happening. We want to clear any misconceptions and make sure the public knows that the Wayne family is handling this situation with the utmost decorum,"

"That said, most of this story will be told by my brother Jason, and it will be a difficult experience. If you could please listen first and keep your questions until the end,"

Dick backed away and gave Jason's shoulder a squeeze as the other man stepped up.

"Good Morning Gotham," said Jason, "As you know, due to previous stories, that I was kept from my family for some time during my teen years and that the fault was with the Joker. That story had been told many times, and I will not repeat it. I would instead like to talk about what happened three weeks ago, the last time Joker escaped,"

"The Joker captured me along with 16 other hostages that were in that store with me when he came in. We do not know if he had found me by chance or if e was looking to trap me somewhere and plays some more. About ten minutes into the situation, he took me to the backroom and-

Jason stuttered there, a lump forming in his throat. Still, he swallowed and continued.

"He-um- he took me to- to the back room and told me he was going to...that he was going to-to bite me."

There was a murmur around the room but died again as Jason continued.

"After giving me the bite, he insisted that I," deep breath, "that I bite him too,"

This time when Jason stopped the silence was deafening, no one had the heart or the presence of mind to say anything.

"A you can imagine, my first reaction was to refuse but he threatened the other hostages and to prove a point, went out and shot one of the women in the leg. He also kept physically assaulting me as he told me what he would do to the rest of the hostages if I refused. I finally agreed to the bite and Batman came around five minutes later. I was able to go home to a private doctor and due to confidentiality was able to keep the bite from my family. On the day of the Joker's death, I was having lunch with my father when he spotted it. One thing led to another, and I ended up telling him where it came from. He got quiet and left me at the table. Not understanding what had happened, I let him go and went back to my place where one of my friends was also keeping me company. I didn't know about Joker's death until I saw the news that evening,"

Jason took a small breath after that.

"And now we are here," said Jason, "Are there any questions? Yes?"

"Why did you not tell your family immediately?"

"As you can imagine I was in shock and felt violated and since they could not do anything about it, I didn't think it necessary to let them know. Next? Yes?"

"Why not follow your father after he left you at lunch? Did you not think his behaviour was a little odd?"

"It is not odd for my father to walk away from a conversation, when upset, to calm down. I really didn't think anything so drastic would happen. I just wanted to get home,"

"Can you comment on anything pertaining to the investigation? About the mental state of the accused?"

Commissioner Gordon could see Jason's composure slipping and stepped up.

"Due to the time available, I think it is time that I took over. I can answer any questions you have on the investigation this far,"

No longer finding any reason to hold back due to the fragile mental state of one of Gotham's prominent omegas, the crowd of reporters burst forth with questions.

Jason didn't pay them any mind. Instead, he let Dick and Alfred lead him out of there as his siblings followed. Through the back of the room, Roy and Kori were waiting and they instantly took him in their arms.

"You okay, Jaybird?" murmured Roy

Jason just pressed his face into his shoulder and whimpered.

"Let's get you home," said Dick, laying a hand on his back

Yes. Home. That sounded nice.

He nodded and they carefully started to move away to the exit.

Behind them, Gordon was still talking to the press, explaining to them what he could. In the coming days, there would be more of these as Gordon gave more to the waiting public but Jason wasn't going to have anything to do with those.

Slowly, his family would help him heal from these scars too. And they would heal from the aftermath of them.

[ofmargos]

chicago’s very own margo rosas has been spotted on madison avenue , with a striking semblance to camila mendes ! you may know them as @margo or hitting the front page of tmz as margo rosas is making her comeback on broadway ! according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re overdramatic , but being passionate might help you . things that would paint a better picture of you would be the sound of stilettos hitting the pavement , the thunderous sound of applause , and having the poise of a well-mannered lady but the mouth of a sailor . ( cis female + she / her )

omg hey y’all it’s ya girl lia back at it again with the broadway b*tch herself , margo ! fun fact : i’ve been writing for margo off n on for THREE years ?? that’s wild . no matter what i do i cannot get rid of this muse akjsdnk but i love her and i hope y’all do too ! under the cut is far too much info on her ( i’m sorry it’s long !! ) pls go ahead and give this post a like if you give me consent to come bug you in the im’s / discord ! <3

*+:｡.｡ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 ｡.｡:+*

–;; 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: Margaret Lucia Rosas – ;; 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬): Margo ( preferred name ), Mars, Mar, Pain in the Ass, Drama Queen – ;; 𝐀𝐠𝐞: Twenty-Three – ;; 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁: 31 October 1997 – ;; 𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜: Scorpio sun, scorpio moon,  leo asc ( yikes ) – ;; 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: Cis Female – ;; 𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Bisexual Biromantic – ;; 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 5ft 2 – ;; 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞: Chicago, IL – ;; 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: Luxurious apartment in Manhattan – ;; 𝐎𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: Singer / Songwriter + Broadway Performer ( Julia Michaels VC ) – ;; 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬: Passionate, creative, dramatic, distrusting, outgoing, ambitious, fun-loving, loyal, daring, sarcastic, stubborn, overconfident, impulsive, hard-working, petty, secretive, short-tempered, vindictive

*+:｡.｡ 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 ｡.｡:+*

*TW: undiagnosed illness, death

grew up as an only child in chicago, illinois. her family was definitely in the middle class but her parents both worked hard to provide their pride and joy with everything she could’ve wanted out of life

and it became apparent early on that what margo wanted was to perform. she was always singing around the house, putting on one-woman shows for her parents, and following along to the choreography of her favorite DCOM on tv. and in order to keep her satisfied, and also out of the house while they were both working, her parents threw her into an abundance of performing arts classes: ballet, tap, and jazz classes + singing lessons + acting workshops-- you name it. it was a very expensive hobby but her parents were willing to put in the extra work hours to fund her passions

she honestly grew up blissfully unaware of the sacrifices her parents were making on her behalf. they just never made her feel like she was inconveniencing them in any way. if she wanted to spend her day turn acting, singing, and dancing then so be it. they supported her emotionally and financially 100%

*ILLNESS TW* but the rose-tinted glasses were ripped from her eyes around the age of fourteen / fifteen. her mom had always had a weak immune system-- the first one to catch a cold or the flu, knocking her on her ass and leaving her bedridden for days at a time. it only got worse as years went on and she avoided doctor appointments out of fear of being charged unnecessary costly fees. she downplayed her compromising situation for as long as she could until she physically couldn’t carry on any more and had to stop going to work

margo and her father urged the stubborn woman to seek medical attention for any sort of relief for months until she finally conceded. soon it became the new norm for her mother to be in and out of hospitals, getting tests done, trying various medications. but nothing helped in the long-term and they were unable to come to a strict diagnosis *ILLNESS TW END*

and she had been right, it was terribly expensive. their funds were short considering the family was down to one income. so margo took on more responsibilities by working part-time jobs as well as going to school. she was sixteen and teaching dance lessons at her childhood studio in exchange for a small amount of pay + free lessons as well as working at a local movie theatre 6 days a week. she cut back on extracurricular lessons to save some money, instead pouring all her creative energy into only school related clubs such as choir, theatre, and so on

honestly, if you knew margo in high school you’d likely not even know about her familial situation. she liked to keep her cards close to her chest and portrayed herself as this larger than life character that no one would believe had experienced any hardships. she distracted from her own worries by playing the role of ‘queen bee’ or more accurately rachael berry from glee ( a cursed character at this point but it’s true unfortunately )

margo had big dreams of making it to broadway one day and had planned to get there by going to college in new york and make a name for herself. but with her mother’s healthy declining the closer margo got to graduation, the more put off she was by the idea of moving away from home. she was willing to put all plans for her future on hold and take care of her mother but her parents wouldn’t let her. being as encouraging as ever, they convinced her that she needed to follow her dreams. she had already given up a majority of her teenage years to help them out when they needed it most. they wouldn’t let her miss out on anything else

so with a heavy heart but on a good scholarship, she left for columbia university without any idea of what to expect. new york was a whole new world for her and she was thrown off by how talented, beautiful, and wealthy her peers were. she had felt like a big fish in a really small pond during her high school days. but for once she was a tiny fish in the big wide ocean

her larger than life persona came back into play-- masking her worries and insecurities with a version of herself that was so confident that she even began to fool herself. she got a bit lost in the fantasy. her true self-slipping away. she almost had this alter ego ??? ( come thru hannah montana moment okay ) wannabe starlet rubbing elbows with the future CEOs and celebrities of the world by day and local pizza parlor waitress by the night, working to make a decent living while also sending money back home when she could

she also had to maintain good grades to keep her scholarship and participate in performances that her department put on in order to rise in the ranks

honestly the only time she got a little peace was when she was hanging out with her few GOOD friends. like the people that actually got to know her past her fake personality. they were also music people so they spent a lot of time together just messing around with instruments and vocals and writing songs in their own little makeshift studio / hangout spot

it started off as just fun and games, but with their help margo created some original songs and released them as an indie artist. she put herself out there on her social media profiles like “hey stream my new single!!!!!!” and people ate it up. after releasing a few tracks and establishing her own following, her music eventually got to the right people and she was given the opportunity to sign to an actual label which was wild ???

and while it was an amazing opportunity, releasing music under the label was also very demanding. when she was releasing music from the comfort of her friend’s studio it was purely a fun creative outlet and done on her own time. it was just... rough. but how could she complain when she was making a name for herself in the music industry + making bank from royalties + getting to meet all these cool famous people and go to parties with them and y’know ... spiral and slack off on other responsibilities

*DEATH TW* it was around her junior year that things started to go from bad to worse. she remembers exactly where she was and what she was doing when she got the call from her dad informing her of her mom’s extended stay in the hospital. things weren’t looking too good. there wasn’t anything they could do for the older lady and honestly she was done fighting. margo flew back home to chicago immediately and stayed at her childhood home for the following weeks until her mother passed. it was absolutely devastating. she stayed in chicago with her dad for months as they worked through their grief together *DEATH TW END*

columbia was pretty understanding of her situation and was willing to be accommodating so she could finish her degree plan, but margo put things off for so long that she eventually just withdrew from the university and was dead set on just living in chicago forever

i’m not gonna lie, margo was down and out for a little while. didn’t talk to anyone really, rarely left the house, stopped making music, and just sorta fell off completely. the only good thing that came out of the year or so that she spent back home was she stepped away from the false reality she created for herself in new york, which helped her realize that she didn’t love the person she was becoming or the things she was doing. she wasn’t even really involved with her one true passion which was theatre / acting

it was with a little boost from her dad ( literally her biggest fan , i love this man okay ) that she started acting like herself again. he told her that her mom wouldn’t want her to give up on everything and neither would he. so with a new found determination ( and a pretty exciting career opportunity ), margo put on her big girl pants and moved her ass back to new york to finally do what she loves to do

and here we are now ! she’s stepping into her break-out role onto broadway as lydia deetz in bettlejuice the musical

she’s only been back in new york for a few months at this point i’d say ??? and i can’t wait to see her come into her own and grow into the margo i know and love ... but also hate because she’s so so dumb :-) <3

*+:｡.｡ 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘  &  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒｡.｡:+*

she has no chill, probably will never have any chill, and i am sorry for that ASJNDLK she’s just overdramatic as hell !!! she’s a theatre kid at heart and i would expect absolutely nothing less from her

generally good-natured though and has good intentions. just simply has piss-poor execution sometimes

down to clown and ready to have a good time all the time all in the name of enjoying life to its fullest while we all have a chance

the only thing she takes seriously is her work life. she’s on her grind okay, it took a lot for her to get to where she is today and she’s not going to just let it slip away that easily. she’s doing everything she can to make not only herself proud but her parents :’-)

still releases her own music under the label but her primarily focus is on her budding broadway career and the label is understanding of that ... mostly because she called an executive meeting ( against her manager’s better judgement ) and was super up front and threatened to walk out if they didn’t see reason ... but at least things worked out well !!!

she mostly writes songs for other people at this point in her career. some big names too ( just like ... google julia michael’s career and apply it to margo okay thank u )

honestly her management teams worst nightmare simply because she does not listen and will do whatever she wants and post whatever she wants and will not apologize for being her authentic self in media

like, she’s just starting to figure out who she is again and they want her to stop and act fake because she’s not being very “family-friendly” or because it doesn’t make her “look good to the public” ??? nah f*ck that !

while she is sociable and fun-loving, she’s also hard to seriously get to know sometimes because of all those years of putting up a front. like sometimes she doesn’t even realize that she’s not being 100% genuine ??? so you could be hanging out with her every single day and still not know her completely and she might not open up and that’s okay, she’s working on it

she is a pretty good friend tho ! super loyal, a true ride or die, will want to fight anyone that you have a problem with, showers you in compliments and gifts, truly 10 / 10

but if she doesn’t like you or if you’ve mistreated her in any way at all she will in fact hold it against you for the rest of her life. just petty as a mf and i hate her for it like sis pls leT SH*T GO !!!!

didn’t grow up rich so now that she’s making bank she’s one of those people that just buys dumb things just because she can ??? the size of her closet is absolutely ridiculous, just overflowing with clothes and accessories, and the amount of random packages that get delivered to her apartment that she doesn’t even remember ordering is even more so ... just ... irresponsible spender

stubborn ?? what is compromising ??? doesn’t know her but will try ( begrudgingly ) if she really likes you

hates being bored. can and will go to excessive lengths to avoid boredom

partygirl margo has not stopped, will not stop, and cannot be stopped much to my own disappointment

self-proclaimed dancing queen. really puts all those years of classical dance training to good use by hopping on top of tables / countertops at parties to shake some ass

surprisingly a responsible adult that can cook and clean and get shit done when she really puts her mind to it ??? this developed over the years that her mom was sick and bedridden and she stepped up to take care of household chores while her dad worked doubles

very family-oriented and talks to her dad all the time. like, calls him daily for really dumb reasons. any time she feels down the first person she wants to talk to is him ( well it’s actually her mom, who was her best friend in the whole world, but since she’s not here anymore they make do as just the two of them )

her ego is LARGE. GRANDE. thinks very highly of herself as a result of being praised too much as a child probably. not to mention she is very very good at what she does, has more talent in her little pinky then i do in my whole body. she’s secretly insecure on the inside but she presents as an overconfident bad bitch

a staple to her character that i wish she would shake is her inability to handle her own feelings in a healthy way ... she just sorta ... shuts down ?? runs away ?? acts like nothing is happening ?? it’s bad. would rather leave than get left and bottle up all her feelings and kick them under the bed then ever open up

has a terrible sleeping pattern and cannot stay on a solid sleep schedule to save her life. undiagnosed insomniac. when her mind just won’t calm down she often goes out to keep her occupied and avoid any overthinking that might occur when she’s in her own company

her life motto is #YOLO and does a lot of stupid sh*t because of it

probably uses tiktok too much both as a consumer and a content creator. vlogs her backstage experiences and also just posts dumb, amusing things

this is so long i’m sorry if you read this whole thing i just have a lot of feelings about her after writing her for so many years AKJSDK i’ll shut up now BYE

i have margo’s wc page HERE but just some ideas are best friends, frenemies, confidants, fellow music people, party friends, pr friends or pr rivals, crushes, on and off again, exes, roommate, childhood friends, family friends, good influence, bad influence, honestly truly anything and everything PLS i love to plot and write w/ all of you ! <3

[the-quiet-winds]

If All Our Life is But a Dream

some soft angst. light angst. baby angst? cowritten with @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts​ a long fucking time ago.

“it’s just a little bump” the doctor tells jane. “unfortunately, we don’t know if there are any side effects.” at her worried glance, he goes on. “there shouldn’t be though.”

“so she’s going to be okay?” jane asks worriedly. the doctor smiles gently.

“the chances are she’ll wake up soon with a headache, asking you when she’s allowed to go home. i wouldn’t worry.” jane nods, soothed somewhat by his words.

the doctor’s phone buzzes. he grins at jane. “that means she’s awake. shall we?”

jane follows him down the corridor and into the hospital ward. katherine is in the bed next to the window, looking curiously at the pulse monitor attached to her finger.

“miss seymour?” the doctor says, and jane smiles automatically; the feeling of happiness she gets when anyone calls katherine a seymour never fades. katherine doesn’t look up. for a second jane panics that katherine’s somehow lost her hearing, but the doctor says a slightly louder “miss?” and katherine finally looks at them.

katherine smiles brightly. “a visitor!” she boisterously. “my name is katherine. what’s yours?”

there’s one moment of blissful ignorance where jane thinks she’s talking to the doctor. then she realises, when she sees the doctor speaking to a nurse in hushed voices and concerned looks, that katherine isn’t looking at the doctor. she’s looking at jane. jane’s eyes widen and she looks at the doctor, then back at katherine. “kat, it’s me, jane,” she says, concerned. katherine blinks, no recognition in her eyes.

“jane?” katherine repeats the name once, twice, testing it for familiarity. “i’m sorry...i don’t remember you.” 

the doctor gently pulls on jane’s elbow. “near total amnesia,” he whispers.

jane’s heart feels like it stops dead. “amnesia?” she repeats slowly. “but- but you said- you said she’d be okay!”

the doctor looks at her gently. “she hit her head at just an angle that it caused some swelling.” he looks grim. “we couldn’t tell until she woke up.”

“kat,” jane says, taking a step towards the girl in the bed. “please tell me- what do you remember?” she hopes beyond all hope that her memories were there, that they perhaps just needed to be prompted.

katherine thinks for a moment. then another moment. about ten seconds of silence passes before she sighs and shrugs.

katherine sighs. “i know my name.” she hesitates, then looks at jane with a naive light in her eyes. “is there a lot more i should know?” she squints at jane, trying to recognize her but nothing but blankness comes up. “do i know you? are we friends?”

jane doesn’t know what to say. she wants to say “i’m your mother, sweetheart”, but the unassuming look in katherine’s eyes makes her stop herself. she couldn’t put that kind of pressure of their familiar relationship on katherine straight away, not when she was so confused. instead, she nods quietly. “yes, we are.”

‘she’ll remember,’ she tries to convince herself in her head. ‘later on she’ll call me mum without even thinking about it.’

“do you know what happened to me?” katherine looks so young, so confused and so lost. “no one ever told me how i got here or where my family is...” she pauses and her eyes widen dramatically. “do i even have a family?”

“you do have a family!” jane can’t stop herself from saying, although she stops herself and changes tack. “you have the five of us women. we... might not be related by blood, but we count each other as family. not to mention boleyn- Anne, i mean, but we tend to call her by her last name, she’s your cousin.” she’s not entirely sure why she mentioned that fact, but katherine’s eyes lights up at the news.

“my cousin!” she repeats, and jane hates that she feels almost resentful that boleyn gets a moment of joy out of katherine when she didn’t. katherine looks back at her, face falling again.

“you didn’t answer my other question though. what happened to me?”

the doctor decides to interrupt. “i think that’s enough for now. we don’t want to overload her.” he gently starts to pull jane away from katherine’s bedside. “you can come back later.” katherine doesn’t look phased. “bye!” she waves

the second they’re out of katherine’s sight jane turns to the doctor. “you can fix this, right?” she asks desperately. “there must be something you can do to help her remember!” 

the doctor looks apologetic. “i’m sorry, there isn’t any one ‘cure‘ for amnesia. some patients find their memories come back slowly over time, some respond to specific memory triggers, and some...” he looks at her almost sadly. “well, some never regain their memories.”

it’s then that parr, boleyn, and cleves burst in. “aragon is parking. we came as soon as we heard. what happened?!”

jane opens her mouth but can’t bring herself to say those words. parr recognises the hopeless look on her face and her eyes widen slightly.

“jane... what happened to her?”

jane swallowed and tried to speak, voice coming out in a croak. “we were crossing the road, and this driver pulled out of nowhere. he tried to stop, he almost did, but he knocked katherine over. the car wasn’t going fast and I- the paramedics told me that everything was going to be okay. she didn’t have any broken bones, but she hit her head when she fell and they said she’d be fine when she woke up.” her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “they said she’d be fine.”

the doctor stepped forwards. “Katherine’s head injury was more severe than we thought. it appears she suffered severe memory loss.”

boleyn looks mortified. “but she remembers us right? she has to. i’m her bloody cousin!” she hums a bit of their songs from the show. then she freezes. “does she know about our...” she eyes the doctor warily. “...other experiences together?”

jane shakes her head. “i don’t think so. she didn’t seem to remember... anything.” tears well in her eyes and she wipes them away hurriedly with the back of her hand

parr places a hand on jane’s shoulder comfortingly. “i’m sure it’ll come back.” she looks at the 

the doctor looks apologetic. “i can’t make any promises. with most cases of amnesia sustained by head injury, memories will start to return, but there is always a chance they won’t. she does have a good chance though; she’s young and healthy, and she seems to have a good support system.” he glances around at the women. “there is just... one thing I should mention. there is a chance that her brain will repress any traumatic memories, even if the rest of her memories return.”

parr and jane look at each other knowingly. cleves swears. boleyn wants to strangle the doctor. they all know one thing: katherine wouldn’t be katherine without all that happened in her past life.

the doctor seems slightly attuned to the fact that half the women in front of him seem to be wishing pain upon him and he quietly excuses himself, telling them that he’d inform them when katherine was ready for visitors again. jane slumps down in one of the plastic chairs attached to the wall and buries her face in her hands. “what are we going to do?” she asks hopelessly to nobody in particular.

parr sits down beside her. “we wait for her to remember herself. and we’re there for her every step of the way. and...well...” parr’s voice drops a little as she nudges jane’s ribs lightly. “she’ll still love you. no matter what.”

“but what if she doesn’t?” jane asks quietly. “you didn’t see her face when she saw me. there wasn’t anything there, no recognition, no kind of feeling at all.” the tears return and jane can’t help herself from sobbing. parr rubs her back comfortingly.

“but she will, jane. at the moment she’s probably still disoriented from the accident, but she loves you so much, and no head injury is going to change that, you hear me?”

jane nods mutely. then, a red headed nurse steps out of katherine’s room. “she requests to see a...boleyn?” she looks at the five women. “does that name ring a bell?”

boleyn stands up, shooting a slightly confused look at jane. “uh, yeah, that’s me,” she says. she looks back at jane again, almost as if asking if it was okay for her to go.

jane closes her eyes for a moment before opening them again. “go, anne. katherine needs you.” her voice holds no trace of maliciousness, just a distinct sadness that lingers in the air as boleyn follows the nurse, shooting one last apologetic look back as she does so.

katherine brightens as the unfamiliar woman enters the room. “i heard you were my cousin!” she exclaims. “i had to meet you.” she sobers slightly. “i thought you might know something about me...” she trails off hopefully, looking shyly at boleyn

“of course,” boleyn shrugs, approaching the bed. “i mean, what do you want to know?”

“is ‘who am I?’ too broad of a question?” katherine asks hesitantly, and boleyn stifles a snort of laughter.

“sorry,” she adds when katherine looks taken aback. “but yeah, it’s a bit broad. i can work with it though.” she thinks for a second. “so, you’re katherine. kat for short, kitty if i want to make fun of you- in a nice way,” she adds hastily. “um, you like singing, you don’t like cleaning up after yourself when you’ve been painting your nails on the kitchen table, and you really want a dog.” she scrunches her nose. “actually, this is kind of hard. do you have questions? that might be easier.”

katherine looks at boleyn with rapt curiosity. then she turns oddly bashful. “that woman who was in here earlier...julia,” katherine says surely, unaware that that was definitely not jane’s name. “who was that? she seemed really upset that i didn’t know who she was.” katherine contemplates for a moment. “i didn’t mean to hurt her. i just...i can’t remember!” katherine suddenly screams in frustration.

boleyn didn’t know what to do. she isn’t used to dealing with other people’s emotions, especially not in situations as difficult as this. she sits down in the chair next to Katherine’s bed and tentatively pats the back of her hand in what she hopes is a comforting way.

“jane... you two are close,” she says quietly. “i mean, she’s never said it but we all know you’re her favourite. so... yeah, she’s a little bit upset you don’t remember her, but that’s not your fault! and she knows it’s not your fault.” boleyn silently prays that katherine will accept her answer, but something tells her that this conversation was going to carry on. she supposes it’s hard, and she doesn’t blame katherine for getting upset about it, but wow is boleyn not the right person to be soothing a highly confused girl with memory loss, and she knows it.

“favorite?” katherine asks with heavy breaths. “how long have we...all of us...known each other? how did we meet?” she pauses again. “how many of us are there?”

boleyn lets out a noise that’s halfway between a hum and a screech as she tries desperately to delay answering. “there’s... six of us, including you,” she finally says, deciding to get the easiest part over with. “and we all sing together. and we’ve known each other for... a long time,” she compromises, deciding to not mention the fact that they had 500 years worth of history with each other on the basis that she might sound completely crazy. “i’ve technically known you since you were born, even though we didn’t meet until a lot later.”

“we sing?!” katherine is suddenly elated. “how cool? are we a band?!” she hangs on boleyn’s every word. “that’s a long time that you’ve known me...i think?” a suddenly thought strikes her. “how old am i?”

“about 19,” boleyn says, before realising her mistake. Katherine frowns, confused.

“‘about’? don’t you know how old I am?”

“it’s... difficult to tell,” boleyn tries her best to explain. “most people think you’re 19.” katherine still looks confused so boleyn attempts to deflect her attention. “and yeah, we’re in a band! we tour and stuff, we’ve got costumes, we’ve got our own signature songs. it’s a lot of fun.”

“I have my own song?” katherine brightens at that. “how does it go?”

boleyn sighs, she should have expected this. “your...character...” she starts hesitantly, “hasn’t had the easiest love life. she sings about all these men who have done her wrong.” katherine looks satisfied and leans back to take in the new information. 

outside, jane is pacing the hallway. “they’ve been in there forever! what could they be talking about?” her insides are a quivering mess, yet she does her best to keep it together but one evil, malicious thought nips at her spine relentlessly: what if katherine doesn’t remember her and wants to be with boleyn more? it’s a horribly selfish and envious thought, but jane can’t help it.

one desperate part of her wants to just walk right in and beg katherine to remember her, but she knows the idea is futile. it doesn’t stop her hand from creeping towards the door handle, the only thing making her pause being the blank look in katherine’s eyes when she’d looked at jane last. she doesn’t know if she could cope with katherine looking at her without a single bit of recognition again, if she could deal with the pain that caused her.

“i’m sure boleyn’s just explaining things,” cleves suggests. “how she got to the hospital, that kind of thing.”

“i don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” parr adds kindly.

she hears muffled voices through the door, something about songs and bands and then something odd. boleyn’s voice, the way it twitches. jane has listened to the others talk enough to know what the strangled consonants meant. she was struggling. jane’s ears then detected katherine’s excited curiosity, asking question after question. “can i ask you one more thing?” she hears kathryn voice ring through the door. she leans closer to listen. her voice quiets slightly, making it difficult to hear. “something about...jane...all very odd...”

jane freezes, before practically pressing her ear to the gap at the edge of the door in an attempt to listen closer. aragon frowns at her, confused.

“what are-“

“sh!” jane shoots her a frantic look. it’s hard to tell what they’re saying in the room, and she strains to listen.

katherine’s voice, muffled and light, bumps it’s way too jane’s ears. “it’s just something...all too friendly...should remember...almost scary...”

jane’s heart almost broke. not only did katherine not remember her, she seemed overwhelmed by jane. perhaps jane had been too overbearing when she’d seen her, maybe she’d scared katherine off and now she wouldn’t want to spend time with her. jane’s breathing quickens and she backs away from the door, blindly feeling for a chair and collapsing onto it.

parr and aragon are instantly at her sides, each one gripping a shoulder. “what is it, jane?” parr asks, but doesn’t get an answer. boleyn exits the room, closing the door softly behind her. “she wants to see you, jane,” boleyn says quietly and unsurely, twisting her hands together

jane looks at her for a moment. “are you sure?” she asks, and boleyn nods. jane stands slowly on unsteady feet and makes her way over to the door. she takes a deep breath, before pushing the door open and entering the room. katherine is sitting up in her bed, waiting for her.

katherine looks uncertain when jane enters the room. “can you close the door please?” she waits for jane to sit down beside the bed. “there’s something i want to talk to you about...is that okay?”

“of course, sweetheart.” the term of endearment slips out without jane realising and she cringes internally. “what i mean to say is that you can talk to me about whatever is on your mind,” she corrected. katherine looks nervous, and jane wants nothing more than to pull her daughter into a hug and tell her everything is going to be okay, but she has to stop herself. she can’t scare katherine off any more than she already has.

katherine’s head whips towards jane at hearing the word, her ears and cheeks flushing bright red. “i have this weird memory... i think you were there.” katherine closes her eyes to focus. “it was dark, really dark, but i heard a voice, soft and kind, definitely a female. she was singing some sort of lullaby...” she opens her eyes and looks at jane inquisitively. “do you remember any of this?”

jane was not expecting this to be the question katherine asked. she stutters slightly in the reply, trying to word it as best she could. “it’s... possible that was me. sometimes-“ she debates revealing the information for a moment before continuing. “sometimes you like me to sing you to sleep after you’ve had a nightmare, or a-“ she cuts herself off before she could mention katherine’s panic attacks; it was too soon to bring them up. “but katherine, it’s very possible it was someone else,” she adds, not wanting to get her hopes up that katherine could be remembering her.

katherine slowly nods. she knows there are things that jane is withholding from her...she just wants to remember. “there was this nickname...something she said to me...i can’t get it out of my head.” she lowers her voice to a murmur to herself. “katie? no that’s not it. kat? longer...” she groans. “it was something! i can’t remember!”

“kitty-kat,” jane breathes, realisation dawning on her. katherine did remember her, even if she didn’t realise it, and jane suddenly has a shred of hope to cling to. katherine’s eyes widen at the nickname.

“that’s it! that’s the name!” realization hits katherine out of nowhere. “it was you in that memory! you wouldn’t have known that otherwise, would you?” challenges katherine, feeling brave suddenly

“I-“ jane starts. “yes, you’re right. it must have been me.” she pauses for a moment, trying to decide how much she should tell Katherine, if anything; she didn’t want to upset her or cause her too much stress. “it’s my nickname for you, and, well, it calms you down when you need calming.” jane knew she was being vague, but it was better not to overload katherine with information. not yet.

“please stop,” katherine groans, harsher than she intends, “stop tip-toeing! you and...boleyn! neither of you would give me straight answers!” some of katherine’s old fire is back. “just TALK to me, please, just tell me who you are. who i am...what we are to each other...” her voice falls off, and she cringes at her sudden outburst

“kat,” jane sighs. “i- i really wish i could tell you, but it’s complicated, and you wouldn’t believe half of what i had to say anyway.”

“try me,” katherine says, quietly but firmly. “please, i just want to know.”

jane pauses for one moment more before nodding. “okay. i’ll tell you. i’m, well, i’m your mum.”

katherine stares at her, eyebrows raising in confusion. “wait, what? but i’m like, twenty, and you’re only, what, thirties?”

“i adopted you,” jane explains. she omits the fact it involved a lot of lying to the government; she couldn’t exactly tell them she was 510 years old, or that her prospective adopted daughter was technically 494. katherine gives a slow nod of understanding.

“so... you’re my mum?” she asks shyly, and her cheeks go slightly pink.

katherine twists the bedsheets in her hands. there’s so much more she wants to ask. “my...mum...” she says quietly, testing the unfamiliar word. “how did we meet?” she asks. then, after a short pause, the question that’s lingered since jane said “adopted” spills out, “why did you adopt me?”

jane closes her eyes. this was exactly what she wanted to avoid; talking about katherine’s past, the trauma, and the bizarre situation they now found themselves in, having a second chance at life. she sighs quietly.

“it just happened naturally. we became close, and i’ve always felt maternal towards you, and so... after a while, i decided to make it official. we didn’t meet until the band came together, but we’ve been linked for a long time.”

“stop,” katherine says, more harshly than she intends. “you’re doing it again. you’re avoiding my questions.”

“i’m sorry,” jane says, and she meant it. “i just don’t know how to tell you everything that happened.” she almost reaches out to take katherine’s hand and squeeze it gently to reassure her, but she stops herself at the last moment.

“why can’t you just tell me?” katherine asks ashamedly. “what could be so bad? are we bank robbers? part of a cult? there has to be something crazy awful for no one to tell me...” she stares at the wall, then squints as a hazy memory folds into focus. a name. “was there someone...named...henry?”

jane had to make a decision. she’s getting nowhere by withholding katherine’s past, and she can see how frustrated it was making katherine.

“you have a right to know,” she says quietly. “but you’re not going to believe me.” she puts her hands in her lap, staring down at them. “henry... was my husband. he was also your husband. and boleyn’s, and everyone else’s in our band, one after the other when he got tired of his old wife.” katherine’s eyes widen alarmingly and she opens her mouth as if to try and say something, but the words don’t come.

“that’s how we all met,” jane continues. “through him.” she pauses. “this is going to sound strange, but do you remember anything that almost feels as if it was a different time, or a different life? long gowns, draughty castles, feasts, someone playing the lute?” she looks at katherine’s face, hoping for any sign of recognition.

katherine shudders. “i remember seeing a large crowd...” she closes her eyes to focus, her hands gripping her head. “they were silent...i was being held roughly and they were taking me toward a stage...there’s a man with a sword waiting for me. someone far away yells ‘off with her head’... then-“ katherine cuts off sharply, eyes flying open as her hands suddenly grasp at her own neck, as if ensuring it was still there. “what happened to me?” she whispers unbelievingly

with a heavy heart jane tells her. she tells her about a tyrant called henry who left a trail of hurt women behind him, about a girl called katherine who was far too young to experience the things she had, about the man called thomas who led to everything collapsing. with every word katherine’s face becomes more and more distraught, tears streaming down her cheeks seemingly without her even realising it, hands clutching at the bedsheets. when jane finishes she looks at katherine sadly. “i’m sorry, kat,” she says softly.

katherine is speechless for a long time. she was 13? she was queen? she was EXECUTED?! “i didn’t think they did executions anymore,” katherine mumbled to herself. “what about you?” she asks. “what did...what happened to you?”

“nothing as dramatic as everyone else,” jane looks down. “i died a few days after having my son. there were complications. natural causes.” she takes a deep breath; it was still hard for her to think about what had happened, about the time she never got to spend with her son.

“i’m sorry jane,” katherine says quietly. something in her eyes change, jane notices, from unfamiliarity to careful consideration. “i think i remember something else...” katherine looks at jane very intently. “it must have been at our house...in the driveway maybe? i was on the ground...i think you were holding me...does that sound familiar?”

“that was recent,” jane nods. “a month or so ago, we had a little falling out. what you’re remembering was when we made up again. you’d had a difficult day and-” she swallows slightly, a lump caught in her throat. “you needed your mum,” she finishes quietly.

more memories begin to flash in katherine’s mind. she hears voices cutting through darkness and sees kind eyes and shining blonde hair. “it’s like there’s something that i’m missing. something huge. i don’t know what it is...something from my...our past...” she pauses “when we met, what did you say to me? do you remember?” katherine asks frantically, hoping that that could be the missing piece.

jane explains that they simply exchanged pleasantries and sang a bit together. katherine groans to herself. “there’s something i’m still missing,” she says very sadly. “i want to remember you!” katherine exclaims hopefully. “i just wish...” she began to sniffle as tears made their way down her cheeks again. “i’m sorry...i’m so sorry...” hesitantly, a word slips from her lips, so quietly that jane barely hears it. “mum”

jane freezes for a moment before a smile graces her face. “kitty-kat,” she breathes softly. “it’s okay, sweetheart. we’ll keep trying to get your memory back, and no matter what happens i’ll be here for you. i’ll still love you, kitty-kat, in this life or any other. and nothing is going to change that.”

katherine sharply intakes a breath, trembling slightly as she slowly exhales. “in this life or any other,” she repeats softly. “in this life or any other...” she says again, louder. “i think... i think i’m starting to remember... aragon... cleves.. parr...”

jane’s eyes widen and she takes katherine’s hand. “that’s right, kat. that’s right. can you remember anything else?”

katherine screws up her face in concentration. “i’m trying... i remember the band... and- my song?” she hums a bar of All You Wanna Do. “that’s my song, isn’t it?”

“yes,” jane nods, unable to stop her smile. “yes, that’s yours.”

katherine looks up at jane happily. “and you’re jane, but i call you ‘mum’.” things keep coming back to her. “your favorite colors are white and pink, because pink is mine, you bake a mean casserole, and you are the best mum anyone could ask for,” she states matter-of-factly. her smile turns even more radiant. “and i’m katherine. katherine how-“ she stops, and jane turns fearful for a moment. “katherine seymour.”

jane can’t help it any more and immediately pulls katherine into a tight hug. “that’s right, sweetheart.” she half-laughs, half-cries. katherine clings to her, grinning uncontrollably.

“i did it, mum, I remembered.” she lets out a happy sigh as jane places a kiss on her forehead.

“i love you, kitty-kat,” jane smiles. “and i’m so proud of you.”

“i couldn’t have done it without you, mum,” katherine sighs. “i couldn’t do anything without you anymore. i love you so much mum.” she draws back to look jane in the eyes. “in this life or any other.”

jane tucks a piece of hair behind katherine’s ear and smiles at her gently. “in this life or any other,” she repeats back. “now, you’ve got some visitors outside who i’m sure would love to hear that your memory is better.”

“oh no...” katherine sighs and laughs at the same time. “can’t wait to see boleyn again, give her a little crap from earlier.” her eyes light up mischievously.

“be nice to her, sweetheart,” jane laughs. “want me to let them in now?”

“one second,” katherine tells her, before pulling jane into one last hug. when she pulls back she gives jane a smile and a nod. “okay, now i’m ready.”

aragon, parr, cleves, and boleyn timidly enter the room, one after another. they each fixate themselves in a different position around the room, all feeling very awkward. “one of a kind, no category,” katherine says smartly

one by one their faces begin to light up.

“you remember?” boleyn asks, taking a step forward. katherine looks at her and frowns.

“i remember everyone else but i still don’t remember you.” she almost makes it to the end of the sentence before bursting out laughing and boleyn stares at her. cleves snorts and hides her laughter behind her hand.

“you bitch!” boleyn says indignantly, but she can’t help joining in the laughter. “you actually had me tricked there for a second.”

“not hard to fool you though,” aragon grins, nudging her with her elbow, and boleyn flips the bird at her. parr places a hand on katherine’s shoulder.

“it’s good to have you back,” parr says with a smile.

“good to be back,” katherine laughs.

boleyn grumbles good-naturedly beneath her breath. “i’ll get you back howard,” she laughs slightly.

“no you won’t,” jane and parr say almost simultaneously. katherine sticks her tongue out at boleyn who makes a childish face back.

“girls, girls,” cleves says, poorly concealing a laugh, “no deaths today, please.”

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13 @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians @thinkaboutitmaybe@hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh@prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy @justqueentwo @brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

13 Queliot recs 4/4

of places where you thought that love would be found by @margosfairyeye

I’m not much for soulmates, but that means that I’m often fond of stories that start off with soulmates and soulmate marks, then do something weird with it.  This is a great example of that subgenre; Quentin has a mark that’s unlike any other (a nice parallel to his canon problem of being a Nothingmancer for so much of his life); Eliot has Margo’s mark.  And yet, and yet, and yet.  Obviously this is one of those rewrite-the-stars stories; it’s not really full of surprises, but it’s lush and sensual and draws you in, laying out the longing and the edge of hopelessness and then the hope in a very visceral, intimate kind of way.  This one really could do almost anything and scrape by on sheer aesthetic quality, but I think what it does is exactly the right call.  It’s not terribly long, and I’d love to see sequels; I think it’s an interesting universe, and I’d like to see their in-universe nontraditional relationship unfold further.

* His name is Eliot, he says, and Quentin doesn’t think he knows a nicer name.  Quentin can’t stop looking at Eliot’s form, his long legs and the fabric wrapping closely against his chest; but more than that he can’t stop looking at his eyes.  Quentin remembers some cheesy quote about the eyes being the window to the soul. He thinks it might be less bullshit that he’d thought. 

Quentin watches Eliot’s eyes look him up and down, and he feels excited, and confused, and slightly nauseous.  He remembers something someone told him, recently, about how the first time they saw their soulmate, it was like being hit simultaneously with the flu and a contact high.  Quentin doesn’t feel dissimilar to that description. 

He tries to look at Eliot’s hands, his arms as they walk, but Eliot doesn’t give him a lot of time for study.  It’s presumptuous to ask someone what their soulmate mark says, most people consider it slightly personal information (with the exception of people like Julia who just give no fucks). But Quentin thinks that if Eliot has a picture, like his, he’ll be able to tell from a quick glance, and he can’t figure out a way to phrase asking that, anyway. 

He can barely contain how excited he feels as they walk, and have snippets of conversation, and his wondering grows into full-on hope.  Eliot opens a door and Quentin finally catches enough of a glimpse. It’s on the wrong side of Eliot’s arm for him to see clearly, but Quentin can definitely see a distinct letter ‘M’.  So not him, then.  *

press your love into my palm by @propinquitous

There are a lot of Mosaic stories in the fandom, many of which share the basic plot of “they have sex in the Mosaic timeline.”  And a lot of them are really good!  I picked this one because it’s a stand-out example for me; it really just picks up from the moment of That Kiss and just keeps going, so what you’re going to get is what you expect.  But I just think it’s so beautifully done, the sweet edges of humor, Quentin’s shivery, hopeful boldness, Eliot being so blown away at how much he’s sold Quentin short in his mind.  I love a story that could seamlessly be canon, and this is exactly that story -- no one can tell me it didn’t happen just like this, because I read it, and I am a believer.  Just a blue-ribbon, five-star, standing-ovation They Have Feelingsy Sex story.

* Eliot pulled him in without hesitation. In some former life he'd been embarrassed of this kind of tenderness, save for maybe with Margo. It was always in him, though, and Quentin had been tugging at its thread for years. He'd almost completely unraveled in the time they'd spent working on the mosaic; every night that Quentin spent curled against him, desperate to quell his fear and frustration, frayed his edges. By the time Quentin kissed him, Eliot felt as threadbare as the clothes he'd arrived in.

Then, after. The second kiss was less chaste, more everything else. Eliot opened his mouth against Quentin's and ran his thumb over his cheek, felt him go slack under his touch. He tested, bit at Quentin's lower lip gently and tugged at the shorter hairs toward his nape. Eliot curled his fingers over Quentin's and he could feel the slight shudder as the arm supporting Quentin buckled and threatened to give out.

"Hey," Eliot said again when he finally pulled away. He didn't sit back and he didn't take his hand from Quentin's face. Instead he breathed in Quentin's heavy exhales and leaned his forehead against his, watching and waiting until Quentin opened his eyes.

"Hey," Quentin finally whispered.

"This conversation is riveting," Eliot said. Quentin smiled then and, Eliot thought, looked almost bashful.

"Well, I mean," he managed to say before he pushed forward again and didn't stop, his mouth firm against Eliot's until he had pushed him back and straddled his lap.

"Should I keep talking?" Quentin asked, running his hands up Eliot's chest. *

Shine Through My Memory by PanBoleyn, @eidetictelekinetic

This is kind of two separate stories in one, covering all of season 4, beginning with the alternate Brian and Nigel identities as they meet and fall in love, vaguely aware that there’s more to their connection than they can make sense of, and dropping into an alternate Monster plotline.  I don’t always like s4 stories, just because -- all the reasons and all -- but this is a really good Quentin, stubborn and fierce and heartbroken, juggling for all he’s worth to keep the layered memories of Brian/Nigel and the Mosaic timeline and the current clusterfuck separate and under control before he snaps under the weight of them.  It’s a little heavy, but there’s one chapter left to go, and I’m really looking forward to the release of the ending.  You really can’t get a more balanced and sturdy combination of dark canon!fic and romantic fix-it -- it’s truly the best of both worlds.

* “Colored chalk on my hands,” Brian murmurs, tasting the vanilla-caramel-white chocolate of his latte but remembering the taste of plums instead. He doesn’t even like plums, which makes the whole thing weirder, because in this not-memory he does. “I don’t understand any of this. Tell me it’s as weird for you, because I -”  A long-fingered hand closes over his own, and Brian looks up into gold-hazel eyes that he knows/doesn’t know and sees - all of it, reflected back. “I don’t get it either,” Nigel says, voice soft. “But I think maybe I’m better at just rolling with the punches than you are, hmm?” “I don’t. Roll with, with anything,” Brian says, and his voice isn’t steady anymore. “I don’t know how, my life is a predictable bore and I like the predictable part if not the bore part. But I think you have to tolerate being bored to keep things predictable so. So I tolerate it.” Tolerates a job he hates because teaching is better than a cubicle at a 9 to 5, and because the paintings and the newly-begun manuscripts that are Brian’s only love won’t pay the bills. “I’ve dated the same woman off and on six times because neither of us care enough to say no the next time one of us is lonely enough to offer, there’s been a man or two in the off points but no one. Nothing like -”

My dreams make no sense, and I feel more in them than I’ve felt in years. It’s not something he can say out loud, though. *

Veins Fit to Bursting by @amagpie

It’s a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fusion!  It’s a REALLY GOOD SMART WONDERFUL Buffy fusion!  Everyone kind of maps onto BtVS characters in a clever way, but it’s by no means a remake -- they remain very much themselves.  BtVS is obviously deep in the DNA of The Magicians, in terms of layering worldbuilding on top of an essential bone structure of coming-of-age, and this story is just an absolute bullseye in terms of understanding that.  Quentin’s general depression encompasses but isn’t limited to his feelings of being the useless sidekick, and Eliot’s transformation from mousy nerd to the undead version of the Champagne King is not only very William/Spike, but it builds this lovely foundation of connection between him and Quentin, neither of whom are living quite the life they once imagined they would.  There’s a very quarterlife-crisis vibe to the whole thing, which is perfectly in harmony with both shows, and a light touch to the voice that suits this slightly lost Quentin perfectly -- honestly, it may be my very favorite version of Quentin’s inner voice.  It’s early days yet in this WIP, but it’s fully earned my confidence in the first few chapters, and I am 100% down for the ride.

* “Okay, so I guess you could maybe say I’m a vampire hunter. But it’s not like it’s my job or anything,” Quentin pushes out in a rush.

A slow smile spreads across Eliot’s face: scary and genuine. There seems to be real interest in his eyes. Eliot settles himself onto a bench, patting the seat next to him. Quentin settles himself on the very far end of the bench to put at least a few feet between them. He’s down for a chat, not to get murdered.

“So it’s an extracurricular?” Eliot prompts. Quentin chuckles with how close to the truth it actually is, looking away. They do have an official college club to make research sessions easier -  the Ancient Sumerian Culture Club . They have a budget and everything - which Quentin submits as treasurer - although it more often gets used for pizza and wooden pegs than flyers. 

“More like a duty. Or well, not exactly my duty.” Quentin furrows his brows. “Do you remember Julia?”

“I think so? Your friend, really tiny…?”

“Yeah, so, um, Julia is the slayer.”

Quentin looks back at Eliot to take in his reaction to the news. Eliot’s eyes widen, his hands tightening for a second on the bench beneath him. Something like pride coils up in Quentin. 

“Huh,” Eliot finally says. *

[amoralto]

MOJO: Paul McCartney – the MOJO interview. (May, 2003)

(Note: Finally, finally finished typing this up after @sweating-cobwebs requested the full interview what seems like ages ago. Quotes from this and the Yoko interview from the same issue - which I’ll probably type up in full later as well - can be found under the #2003 tag.)

-

In troubled times, Paul McCartney and Yoko Ono remained undaunted and have found peace – with themselves and each other. Johnny Black met Macca in London.

by Johnny Black

When Sir Paul McCartney’s dark blue Mercedes drives into Docklands Arena and pulls up at the side of the stage, the 60-year-old man who climbs out looks sprightly, even jaunty. He throws his elegant grey jacket over one shoulder, as he proffers a broad smile to everyone he greets. There’s a ripple effect as he moves away from the vehicle, a small knot of his employees drifting along with him. Press officer, catering manager, sound man, security personnel… and they each have a little something they need him to do if and when he has a moment.

He appears to be taking it all on board, seems to placate them all, and by the time he pauses about 30 feet in front of the stage, the knot has dissolved and they’re all heading back to their appointed posts.

The figure briefly watches his mainly American band as they jam cheerfully around the distinctive chord progression of Walk Don’t Run by The Ventures, then joins them on the stage, immediately changing the mood as he leads them into Shakin’ All Over, the first truly great pre-Beatles British rock track. Given how much we seem to love speculating about McCartney’s motives, it would be easy to interpret this as a statement of intent – the British boss asserting his personality over his yankee staff – but it’s also undeniably a great track to warm-up on, and he seems to relish playing it. Up there on that stage, bashing away in front of an audience of less than 20 onlookers, he seems just as happy as he would be if he were basking in the approval of 20,000.

It’s March 14, 2003, and for the next few days the 12,000-capacity Arena – a far cry from the Liverpudlian sitting rooms where The Beatles first knocked their live sets together – is serving as McCartney’s rehearsal hall in the run up to a major European tour.

McCartney’s personal fortune was recently estimated at £620 million by People magazine. In the last year alone, he raked in £120m, of which £65m came from US tour receipts and album sales. But money, as he once famously pointed out, can’t buy love. And love, in the words of another Beatles’ classic, is all you need. In the enduringly poignant country music standard A Satisfied Mind, written in 1955 by Red Hayes and Jack Rhodes, such sentiments are explored more fully in the lines, “Money can’t buy back your youth when you’re old, or a friend when you’re lonely, or a heart that’s grown cold.”

Looked at in that light, just how wealthy is Paul McCartney? Here’s a man, adored by millions, disliked by millions, whose young life was shattered on October 31, 1956 when his mother, Mary, died of cancer in the Northern Hospital, Liverpool. The following year, he befriended John Lennon, only to re-live his own grief over again when Lennon’s mother, Julia, died in 1958.

With George Harrison and Ringo Starr, he and Lennon formed the most successful band the world has ever seen, then watched helplessly as it was destroyed by drugs and greed, turning their friendship to dust along the way. After years of acrimony, he and Lennon had just begun healing their wounds and rebuilding their friendship when Lennon was stolen away from him again by the bullets from Mark Chapman’s gun.

The other major relationship that had brought stability into McCartney’s life was his lasting marriage to Linda Eastman, but that was also taken from him too soon when she died from cancer in April 1998, aged just 56. And it was cancer again that claimed the life of George Harrison on November 29, 2001.

To what extent can £620m heal the scars left by those assaults on McCartney’s famously cheery – and oft derided – bonhomie? The answer, as any fule kno, is that it can’t. So what is it that keeps those legendary thumbs aloft? It has to be more than just the buzz of playing Shakin’ All Over with a band half your age.

When, after an hour and a half, the first rehearsal is over, MOJO is pulled into Macca’s wake by press officer Geoff Baker. At the end of a walk through bare and stark backstage corridors, we arrive at the inner sanctum, a dressing room converted into something not unlike a Persian boudoir, complete with velvet cushions, exotic drapes, dishes groaning with fresh fruit and the smell of incense perfuming the air.

Sitting opposite him across a low table, there’s very little feeling of being in the presence of greatness. He wears his celebrity comfortably – like a favourite old shirt. He is perfectly polite, knows how to put a stranger at ease with an amusing aside but, above all, the passage of the years has made him even more gentlemanly. In the flesh, his boyish demeanour compensates for the lines and wrinkles that have come with age. Look into his face at close quarters and what you see are his eyes, still twinkling. Somewhere behind that twinkle, however, there’s a mind like a steel trap. You don’t get to where McCartney has got without one.

What would be a typical day in your life, like when you’re not working?

I tend to be the one who gets up to make breakfast. You’d die for my breakfast. It’s my Zen thing. I cut up all these lovely exotic things, normally in this order: I cut up a melon, a papaya, some kiwis, bananas, peach, and I make a fruit plate and it looks a bit like a mandala when I’ve done it – there’s all sorts of reasons why but it just have developed into this. We’ll also have tea, bagels, humous – quite a big, fancy breakfast. Then it’s a walk in the park with the dog, or if I’m in the country it might be a horse ride.

Later in the day, I like going to the pictures. We’ve got a great local cinema… Normally I’ll go with Heather, but I went to see Lord Of The Rings on my own. Loved it, whacking great film.

You can go to the cinema without being hassled?

Yeah. I do everything without being hassled. It’s actually been one of my pleasures. I actually like getting on the Tube, getting on the bus. I’ll do it if I’m walking and I see a bus going my way, I’ll just jump on. I did it in the 60s. George’s dad was a bus driver and he could never believe I’d do that. People can’t believe it. I had a guy in the street the other day, he was really worried that I was out on my own with no security. I said, “Gerraway.” I’ve always done that. I used to sometimes walk to Beatles concerts, and you’d get a screaming mass of girls and I’d say, “Come on, girls, calm down.” I’d do the big brother thing. I’m very comfortable with that. If not a movie, we’ll watch TV or a DVD in the evening – I usually try to see Who Wants To Be A Millionaire and Blind Date.

Most of us watch Millionaire because we’d like to be one, but that can’t be the appeal for you…

I want them to be millionaires. Actually Heather wants us to go on as a couple. It was funny because we met Chris Tarrant (the show’s presenter) the other night and Heather, in her keenness, said, “We should come on the Celebrity Millionaire show,” … which is for charity, so it’s a good thing… she said, “I know all the answers Paul doesn’t know and he knows all the ones I don’t know.” Chris said, “No, you shouldn’t come on. You’d be terrible.” He just completely took the piss, which was hilarious, because you’d expect him to be really keen.

Somewhere in the evening I’ll have a drink, and get to bed maybe about 11. Is that early? And then I’ll go to sleep and snore. Apparently I snore, but not a lot.

A brace of young women arrive bearing a tray laden with Paul’s lunch – chunky raisin scones, toast and a major pot of tea. Immediately he’s on his feet, exchanging pecks on the cheek, addressing them both by name, inquiring after their well-being. He points at the various delights on the tray to indicate that MOJO is welcome to partake.

Your band on this tour is noticeably young and energetic. How did you find them?

My keyboard player Wix has been with me for years, but I was going to make a record (Driving Rain) in America with David Kahne. He rang me about 10 days before the first session and said, “Do you think you might want to play live in the studio?” So I said, “Yeah, maybe.” So he said, “Should I get a couple of musicians in case you do?” I said, “OK, if you like.” I just left it very sort of casual.

So he thought about some people he admired. He’d never worked with Abe (Laboriel Jr, drummer) but he admired his work. He’d worked with Rusty (Anderson, guitarist). So he told me he’d got these people with great attitudes and who were great players and who could sing.

So I came in on the Monday morning, met the guys, and immediately started making the album, basically live. And that was it. Then, when we did the Superbowl, we needed one more guitarist for that so I asked David, “Do you know anybody?” And he said, “Yeah, this guy Brian Ray.” And he seemed to fit in great.

What do you think people expect from you when they come to a show?

I’m trying to keep a balance, proportionate, between Beatles stuff, Wings stuff and solo stuff. I don’t want it to just be a Beatles show, but I don’t mind giving an audience my most popular stuff. If I go to see David Gray, I’d like to hear him do Babylon because I like that song. And I’d be pretty disappointed if Coldplay didn’t do Yellow, you know?

We still have to rehearse to stay fresh, we’re making some changes to the screens and the lights (at these rehearsals), and I am adding a couple of songs to the set, so it’ll be a slightly longer show.

You were always the one in The Beatles who would turn up at a pub and sing songs. You did it during Magical Mystery Tour and you did it in 1968 on the way back from recording Thingumybob with the Black Dyke Mills Band.

I’d been up in Bradford with (Apple press officer) Derek Taylor, and we were just driving back to London, and we all got bored, someone wanted a pee, so we stopped in a little town called Harrold. And I think when we got to the pub it was shut but we got it to open up and we had a drink and there was a piano there so I sat down and played Let It Be.

Is that as much fun for you as playing in Earl’s Court or wherever?

Yeah. It is. It’s just a different kind of fun. I really do like it. If there’s a piano around it would be very difficult for me to just sit and watch it. It seems to me, in my naivety, that it’s something you approach and tinkle, to see if it’s in tune. It’s not a great desire to perform, I don’t think. I think it’s more that I like music, I like piano… but guitar is best.

Your first instrument was a trumpet. Was that something you wanted, or was it foisted on you by a well-meaning parent?

At the time, I think I must have sort of coveted a trumpet. My dad was a trumpet player and I did like it but when I realised I couldn’t sing and play the trumpet at the same time, I asked him and he said he didn’t mind me trading it in for a guitar. I thought he might be a bit insulted, but he didn’t mind.

The head of another aide pops round the door. It seems the BBC has arrived to show Paul a DVD of a commercial he’s done for the Corporation. Then there’s more rehearsal to be done but maybe we can reconvene later. Not for the first time, McCartney is ushered politely out of reach.

Docklands Arena, soon to be ripped down and replaced with more commercially viable properties, is virtually devoid of character. Fortunately, the stage show devised for this tour offers no end of distraction for the senses. As well as serried ranks of lights of very sort known to man, and some ear-splitting pyrotechnics in Live And Let Die, there are over 30 giant video screens forming a semi-circle around one humongous mother-screen which can be raised up and down as required on worryingly noisy pulleys.

“All our fuckin’ technology and it sounds like a building site,” wails the sound man. He’s consoled by a crew member who’s seen it all before – Gerry Stickells, the legendary Hendrix roadie tempted out of retirement for this tour at McCartney’s personal request.

When he returns to the Arena floor after watching the BBC DVD, he notices that the text on the mother-screen – via which audience members can text each other from their mobiles – is smaller than it used to be. He calls over the lighting director and suggest that “maybe… it might be better if… don’t you think?” Moments later, with the text size already increased, Macca is onstage running the band through the entire show – not that they seem to need it. The set runs almost faultlessly, synchronised with the lights and screens to such an extent that even the ‘Na Na Na’ audience participation section of Hey Jude is rehearsed in real time, with Paul exhorting the imaginary throng – “OK, just the ladies now… fantastic… now just the guys…”

He’s on-stage, performing with more energy than at any time since the heyday of The Beatles, for almost three hours in all, but he comes off at the end barely out breath, and we repair once more to the inner sanctum.

It’s interesting that you use the on-stage screens during Lady Madonna as a gallery of feminist icons…

They actually had Madonna among the visuals, but I thought that was too obvious. So they asked what I’d like to replace Madonna with and I said, “The Queen Mother.” This was two weeks before she died, so when we started touring ti looked like we’d put her in as a tribute.

I didn’t notice Yoko Ono either. Are you two still feuding?

I know that’s the public perception of it, but I do not have a bad relationship with her. We’re not enemies, me and Yoko. We send each other Christmas cards and everything. She’s more like a distant relative.

But you are tussling over the credits to the Lennon-McCartney songs…

There’s no tussle at all, but if, on my songs, like Hey Jude or Yesterday, which John openly acknowledged, particularly in the Playboy interview, that he had nothing whatsoever to do with… John actually made a list for the Playboy thing showing which songs were his and which were mine. I would be quite happy if, on one of the songs, it would be allowed, for my name to just come first. But I’m really not fussed. It’s not anywhere near as big an issue as it looks. It gets played up in the press. It’s a hot little story. And it makes me look stupid. “Why the fuck does he want that?” It’s actually just a very little request.

More importantly for me, it’s Trades Descriptions. It’s so complex and I hate to go on about it but, for example, I was reading a book, an anthology of poetry, and one of the poems in it was Blackbird, which is my lyric. And it said by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Now John had nothing to do with those words, especially once they’ve been extracted from the music and put into a poetry book. I think it’s fair enough to put Blackbird in a poetry book by Paul McCartney. Give Peace A Chance… take my name off it. It was a great, great anthem of John’s.

It’s sort of a mild request I made to Yoko and it’s sort of been turned down. If she’d have said yeah, the publishing company could probably have sorted it out.

Do you think it matters more to other people than it does to you?

I don’t think anyone gives a shit.

But Alistair Taylor, who worked for you at NEMS and Apple for many years, told me he was very upset that you would want to change the credits. He says it was agreed at an early meeting that it should be Lennon-McCartney, and you agreed to that…

Well, number one, Alistair was not in the meeting where I agreed it. It’s all very nice these guys having these opinions, but here’s what I say and this is the truth. There was a meeting with me, John and Brian, in Hilly House, above a carpet shop in Albemarle Street. We went in and they said, “We’re going to call it Lennon-McCartney.” I said, “Well, OK, fair enough, but it would be good to have it occasionally McCartney-Lennon, wouldn’t it, just for fairness for me?”

And they said, swear to God, hand on heart, but there was nobody else in the room and they’re both dead, so there’s no way of me proving this, except I believe it, I was there, and nobody else who talks about it was there, and they said, “We can change it as we go along. And we can change it any time we want out of fairness.”

This was why, many years later, when the Anthology came about, I and Linda, who had just been diagnosed with cancer, rang Yoko, and said, “Could we just, on Yesterday, could we just switch that one track?” That was the original request. It was just for that one song. And Linda, God bless her, spent quite a bit of time ringing Yoko and that was the start of it all.

And now, I must just be resigned, because it doesn’t really matter, except from the point of view of this Blackbird credit. There is an unfairness there, I think. But it’s an unfairness I’m willing to live with. I don’t mind, and I do think it has rebounded on me a bit because people want to know, “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” I’ve had letters from people saying, “Paul, you’re doing yourself no favours. I was a big fan of yours but this terrible thing of trying to ruin John’s reputation…” I’m not trying to ruin John’s reputation.

When Yoko was interviewed by MOJO, she said it wasn’t all black during the making of the White Album. There was some lighter moments. Is that how you recall it?

That’s absolutely true, yeah. We’d never have got an album made if it was as black as it was painted. It’s a good album. I remember we presented John and Yoko with an inscribed teapot, and that was a fun time. Unfortunately, because The Beatles were splitting up, the only thing anybody wanted to know about was the split.

It wasn’t all black, even then. We were all pretty friendly, and the times when we weren’t friendly was quite a small proportion of the overall thing. Unfortunately, that’s what gets remembered because it was the most significant proportion because it ended up in a divorce, as it were. In a divorce court, you don’t say, “Oh, she was really great. She’s actually fabulous, and I’m sorry we’re getting a divorce.” That’s what happened to us. Because of the circumstances we had to talk about all the shit.

I think because the Beatles had been by and large a happy, successful thing… four lads getting out of Liverpool, getting out of the working class money trap and doing well… that had all been an up vibe and then with drugs and stuff towards the end of the ’60s it was all taking a bit of a dip. The drugs weren’t working, nobody was giggling anyore, and the word ‘heavy’ came into the vocabulary.

Because all of that was going on it did get nasty. The thing with me having to sue the other guys. I wanted to sue Allen Klein but I couldn’t, so the only way to get out of everything for me and them was for me to sue them, and that was unconscionable, that was something I would never have thought of doing.

It was unfortunate because, in suing the other guys, not only did I get their backs up for a number of years, but the public perception was of me being the guy who sued The Beatles. I held off doing it for months, but it was pointed out to me that the only other option was to go with Klein. So I did it but, luckily, all things must pass, and it did pass. In the end, the others were glad I’d done it. There wouldn’t be Apple now. But it was a very ugly period, and ugly things I had to do to make it work.

You still seem very interested in politics, supporting the campaign to get ride of landmines. But the Wings single, Give Ireland Back To The Irish, was a very direct political statement.

See, I thought we were Irish. So it was a home problem for me… McCartney… Liverpool being the capital of Ireland… it was like a very personal take on it. What if there were Irish soldiers on the streets of Hendon or Speke? Would you like it? That was my take on it.

As evening falls over Docklands, McCartney is whisked off home to dinner with Heather, leaving a promise that if MOJO returns on Monday, a little more interview time will somehow be squeezed into a hectic day. Over the intervening weekend, his Radio 2 commercial, a radically reworked version of Band On The Run, begins airing, along with a short TV film about its making.

When we reconvene at the Arena on Monday morning, the ambience has changed. A troupe of dancers – including a young woman bent on squeezing herself into a tiny Perspex box – is rehearsing backstage; two insurance brokers have arrived to check out the pyrotechnics; the MOJO photography crew, rpomised first access to Macca, is anxious; and there’s an entirely new set to be rehearsed.

As before, Macca opts to take to the stage first. A guitar tech hands him a jumbo acoustic and they lanunch into For No One, followed by Things We Said Today, C-Moon, Honey Don’t… this is the Coliseum set. The band is still unfamiliar with several of the tracks so Macca strums through I’ve Just Seen A Face yelling out the chords as he proceeds. As Geoff Baker strolls past, MOJO inquires whether McCartney will perform Mull of Kintyre when the tour hits Glasgow. “Absoutely not,” says Baker. “We’re frantically seaching for a pipe band at this very moment for an entirely different reason.”

Up on the stage, McCartney says, “OK lads, let’s try Cor Blimey Luv!” and they thunder into Can’t Buy Me Love. Come lunchtime, he is unexpectedly taken off for a meeting in central London, but promises MOJO a swift return.

Two hours later, precisely as predicted, McCartney reappears.

A couple of the post-Beatles songs like Coming Up and Let Me Roll It seems to me to be much more powerful than the originals. Is this how you really intended them to be in the first place?

No. It’s an evolution caused by playing with this band. The parts are already there. What I like about this band is that I don’t really have to tell them. What I’ve done on this whole tour, this band, this new thing, is I’ve let everyone be, let them do their thing, and then if I don’t like it, I’ve reined it in a bit.

Rather than me dictating how to play it, I figure my dictatorial moments have happened – I wrote those songs and I did the original records, so now I don’t feel the band has to stick note-for-note to the original arrangements. It’s also a bit of a louder band than I’ve had before, a bigger sound, so that adds to it.

I know that Rusty is working on his own CD at the moment, but there’s presumably no chance in this band of the other members being allowed to contribute their own songs on the set?

I’ve had to take on the role of boss ever since Wings. It wasn’t like The Beatles any more. Denny Laine, for example, had the reputation of having done Go Now, so you might want to do that, but really the promoters and the audience tended to want to hear my stuff.

At your level of success, you’re effectively the head of a small company. How do you know whether the people are saying that what you do is great because it is great, or just because you’re the boss?

It’s almost impossible, but I think I’ve been at it long enough now to suss… I actually see people telling me, “That’s a great idea!” but I prefer people to speak their minds. So in this kind of team, they’re not just sycophants. They’re more likely to be people who’ll say, “Yeah, that’s a good idea but what if we did this?” And I’ll go, “Wow! Shit! That’s a great idea.”

Do you take to the role of boss easily?

I used to be frightened of it when I was younger because I thought, “We all hate bosses, don’t we?” But I had to get over it because with Apple, we suddenly had this company losing a lot of money we’d earned so I then had to actually tell people what to do – I’m talking about secretaries and staff, The Beatles was still a democratic thing, but we all became bosses then.

That was a strange moment for you, when you had to take over the business side as well as the creative…

We all had to do it, and that had all its famous problems associated with it. After that I had to decide how I would do it in my solo career, which is when I put MPL together. Very small beginnings, one little room in some film production offices, and at that point I really did become the boss. I had a secretary and everything, and then that thing grew, so yeah, I’ve got more and more comfortable with it. I don’t think I’m a very hard boss, but I kick ass when things go wrong.

Do you think your continued success over 40 years – which seems to include a fair number of younger fans – is a bit odd? It’s as if, in the ’60s, Al Jolson or Rudy Vallée had still been pulling in huge crowds.

I think our thing was stuff that goes for all generations. I’m singing things now that I wrote years ago and thinking, “Shit, that’s still appropriate.” Doing Calico Skies, for example, talking about “crazy soldiers, weapons of war”… and look at what’s going on around us right now.

I certainly don’t think it’s any reflection of the state of contemporary music. I think music right now is really great. I’m not an expert, because I’m not a kid buying it, but I always check out people who are said to be good. I’ll see somebody getting a Grammy and I don’t know them, so I’ll check that out.

For instance, I’d heard Eminem on the radio and I thought, “Clever. Good lyrics, good ideas.” So I just went to see 8 Mile and it’s a great little rock ’n’ roll film, like an Elvis film. I enjoyed it and I came out like when I was a kid, that feelgood thing coming out of a movie like you’re walking a bit taller.

What are the eternal verities of a great song?

It’s an indefinable magic chemistry which can come many, many ways. Starting at the top… it’s often a great title. It’s often great words, or great melodies, or great chords or a great sound… but the best ones have got them all.

And there’s always a magic moment. Send In The Clowns, for example, has that line about, “Isn’t it queer… oh, they’re here.” Or in The Drugs Don’t Work. I remember hearing that record, the acoustic coming on, but when he hits that line, it’s like, “Fucking hell, that has to be said.” It hadn’t been said before.

If I had to plump for one single element, it would be melody, because not all songs have got words. I can be moved by a great melody on its own.

Many artists adopt personas. Is that what happened with The Beatles?

We didn’t think that was what we were about. We felt more like a little group of students. It was more an art thing we thought we were doing. We were just (adopts exaggerated Liverpool accent) John, Paul, George and Ringo, you know? I think one of the great things about The Beatles, apart from the fact that we were damn good, was that we were very honest – that could be one of the things that has lasted. Also, we were artists. Our artistic development found a home in people’s hearts and they were able to follow it. Yellow Submarine is a kid’s thing; A Day In The Life is more grown up, so it was an interesting body of work.

It’s also a body of work that has haunted him ever since. Despite multi-platinum hits and a wealth of superlative tracks in his post-Beatles output, Lennon-McCartney remains the standard by which all contemporary songwriters, including him, are judged. John’s untimely death put him on a pedestal, moving him effectively beyond criticism, while McCartney got on with the job of living in the shadow of their unwieldy legacy. It must have been galling, for example, to release his acclaimed solo album Flaming Pie in 1997, while knowing full well that it would never match the sales of, or reap the critical plaudits heaped on The Beatles’ Anthology, a compilation of outtakes, backing tracks and rarities, which had been released two years earlier.

Nor did his renaissance man dabblings in classical composition, poetry and painting do much to revive public interest. But then, on June 11, 2002, Sir Paul McCartney married his ex-model girlfriend Heather Mills, in St Salvator’s Church, Castle Leslie, Glaslough, Ireland. Since then, although things haven’t gone exactly smoothly, it seems as if his life is more firmly back on track.

This is a man who obviously likes to be married, enjoys stability and finds pleasure in domesticity’s little routines, presumably to balance the whirlwind of activity that follows every move he makes outside of his front door. Watching him deliever the line, “Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go” on the stage at Docklands, it suddenly seemed to rank among his most heartfelt.

Following the muted response from critics and public alike to his Driving Rain album of 2001, he makes no attempt to hide the fact that he’s revelling in the acclaim for and success of this tour in America, which has outstripped all expectations. For this 60-year-old knight of the realm to be the biggest-grossing US live act of 2002 – seeing off not just arch-rivals The Rolling Stones but also the young bucks – is clearly a source of immense personal satisfaction.

But who is he really? Bastion of the establishment? Rock idol? Contented hubby? Multi-talented renaissance man? Avant-garde pop genius? All of the aforementioned and more? Or just an old dopehead with a good head for a nice tune?

Over the years, you’ve been busted for marijuana in Scotland, England, Barbados, Japan, Scandinavia… you could probably get in the Guinness Book Of Records for being busted in most countries. Did anybody mention this in the process of making you a Sir?

No, nobody comes and says anything like that. You can be a terrible person and still be a Sir. It must be that way, because they gave it to me. The worst thing about being busted is that you go on computer records. So every time I go to America, they see my name on the database and they know I’ve been busted a lot, but I think they’ve sort of forgiven me. It’s like, “That was his wild youth but he’s all right now.” So they always let me through, but the drug busts, I have had to go and sit with the aliens in Customs, once or twice. It’s a bit embarrasing. That stuff never comes off your records.

What’s the most useful thing about being a Sir?

I can’t think of many useful things about it. George Martin says it gets you a good table in a restaurant, but I get a good table anyway. I ring up and ask for a table for 8.30 and if they say, “Sorry, there’s no tables left,” I will say, “This is Paul McCartney here.” Then you hear a bit of scuffling and suddenly a table becomes free. I don’t actually like doing that, but I will if I’m desperate. But I never say, “This is Sir Paul McCartney.” I never call myself that. I see it as being like a school prize. You don’t really go for it, but get it because of what you are. Like the art prize or the maths prize. It’s nice to get it because it’s an honour, a recognition of what you’ve done, but it doesn’t do you much good. For me, the best thing about getting it was that it was popular. A lot of people said, “Oh yes, he deserved that.” That was important to me.

How about Sir Mick Jagger?

Who cares? I think it’s cool. I don’t think it makes you anything. I think you are ‘it’ already and it’s a prize for being that thing. And Mick is Mick so that’s fine. I can think of people who should get them… like Eric Clapton. He’s a prime candidate. Sir Eric Clapton has a ring to it.

At your level of success, you’re effectively a company. How many people do you employ all told?

Normally, we carry about 140. When you’re in school or college, you’re a scruffy little bastard writing essays all the time, hoping one day that you’ll be a lawyer, a judge, a journalist, rocker, head of a company, your dreams are all there and I’ve actually got my visualisation. I feel very lucjy. I’m really aware that it’s not just me… I’ve had a phenomenal amount of luck.

Heather said, a few months back, that marrying you had brought her a lot of unhappiness. How do you, as a couple, cope with that?

I’d like to help her with it, and I hate to say this, but it’s more how does she deal with it, you know? I think the shock for Heather was that she’d been “Great model who overcomes accident and now she does a lot of work for charity and disabled people.” The minute she married me, it was, “Who does she think she is?” It’s really quite unfair, but she’s a sitting target. I think it did give her a lot of grief. The most grief, the worst thing about it, was that it actually affected the charities she was working for. People actually stopped donating because of what they read in the newspapers, which was largely untrue. They did a lot of silly things. There was a photo of Heather and I at Stella’s fashion show, and it looked like Heather was doing two peace signs with her fingers and some journalist said, “Oh, she’s copying Linda.” And actually, on closer inspection, it was my hands. But who cares? They’re just having a go. I mean, who gives a shit who gives a V sign?

They also claimed she was doing a cookbook when she wasn’t. We get asked to give a recipe to an Amnesty cookbook or a vegetarian society cookbook, so you do that and it comes out as she’s doing a cookbook. It’s changed a bit since the Parky show. A lot of people like that show, and she changed a lot of people’s minds. In fact, we were walking the dog in Regent’s Park this morning and somebody came up and said, “That was really good on the Parky show!” The main point she made that people appreciated was that with this sort of arbitrary press sniping, it doesn’t affect her so much as it affects the charity, and the disabled people who might have got a leg if there’d been the money raised.

Somebody in one of the papers even said she was under investigation for her charity work, and that completely undermines what she’s trying to achieve. It turned out not to be true but, as you know, the apology appears on page 10 where no one sees it three weeks after all the damage has been done. The same thing happened in the early days with Linda but, as Parky said on the show, it comes with the territory – marrying this guy. It’s not so much me, though, it’s just fame. The same thing happens if you marry Tom Cruise, or Michael Douglas. You get a load of shit. You may have married him because you love him, but now you’re a sitting target.

I noticed that George’s death elicited a very different reaction among my friends than John’s did. John’s was horrible because it was sudden and unexpected and he was young. But I think George’s death reminded my entire generation of our own mortality. It’s as if we measure our own lives alongside the lives of artists we loved. Did you get any sense of that?

To me, of course, it was more of a personal thing. Privately, I felt the same way about both of them. I had lost a dear friend who I would never see again. But when John died, because of the shock, during that day I was asked what I felt about John’s death and all I could stumble across was, “It’s a drag.” I couldn’t gather my thoughts. We were just in shock. I was just shouting stuff about the guy who’d shot John.

I was very lucky that my relationship with John had been healed. It had been vicious, but were phoning each other, talking about kids, baking bread, cats, being a husband – all the simple shit that really means a lot to me. That was the consolation before the terrible shock.

With George’s death, because we knew it was happening, I was able to be more considered in my reaction. I was able to go and hold his hand… but the bottom line is that I will see that man no more, and that’s a little bit horrific for me. When you lose someone dear you just wish someone could magic it all back again. And maybe there is some way, who knows, in the great beyond.

After all he’s been through, McCartney seems more at peace with himself than at any time since John’s death. He is keenly aware that, in the public perception, such actions as seeking to change the credits on Lennon-McCartney songs have tarnished his image, but he also knows that one of the greatest tricks of surviving immense fame is learning to recognise that you have an image, realising that your image isn’t you, and stepping away from it in order to get on with real life.

The punchline of that old song, A Satisfied Mind, is that, “It’s so hard to find one rich man in 10 with a satisfied mind.” There’s no telling how long it might last but it would seem that, for the moment, Paul McCartney is that one rich man.

Coming Up

While suffering a near-nervous breakdown during the Fabs’ prolonged disintegration, McCartney quietly worked on an ill-fated side-project that many now agree ranks among his best solo work. Chris Ingham basks in the understated glory of 1970’s McCartney.

Autumn of 1969, Paul McCartney was in a strange place. Feeling redundant following John Lennon’s announcement in an August meeting at Apple that he was leaving The Beatles, McCartney retreated to his farm in Scotland to drink, stay up, lie in and suffer what he would call “almost a nervous breakdown”.

At the same time, in the company of Linda, his bride of six months, step-daughter Heather and brand new baby daughter Mary, he also began to enjoy the ‘glow’ of being in a new family. By the time they returned to his St John’s Wood house for the winter, McCartney was sufficiently energised to do a little work from home. Plugging one microphone directly into a Studer multitrack with no VU monitoring or mixing desk, he overdubbed himself on drums, guitar, bass and keyboards, polishing his DIY recordings at Abbey Road (where he booked in as Billy Martin) and Morgan Studios, Willesden.

The resulting album McCartney – released in April 1970 simultaneously as The Beatles’ split became public knowledge – was almost universally received as a bit of a non-event. Modest, rough-hewn, semi-improvised, it was the unshaven opposite of The Beatles’ pristine work on Abbey Road which had appeared only eight months before.

Yet, over 30 years on, it holds up as a funky home-brew of a record, groovily lo-fi in a way that wouldn’t be fashionable for a couple of decades. The primitive experimentalism and bluesy jams that were for years dismissed as semi-distracted indulgence now sound, well, rather cool. The drumming is rudimentary but deep, the guitar playing bluesy and distinctive (and much admired by Paul Weller for one), the sound is warm and present, “very analogue” as McCartney recognises now.

And as an expression of where he was at – ‘home, family, love’ – it is as vivid as anything he ever did. The informal paeans to his new wife – The Lovely Linda, Oo You – are respectively radiant with natural affection and earthy passion while the majestic Maybe I’m Amazed confirmed that, when he felt like it, his ability to shape inspiration with unmatched pop craft was secure.

Elsewhere, if lovers of McCartney’s straightforward pop are short-changed – the delightful Every Night and Junk notwithstanding – it’s because he just felt like recording other things; the ethereal sound made by wine glasses (Glasses), a dusted-off Silver Beatles instrumental (Hot As Sun), or a rather compelling chant-and-percussion sound painting of an African tribe (Kreen-Akrore). It’s the very wilfulness of McCartney – the organic sound of an artist learning how to express himself in whatever way he pleases – that gives the album a “realness” that somehow appeals more with the passage of time.

As Paul wrote in 1970 to journalist Penny Valentine, who had spoken for many by expressing her disappointment with the record, “even at this moment it is growing on you.” It still is.

Timeless melody

A purveyor of silly songs? No, a compositional genius…

Peter Buck, R.E.M.: Ram is an amazing record. Ram On? That’s like something off Pet Sounds. The Back Seat Of My Car is amazing. Wings’ Wild Life is really cool. It just sounds like he was in the biggest band of all time, he goes, “Hey we just got a drummer, let’s make a record this week, without any songs!” Dear Friend is one of my favourite songs he ever wrote, which is probably about John. I love that song. I actually recorded it with the Minus 5. Needless to say, the stuff he did with The Beatles was pretty decent too. The thing that boggles my mind is that when they broke up, nobody was 30, and George was 26. He was 26?! Jeez.

Brendan Benson: It’s his genuine fascination for music and music theory, him as a composer, explorer and experimenter, especially his post-Beatles work. He’s a great arranger, the way he puts his songs together. Band On The Run is his masterpiece. It works on so many different level: it’s a simple pop record, yet the way he ties in the melodies throughout makes it something more. It’s a work of genius, so huge and epic yet never outstaying its welcome. He tears at the heartstrings with his mix of mellow, dark and pleasing sounds. There’s never anything harsh or abrasive, just super moody songs, full of melancholic nostalgia.

Andy Partridge, XTC: He’s so fab because he’s so ludicrously melodic and he’s not afraid to be soppy. It takes a lot of guts to do that. My favourite song? It’s Getting Better is so fantastically optimistic, with this great convoluted construction, twisting around. And that bass playing –it’s actually just like his singing, piping and flute-like. And Hello/Goodbye, those opening chords reach in like a ray of sunshine. Again, it’s ferociously optimistic. You know you’re going to have a good experience. It’s not this fake seriousness you get now. He’s never had a problem restricting himself to one thing – he can rock out, be avant-garde, do children’s music, pop for the teens… it’s preposterous that he’s seen as the second-best Beatle – I think the whole thing was an equally jewelled tug of love between them. Although I do wonder why you never see McCartney and Angela Lansbury in the same room.

Gladys Knight: For me it was when Paul took control of the group that The Beatles were at their best. He’s so gifted at writing words and I always choose songs for their lyrical content. I must have worn the grooves off Let It Be. I’d get up in the morning playing it, go to bed playing it, cook to it, clean up to it. The title track was just a song that touched my spirit and that’s why I decided to cover it, because it touched my soul.

Tom McRae: The man is a genius for melody. The second side of Abbey Road – particularly Golden Slumbers/Carry That Weight is one of the greatest Beatles’ moments and Paul’s shining moment. It goes from this brilliant beautiful ballad, his voice so lush and romantic, to turning, in a split second, into a raucous rock number; the best of both sides of his art all in the space of one song. It’s so emotive and there’s a challenging simplicity in his melody and lyrics.

Ben Kweller: The first album I ever fell in love with was Let It Be. I was eight and listened to it non-stop. Paul’s lyrics are so focused on the subject matter and the emotion he brings to the songs is so sincere and honest. Those massive piano ballads like The Long And Winding Road just make me swell up inside. His voice is so pure and beautiful and his musicianship is often overlooked. He reinvented bass playing and excelled at the guitar, piano and drums.

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

Welcome to FiveThirtyEight’s weekly politics chat. The transcript below has been lightly edited.

sarahf (Sarah Frostenson, politics editor): Last week, congresswomen Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, Ayanna Pressley and Rashida Tlaib captured headlines for breaking with House Democrats and Nancy Pelosi on an emergency border aid bill that lacked protections for migrant children.

This wasn’t the first time the so-called “Squad” broke ranks. Or the first time their public disagreement with House leadership has led to sniping in the press (Pelosi told New York Times op-ed columnist Maureen Dowd that “All these people have their public whatever and their Twitter world. But they didn’t have any following. They’re four people and that’s how many votes they got.”)

But it’s not just Democratic leadership taking aim. Republicans have tried to paint “the Squad” as part of the “radical left,” and the direction the party is moving in. And on Sunday, President Trump sparked a firestorm — at least among Democrats — when he tweeted that “‘Progressive’ Democrat Congresswomen” should “go back and help fix the totally broken and crime infested places from which they came.”

So what is it about the Squad that has captured the attention of both Republicans and Democrats? Let’s try to tackle this in two parts: 1) What role do we think the Squad has in pushing the Democratic Party in a new direction? 2) And what, if any, do we think will be the electoral repercussions in 2020?

To get us started, what do we make of the news surrounding the Squad and their split from Pelosi and House Democrats on the emergency border aid bill?

julia_azari (Julia Azari, political science professor at Marquette University and FiveThirtyEight contributor): Well, I can start from providing the view from poli sci Twitter, which tends to be a fairly pro-party group of people (and leans Democratic/anti-Trump). So in response to the Twitter fight between the House Democrats’ account and AOC’s chief of staff, there was a lot of talk like “have these fights behind closed doors, don’t have a big, public blowup.”

But I disagree. Party infighting should not be done in a smoke-filled room. That’s just not what people want from politics anymore, and I think when that does happen, it contributes to further institutional distrust and disengagement.

natesilver (Nate Silver, editor in chief): I’d note that AOC has a Trump score of 18 percent, meaning that she’s voted in line with Trump’s position 18 percent of the time. But according to her data, you’d expect her to vote with Trump about… 0 percent of the time based on how liberal her district is.

So she’s actually proving a bit problematic for Pelosi, in the sense that she should be a guaranteed vote, but Pelosi is only getting her ~80 percent of the time. Except none of this has really mattered since Pelosi has room to spare in the House, and a lot of legislation that passes the House has no chance of passing a GOP-led Senate anyway.

sarahf: Is there at least an argument to be made that Pelosi and the Squad should take fewer swipes at each other over their disagreements, as too much of a focus on intraparty fighting can’t be good for the party?

julia_azari: So here’s my galaxy brain take.

natesilver:

julia_azari: It’s good for the Squad for Pelosi, at least, to take swipes at them. After all, part of the anti-establishment brand is to be in tension with, well, the establishment. And it’s possible that leaders like Pelosi know this! What I’m not really sure about is how good the Squad (so much shorter than typing all their names) is for the Democratic Party.

I don’t think they’re a problem, but it’s too early to gauge their party-building potential. And obviously, they make some people nervous. But if the goal is to engage young people, women and people of color, and keep the left flank of the party somewhat happy, they seem like a good bet.

I am really long-winded today. #sorrynotsorry

perry (Perry Bacon Jr., senior writer): It would be smart for the party establishment to think of this as natural tension between the wings of the party.

The problem is I don’t think they actually do, which is one of the reasons why this is all so interesting. (The House leadership’s official Twitter account attacked AOC’s chief of staff over the weekend, with the implication that she should fire him.)

sarahf: To Julia’s point about the Squad’s party-building potential, isn’t there an argument to be made that they don’t even need to have that? Their ethos is that they’re here to do away with the old system. They agitate for change; they don’t need to bridge consensus within the party, unlike say, Pelosi, who has a very different role to play.

And the fact that virtually all of the 2020 Democratic candidates have a position on the Green New Deal is a testament to their effectiveness at pushing the party in new directions, no?

julia_azari: Right. Which maybe Pelosi likes and maybe she doesn’t. Obviously, moving to the left carries risks. But (and this is where I got into it with a bunch of people on Twitter on Sunday), it’s not clear to me that Democratic leaders actually want to go back to the 1990s and early 2000s.

Yes, the party was more “professionalized,” and less split internally, than it is now. It also won two plurality elections and lost to George W. Bush. Not to mention, voter turnout was low.

So one lesson you might learn from the 2008 period onward is that the party does well with fresh faces, even if it also has to win suburban swing districts that might not view AOC and Rashida Tlaib all that favorably.

perry: But the Democratic establishment (I don’t know about Pelosi, personally) seems to think that the prominence of these four women is not a natural, healthy tension, and instead is broadly bad for the party.

And I think their preferred outcome is that the AOC wing basically stays quiet until December 2020 (after the presidential election). That’s where the real tension is.

julia_azari: We’ve (and here, I specifically mean academics and the media) way overemphasized the concept of party unity.

sarahf: I guess I just don’t understand why the Democratic establishment is making this into such a big deal. But I agree with Perry that they definitely would prefer the AOC wing of the party stay quiet, especially when polls like this are leaked. (Axios wouldn’t disclose the group that conducted the poll, so there’s a lot we don’t know about it, and its findings should be treated with skepticism. But it reportedly found that many likely general election voters who are white and have two years or less of college education had a negative opinion of AOC and socialism.)

julia_azari: For the record, that Axios piece is extremely misleading.

sarahf:

It’s just hard for me to believe that these four women really would have that much of an impact on 2020?

natesilver: I kinda come back to Occam’s razor on this. When you have a bunch of new members who want to push the party in a more ideological direction, it usually entails electoral risk. But the benefit, potentially, is that you also shift the party’s platform in that direction.

perry: Yes, but so many party establishment people want to take away any unnecessary election risks–and I think they would argue AOC talking about getting rid of the Department of Homeland Security, for example, is an unnecessary election risk.

natesilver: It’s also probably a very marginal electoral risk in a world where Donald Trump is president and there’s much bigger news all the time.

julia_azari: Part of the problem is that the lessons of 2016 aren’t clear. You could say that 2016 showed that there was a real push to move Democrats to the left. Or you could say that 2016 was about how Democrats lost groups of voters to Republicans (e.g. the diploma divide among white voters). And those forces push the party in different directions.

perry: The party establishment is probably overstating the rise of the AOC wing in terms of affecting the 2020 elections. But their risk assessment, I think, is driving these tensions–leading Pelosi to bash the AOC wing fairly often, for example.

natesilver: But it’s not crazy for the party establishment to be worried about it! Sometimes I think everyone in this discussion is not always clear about what they think will be electorally advantageous versus what they do — or don’t — like policywise.

julia_azari: Most of this in relation to the Squad is marginal, though, no matter how many hot headlines Axios posts with polls that don’t actually say anything about AOC being the face of the party or about swing states.

natesilver: Journalistic malpractice on Axios’s part TBH to publish a poll without even listing who conducted the poll.

We don’t even know who leaked it. We don’t even know if the poll was real. We should be that skeptical when basic facts and details about a poll are missing like that.

sarahf: That’s fair. And I know we’ve talked about this before, but I think part of what we’re seeing play out here, especially with AOC, is there is now a group of politicians that aren’t willing to play by the old rules. And they will use their large social media followings to get their message across, and on their terms.

So maybe party leadership is scared of losing control?

And so we see Pelosi snipe about how they’re only four votes.

Maybe the Freedom Caucus and the headaches it has caused for the Republican Party has so scarred Democratic leadership that they’ll do anything to stop this faction of their party from growing.

But is this kind of fear misplaced? How much is the Squad really moving the party to the left?

natesilver: Clare said this yesterday on the podcast, but the Squad are very effective at getting media attention, and the media is quite happy to play up the “Democrats IN DISARRAY!” storylines. So in that sense it does seem like a mistake for Pelosi et al. to hit back at them.

perry: About a third of the 235 House Democrats (CNN has this number at 82) support starting an impeachment inquiry into Trump.

Ninety-five support the Green New Deal; 118 support Medicare for All. So just in terms of raw numbers, the positions of the AOC wing are much broader than four people.

I think the big shift for Pelosi is that she has never had a vocal, powerful group saying that she is too far to the right. For basically the entire time Pelosi has led the House Democrats, her biggest tension has been with the right flank of the party — some conservative Democrats in the House thought that she was too far to the left.

But now, Pelosi is being attacked from the left in a serious way, for the first time. And I actually think she and Biden are responding in similar ways to these attacks from the left.

My sense is they both see themselves as liberal icons–the man who helped elect the first black president, the woman who pushed through a huge health care reform that extended insurance to millions. And I think this criticism from the younger generation of Democrats makes them mad. Pelosi seems indignant at times, so does Biden.

julia_azari: Biden and Pelosi also managed to establish themselves as liberals when cultural/LGBT issues were on the rise in the party, and you didn’t have to do anything particularly radical to be liberal enough on economics and race.

In 2019, it takes more to be a liberal icon.

natesilver: I mean… I don’t know that the Squad always pick their battles all that well, and in that sense they are pretty Freedom Caucus-like. On the other hand, they have a lot more star power than the Freedom Caucus. There is a lot of political talent there.

And they’re all pretty young. So a lot of my critiques of Bernie Sanders’s campaign, for instance, i.e. that he doesn’t have a good plan to expand his base, definitely doesn’t apply to the Squad when they can unify leftist Democrats with nonwhite Democrats.

sarahf: Something I think we’re all touching on here is the fact that it is four women of color pushing the party to the left and challenging the status quo. And that matters. Each of them have made appeals to their background and how they represent people who historically haven’t had a seat at the table.

And this probably, to put it bluntly, does make certain older vanguards of the party uncomfortable, because they consider themselves to be liberal, and that now they’re forced to reckon with the idea that they’re maybe not as liberal as they think.

perry: I want to come back to something Nate said earlier that I think is essential.

“Sometimes I think everyone in this discussion is not always clear about what they think will be electorally advantageous versus what they do — or don’t — like policywise.”

The AOC wing at times says its ideas, like Medicare for All, are both the right thing to do on policy AND will help Democrats electorally, by either increasing turnout among people who might not otherwise vote or appealing to swing voters. Whereas the establishment wing often says a policy is bad on substance and that it will hurt Democrats’ chances in 2020.

To me, both sides are overconfident in saying that their policy views are the best electoral position, too.

natesilver: I get annoyed by this sort of question for a couple of different reasons. On the one hand, I think it’s generally bullshit to think that a policy that polls as being quite unpopular will magically turn out to be electorally helpful because it motivates the base or whatever.

On the other hand, there’s a lot of bullshit in which more establishment/centrist Democrats will deride a policy for being unpopular, when their real motivation against it is that they don’t like the policy.

perry: I know it’s our job to analyze elections. But I think it’s really hard to figure out exactly how policy ideas and outcomes affect election results. So I find claims people make suggesting “Policy X is unpopular so Candidate Y will lose” to be way too overconfident at times. At the same time, we can make some judgements.

For example, “Medicare for everyone who wants it’ (the basic position of Biden, Pete Buttigieg and other more centrist Democrats) is probably a safer political position than “Medicare for everyone and change the whole system” (the stance of AOC and Sanders). I say that even though Medicare for All might be a better health care policy.

natesilver: “Medicare for everyone who wants it” is indeed quite a bit more popular than “Medicare for all,” and one of the reasons “Medicare for all” polls well is because people assume “Medicare for all” means “Medicare for everyone who wants it.”

julia_azari: So my view on the policy thing is complicated. Nate has the Occam’s razor view that I think makes sense, but here’s another galaxy-brain take. I spend most of my time in Wisconsin, a state with a long anti-establishment political tradition, and around a lot of younger people (my students), so my sense of how popular some anti-establishment and left-leaning policies are is probably inflated. But in general, I think most people are NOT sophisticated on policy specifics, but they are sensitive to scary images and wording. There’s even evidence that policies that sound too left-leaning or disruptive are especially vulnerable to scary images and messaging. So while it might seem like a lot of people are not happy with the status quo, that does not mean major, risky policy change isn’t still intimidating.

perry: That’s well put. Medicare for All is very vulnerable to scare tactics.

sarahf: Especially when abolishing private insurance enters the equation.

natesilver: I don’t know. I sort of agree with Vox’s Matt Yglesias that people are learning the wrong lesson from Trump. He was actually perceived as a relative moderate by voters in 2016.

perry: I understand many voters said that Trump was more moderate than Clinton.

But I just have a hard time with this idea that the candidate who ran calling for a ban on Muslims traveling to the United States and suggested that he would “lock up” his opponent was the moderate candidate.

natesilver: IDK, I think we’ve shifted from a media environment in which a lot of outlets took an (implicitly center or center-left) “view from nowhere” to one in which the media is more outspoken, and the difference between partisan and nonpartisan media is a little blurrier.

And I think that’s shifted the assumptions about whether centrism is electorally advantageous in a direction that claims that, actually, elections are all about turning out your base. But I don’t think there’s actually any evidence that how you win elections has changed.

julia_azari: I don’t think I read Matt’s piece but that’s not gonna stop me from saying I’m not sure I think the discussion around moderate candidates is useful. Even if Trump was thought of as a moderate, he ran in a way that criticized the status quo.

Basically I’ve become one of those Twitter trolls who reads the headline and then makes a critique.

natesilver: Trump also won independents 46-42 though!

sarahf: We can’t downplay just how much Clinton and Trump were disliked in 2016, though. Yes, Trump won, but that might say more about how we think about women in politics more than anything else.

natesilver: What if Clinton had run as more of a centrist, though? Would she have gotten more than 8 percent of the Republican vote? The Democrats had a pretty darn liberal platform.

julia_azari: My suspicion is that it’s a wash, but I may be discounting the impact of Democrats being perceived as too left/liberal.

sarahf: If Clinton had higher favorables, I don’t think it would have mattered how she ran, i.e. centrist or super liberal.

perry: So that gets to the real question. Would Democrats be marginally better off if AOC

and company were a little less prominent till December 2020?

sarahf: Yes, I think that’s the argument Pelosi and leadership are making. I just don’t think it’s particularly salient. But I also haven’t seen the attack ads yet, I suppose.

perry: My own, non-data judgement, is yes, Democrats would be slightly better off if AOC and her allies were less prominent in the run-up to the 2020 election. Why? Because having issues of race and identity (like immigration policy and four very liberal, female people of color) being central to the presidential election is hard for Democrats. They have become the party of people of color but most voters are white and this is especially true in key swing states (in particular, Michigan and Wisconsin). Also, Trump is likely to run a 2020 campaign about race and identity that raises the question of who should represent America–forcing voters to take sides.

Pelosi, I assume, does not want the 2020 election to be seen by the public as a battle between AOC’s vision of America (even if Biden is the Democratic nominee) and Trump’s vision of America. And I think she is right to be concerned about that. This is not a new challenge for Democrats. Hillary Clinton was probably not helped by the rise of Black Lives Matter preceding the 2016 election, and backlash to the civil rights movement arguably helped Richard Nixon win the 1972 election.

natesilver: I guess the counterargument, which folks were sorta alluding to above, is that Pelosi can push back against the Squad to show that actually she’s the “reasonable,” moderate one. I’m not sure I buy that counterargument, but it’s an argument.

julia_azari: YES, THE GALAXY BRAIN TAKE.

My read on this is that this stuff is always bubbling under the surface, also. Like you can’t indefinitely ignore race issues because they’re tricky politically.

natesilver: Democrats derive certain benefits from having a more diverse coalition, one of which is that the coalition is simply broader — more people identify as Democrats in this country than Republicans. It also entails certain costs, including tension among different parts of your constituency that can have racial undertones (or even overtones).

The hard part for Democrats right now is that nonwhite voters are significantly disempowered by the Electoral College, and especially by the Senate.

[luciancityguard]

@littlexsisterxulric

it hadn’t been a home in a long time, not since before the bottom had fallen out of her little world. shattered windows, dirt and debris that had been blown in through the broken glass and busted down doors - beneath the detritus of the eternal night, there were still tidbits of what had been before.

stooping down, selena brushed some dried leaves to the side, shards of glass tinkling together when she tugged on the corner of stained photograph; smiling for the camera, her head had barely reached her big brother’s shoulder, their mama with a hand on each of their shoulders, grandpa to one side with their dad towering over their mom — thumb brushing over the worn picture, selena marveled at just how alike nyx and their dad looked, especially when she faced with a picture of him in his younger years.

back before he’d spent most of his time on the mainland. looking up from where she was crouched on the dirty floor, selena handed the picture over to petra when he gave her a weird look,

’ looks like one i can salvage — think i might collect what can be saved and put them together, kinda like a surprise for mom, what d'you think? ’

He didn’t know what he’d expected after all these years. Every time someone mentioned the islands in the city, it had conjured up images of some backwater place with barely any infrastructure. The truth wasn’t far off it.

No one had lived here since the darkness had come, when Ostium had gathered what stubborn people still eked a living on the islands and brought them to the mainland. But there was still the proof of life in the abandoned Galahd.

Houses stood empty and lonely, doors either bashed in by daemons or blown down by the weather of ten years. But there were still houses. Still the slight tracks in the ground that indicated where the dirt tracks had been in the fields and the hint of stone cobbles for the main street of the little town. It had never been a grand town, but the echoes of the small village were still there.

Walking up the long-overgrown garden path, Petra picked up a broken wooden gate and leaned it to one side; maybe that could be salvaged. He had to duck under the doorframe as he walked through, but found the inside of the house wasn’t as badly torn up as it could have been. Sarah had lived here after Kaleb went missing, after the imperial attack and after Nyx joined the glaive. Brush away the dirt and leaves, fix a few windows and walls ... it wasn’t a massive job.

“I think she’d like that,” the words were low as he stooped to move a few more bits of broken glass to one side. Sarah was back in Meldacio with Kaleb, Julia staying there too for the time being. “- are you certain she’s sure about staying in Meldacio? I always thought she’d want to move back here too.”

[hamiltonstagedoor]

Who are your favorite actors for each role? (In other words. What would be your ultimate cast?)

Some context for anyone who doesn’t know: I have seen Hamilton 29 times in 4 different cities: New York, San Francisco (Angelica Tour), Chicago, and London. I have never seen the same cast twice, even if it’s just a change of ensemble. (I have literally gone to see a show just to see certain swings on in certain tracks.) But, I have not seen literally every iteration possible and have definitely slowed down in my Hamilton-going habits in the last year. I also did not see the full OBC (only Anthony, Chris, Oak, and Jasmine, so this does not 100% take them into account, which imo makes it a bit more interesting).

Disclaimer: Each and every person who is in Hamilton has been cast for a reason. They are all incredibly talented, and I don’t want this to be seen as objective rule or me bashing other actors. It is not. This is all very subjective and based on my personal tastes. That being said, I do think it is interesting to see how different people view this show, which is why I am doing this.

Alexander Hamilton: Michael Luwoye (NY/Angelica Tour)

Runner up: Miguel Cervantes (NY/Chicago)

Eliza Hamilton: Julia K. Harriman (Angelica Tour/And Peggy Tour)

Runner up: Syndee Winters (NY)

(I haven’t seen Jennie in this role, but knowing she’s a fucking goddess I’m sure i’d want her to play Eliza too.)

Aaron Burr: Gregory Treco (NY/Chicago)

Runner up: Nik Walker (very close) (NY/Philip Tour)

Angelica Schuyler: Jennie Harney (Universal Standby) (If this was physically possible. Since it’s obviously not and her Peggy/Maria is to die for, I’d go with Mandy Gonzalez (NY)) 

Runner up: Syndee Winters (NY)

George Washington: Christopher Jackson (NY, OBC)

Runner up: Obioma Ugoala (London)

Marquis de Lafayette/Thomas Jefferson: Jordan Donica (Angelica Tour)

Runner up: Chris Lee (Chicago/Angelica Tour)

Hercules Mulligan/James Madison: Okieriete Onaodowan (NY, OBC)

Runner up: Tarinn Callender (London)

John Laurens/Philip Hamilton:

If I could have my way:

Anthony Ramos (NY, OBC) as Laurens

Anthony Lee Medina (NY) as Young Philip

Jordan Fisher (NY) as Older Philip

If I had to pick just one: Anthony Ramos (NY)

Runner up: Jordan Fisher (NY)

Peggy Schuyler/Maria Reynolds: Jennie Harney (Universal Standby)

Runner up: Jasmine Cephas Jones (NY, OBC)

King George: Alexander Gemignani (London)

Runner up: Taran Killam (NY)

Obviously, I didn’t include the ensemble tracks, but if you want to see those, I might take the time to write it up.