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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

Text

changes (best friend!harry)

Warnings: language, nsfw content, drugs (marijuana) and alcohol

Pairing: best friend!Harry x reader

Word Count: 17k (holy shit)

A/N: So this started as two requests I had in my inbox that I got way too into and then it became this. this may be the longest stand-alone fic I’ve ever written, and it, like watermelon sugar, is dedicated to touching!!!! I spent so long on this so as always. feedback is appreciated. and if you like it, please reblog it!!! reblogging is the best way to show fic writers your appreciation <3

{masterlist}

Unless she’s reminded otherwise, Y/N always thinks of herself as a teenager.

This, of course, isn’t true. She turned twenty-six a month ago, works as a media producer for an online clothing company, and lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in London. However, unless she physically has something in front of her to remind her of her real age and the passing of time, Y/N disregards this information.

Usually, the reminder is a bill in the mail, or a phone call to remind her that she needs to book an appointment with her doctor. Usually, the reminder is an ache in her back, her glasses prescription getting worse, or realizing that she has no idea what her teenage cousins are talking about when she sees them at Christmas. Usually, the reminder is enough to give her pause, but not enough to throw her for a loop.

This time, however, the reminder is her childhood best friend naked in her bathroom.

Y/N and Harry had been friends since they were in primary school, after Y/N had moved to London with her mother. Their new house just happened to be next to Harry’s, and Anne and Y/N’s mother had quickly hit it off. Anne had been quick to volunteer her son to be Y/N’s tour guide at school, and despite not being enthusiastic about each other in the beginning, the two began to grow closer by the end of Y/N’s first week there. Within a month, the two were inseparable, and that didn’t change as they entered their teen years, started secondary school, and Harry left London to become a member of the most famous boyband in the world. Just typical teen things.

However, despite their distance, Y/N and Harry had remained as close as ever. They constantly texted, called, and video chatted with each other, and Y/N even joined Harry on tour a few times (with permission from her mother). Although both of them had been worried when Harry left, their worries and fears never came to fruition. Just as they balanced each other in personality, they balanced each other in lifestyle—when Y/N needed a break from high school and university, Harry brought her to shows, award ceremonies, and parties, and when Harry felt like his fame was overwhelming, Y/N sent him reminders of home, hosted countless movie nights for him, and told him story after story of university life.

They were so perfectly matched that, when they were younger, many people—and tabloids—suspected that they were dating. Even their mothers had asked them, on occasion, if one of them had any interest in the other. However, their answers were always the same. Y/N and Harry were best friends, and nothing more. Sure, they were touchy, affectionate, called each other pet names, and had even kissed on a few occasions during truth or dare at parties, but none of it actually meant anything. Y/N had watched Harry grow from a cute kid to an awkward teen to a self-assured man, and her feelings for him had never changed, and an attraction to him had never developed.

Until now.

Harry’s facing away from her, his towel in his hand as he dries his chest. His entire body glistens with water from the shower. Y/N can’t stop herself from letting her eyes canvas over every inch of his smooth arms, toned back, down lower to his—

Her breath catches in her throat. Yeah. His ass is toned, too, she thinks to herself, and only has another moment to think that she shouldn’t be looking before Harry glances over his shoulder, alarmed by the small sound she had made.

“Y/N—” His eyes widen a bit, but he doesn’t make an effort to cover himself with his towel very quickly.

Her eyes automatically follow his movement for a moment before she realizes what she’s about to see. “Sorry!” Y/N turns around quickly, her face heated. “Sorry, I—the door was unlocked, I didn’t realize you were—”

“It’s fine.” Harry fixes his towel around his waist. “Don’t worry about—”

Y/N leaves the bathroom before he can finish his sentence, walking to her bedroom quickly and shutting the door tightly behind her.

Harry, it seems, is today’s reminder that she’s no longer a teenager, because his body is that of a man.

It’s not like you haven’t seen him shirtless before, she tells herself, walking to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes. Y/N’s seen him half naked countless times. The whole world has seen Harry half naked countless times. But she’s never seen him like that.

When did Harry grow up? Somehow, between movie nights and pool parties and going away to school, Y/N had failed to notice that her childhood best friend is no longer a child. Harry had grown into his features, developed muscles in his arms and chest, tattooed designs all over his skin, and had become an incredibly attractive adult without her noticing.

Y/N pulls her pajamas off quickly, stopping to glance at herself in her full length mirror. She, like Harry, is also no longer a child. She had grown into her features like he had, had gotten a few tattoos, made her share of mistakes, and became an adult the same way he did. Neither her nor Harry’s growth had happened overnight.

As she runs her hand between her chest, down her stomach, brushing her hip, Y/N can’t help but wonder: has Harry noticed that they’ve grown up? Does he still look at her and see the shy little girl, the developing teenager, or does he look at her and see a grown woman? Is she the only one who’s been late to the party?

Y/N feels a flutter in the pit of her stomach. Is it possible that, at some point, Harry looked at her and had the same realization that she had a moment ago? That not only had she grown into a woman, but that she had grown into an attractive woman?

The sound of the bathroom door opening distracts Y/N from her thoughts, and she hurries to finish getting dressed. Her shirt, she finds when she pulls it on, smells a bit like Harry’s cologne, as she had set it on the side of the bed that he slept on the night before. She likes it more than she should.

After she’s dressed, she debates just staying in her bedroom to avoid facing Harry again for a bit longer. However, she can hear him working her coffee maker in the kitchen, and knows she can’t hide in her bedroom like a child. She isn’t a child.

Neither is he, she thinks to herself as she touches her bedroom doorknob. Which is the problem.

Still, Y/N shakes herself from her thoughts and walks out to her kitchen.

Harry, now dressed in wide leg jeans and a plain white t-shirt, is leaning against her kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in his hand. His hair is still wet from his shower, but other than that, he looks normal. Completely normal.

And yet, Y/N can’t manage to meet his eyes.

“Good morning.” Harry’s voice is low, a bit of amusement in it as he notices her demeanor. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Y/N hates how tight her voice is as she grabs a mug from the kitchen cabinet. “I slept fine. Did you?”

Harry nods, his eyes still tracing her every move as her own eyes avoid him. “I did. Woke up a bit early, though. Thought I’d shower before brunch.”

Right. Brunch. They’re having brunch that day with a few old friends, at a place just down the street from Y/N’s apartment, which is why Harry had stayed over the night before. Y/N was going to have to act normal around their other friends, which means she can’t avoid looking at him for much longer.

“I’m sorry.” She says as she pours a cup of coffee. “I am, I—I should’ve knocked. I forgot you slept over, and—”

“It’s fine, Y/N. I should’ve locked the door.” Harry says easily, the corner of his lips tugging up. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

At that comment, Y/N pauses. “Except…I haven’t seen you naked before?”

Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No. You have. There’s no way we’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and you haven’t.”

“Harry, believe me. I’ve seen you in a lot of weird positions over the years, but I’ve never seen you completely nude.” Y/N feels her regular ease with him begin to return, just a little bit. “I would remember that.”

“Would you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his coffee cup half raised to his lips.

The bit of ease that returned disappears immediately. “I—” Y/N’s cheeks heat up again. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

Harry tries to hide his laugh behind his coffee, but fails. “I’m just teasing you, love. It’s fine, promise. I don’t mind that you saw. I’m very comfortable in my body.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Too comfortable, I think.”

“Is there such a thing as being too comfortable in your body?” Harry asks in a teasing voice, crossing his arms.

“When your best friend walks in on you naked and you don’t bother to cover yourself?” Despite the blush on her cheeks, Y/N manages to laugh. “Yes. There is.”

“I don’t know…” Harry finishes his coffee and sets the mug in the kitchen sink. “It sounds like there’s issues with your comfort, not mine.”

Before Y/N can form a reply, Harry shoots her a smirk and walks out of the kitchen.

For the rest of the day, Y/N does her best not to think about that morning’s awkward encounter. Brunch with her friends is normal, and she just lets herself enjoy having Harry home, and catching up with everyone. The afternoon also passes in an unremarkable way, as does that night. Over the next few days, however, things begin to change.

Within two weeks, the atmosphere of the country has shifted. There’s a virus that’s highly contagious and can be fatal, Y/N’s work tells her to work from home, and soon the entire country is being told to stay home to avoid catching Coronavirus.

And then Harry texts her two days later, without any warning or leeway for her to disagree.

I’m on the last flight back to London. Pack a bag and bring some groceries to my place, so we can isolate together. You’ll go crazy alone in your flat.

Y/N tries to reply that it’s not necessary, but her message doesn’t go through. Harry’s already on the plane. So she does what he says, and packs a bag of clothes, her work bag, some alcohol, and her favourite snacks, and drives over to his house.

Letting herself in with her key, Y/N begins to bring the house back to life. She lights Harry’s candles and orders some dinner, as well as groceries for the next couple weeks. She makes sure she gets his favourite foods, and the weird snacks that only he likes. She calls her mum to tell her she’ll be with Harry, and Anne, to tell her the same thing. And then she waits.

When Harry finally walks through the front door, he looks more like the tired seventeen year old on his first tour than the grown man she had seen a few weeks ago. The bags under his eyes are evidence of his jetlag and stress, his jacket is rumpled from the plane, his hair just as messy, and he looks like he could collapse the second the door closes behind him.

“H.” Y/N walks towards him and gives him a tight hug. One hand goes to his back and the other to his hair, playing with it as she always does. “Are you alright?”

“Long flight.” Harry mutters in reply, eyes closed as he holds her tight. “Everyone’s going insane in the States. I’m lucky I got a flight back to London.”

“Why did you?” Y/N pulls back, brushing his messy hair from his eyes. “You could’ve stayed in LA.”

“Yeah, but…” Harry shrugs a bit. “I knew you’d be alone. And I wanted to be with you.”

Y/N can’t help the soft smile that creeps onto her face. “C’mon. I have dinner ready.”

Harry barely makes it through dinner with his eyes open, but still insists on watching a movie after. Y/N tries to tell him that he should just go to sleep, but he won’t hear it.

“We can watch it in my bed, like we used to when we were little.” Harry gives her his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

Y/N shoves his shoulder. “You’re twenty-six. Stop pouting to get what you want.”

“I’ll stop pouting when it stops working.”

Y/N laughs in spite of herself. “Fine, but shower first. You smell like a plane.”

Of course, as predicted, Harry starts to drift to sleep within the first half hour of the movie. He slips down in the bed more and more, until his head is in Y/N’s lap completely. Out of habit, Y/N begins to play with his damp curls, running her fingers through them at a steady pace as she watches the movie.

Harry’s breathing begins to even out as she does, and Y/N begins to pay more attention to him than the TV. When they spend the night with each other, Y/N always falls asleep first. It’s rare she gets to see him completely relaxed.

As much as she loves his green eyes, his eyelashes may be a close second. They’re so long and dark that they almost make Y/N jealous. And his cheeks…she brings one hand up to gently touch them. They’re stubbled from his long day of travel, but the skin underneath feels soft. Despite having lost his baby fat years ago, there’s still a layer of tenderness in his body.

Y/N is so distracted by him that she doesn’t realize that she’s stopped playing with his hair, not until Harry speaks up.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is groggy with exhaustion, lower, with a thicker accent. His words slur together as well

“Hm?” Y/N hums in her throat in response. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not really.” Harry’s eyes stay closed as he shifts his position a bit. “Will you play with my hair a bit longer? Feels nice.”

The movie credits roll in the background as Y/N does what he says. Harry sighs contently, relaxing back into her again.

Y/N turns the TV off, so the only light in the room comes from the moon through the open curtains. It shines over half of Harry’s face, catching the ends of his eyelashes. Somehow, the moonlight makes his cheeks and lips even more pink.

“You’re really pretty, y’know that?” Y/N says it absentmindedly, her fingers still combing through Harry’s curls.

“Thanks.” He has just enough energy to mumble a response. “’M, not as pretty as you, though.”

Y/N’s stomach flutters when he says it, so quiet that she’s not even certain she heard him correctly. “Liar.”

“’S true.” Harry’s reply is even less audible than before. “So pretty.”

If Harry was awake and more present in the conversation, Y/N might tease him. She might try to make him blush, or roll his eyes, or laugh. Maybe, just maybe, she’d even ask him to elaborate, just enough that she could figure out what the fluttering in her stomach means.

But Harry is hardly awake right now. And it wouldn’t be fair.

“Go to sleep, H,” is all Y/N says, shifting to lay down a bit more without pausing the movement of her fingers.

…

It takes Harry a few days to readjust to London time. While Y/N spends her weekdays working from the kitchen table, Harry naps and fiddles with his guitar and journal. While she can tell he’s working on something, Y/N can also tell that he’s not making much process.

A week after coming back from LA, Harry half stomps into the kitchen during the afternoon, frustration clear on his face as he opens the fridge and grabs an apple. He bites into it angrily and leans against the counter, the irritation still on his face.

Y/N glances at him from behind her laptop. “Everything alright?”

Harry gives half a shrug. “Trying to write.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Fucking sucks.” Harry takes another bite of the apple. “I thought I’d feel more inspired, being at home and not having deadlines, but I can’t get anything out. Not anything good, anyways.”

“I know the feeling.” Y/N sighs as she closes her laptop. “There’s been a huge surge in online orders, and my boss wants me to create more promo material, but it’s hard to focus on anything right now.”

Harry nods and glances out the window. “Doesn’t help that it’s a beautiful day, but we can’t go out.”

“We can go out. We just can’t leave the property.” Y/N replies. “You have a giant backyard. Why don’t you use it?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll go for a swim.” Harry takes another bite of his apple. “You want to come?”

Y/N laughs a bit. “Unlike you, H, I have a real nine to five job. I’m on the clock for another two hours.”

“After, then.” Harry tosses his apple core in the compost and gives her a grin. “I hope you packed that yellow bikini.”

Y/N crumples a piece of scrap paper in her hand and throws it at him. “Piss off.”

Y/N did, in fact, pack her yellow bikini. However, when she’s changing from her clothes into a swimsuit, she chooses her blue bikini instead, just to have a bit of agency. Every instinct in her is telling her to wear what Harry said to, and it’s a little concerning. She’s never cared about dressing for him before, and she isn’t prepared to start.

Despite the different colour, Harry still grins from the edge of the pool when he sees her walk out. “Look at you. Should’ve put you in the Watermelon Sugar music video.”

“Shut up.” Y/N sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her lets in the water. Harry rests his head on his arms, his cheeky grin still on his face as he looks up at her.

“I’m serious.” He says innocently. “It was a fun day. You really would’ve liked it.”

“Of course you thought it was fun; you had a bunch of beautiful girls fawning over you and feeding you fruit.” Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. “You’re such a narcissist.”

“All musicians are narcissists, love. At least, the best ones are.” Harry’s grin grows as he pushes away from the ledge. “Are you going to just sit there and look pretty, or are you actually going to swim?”

“I’m going to tan.” Y/N leans her head back, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun.

Harry shakes his head. “No, sorry. The pool is for swimming only.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

In hindsight, Y/N should’ve known what Harry was about to do. She’s been friends with him long enough that she knows how his brain works. However, Y/N is enjoying the sun so much that she lets her guard down for one moment, and that one moment is all Harry needs.

She feels his hands grip her legs, and before she can stop him, he pulls her into the pool. Her entire body submerges, and when she finally rises, gasping for air, the only thing she can hear is Harry’s snickering.

“You’re such an ass!” Y/N hits his shoulder hard, not caring about leaving a mark on him. “That’s not funny!”

“The pool is for swimming only. I told you.” Harry can’t stop laughing long enough to make it through his sentence clearly. “Them’s the rules.”

“Them’s the rules.” Y/N repeats in a mocking voice, hitting him one more time. “You’re the worst.”

“Maybe, but you’re stuck with me.” Harry runs a hand through his wet hair. “At least until quarantine is done.”

“I should’ve stayed alone in my apartment.” Y/N mutters, tossing her wet sunglasses on the pool ledge. “Would’ve been so much more peaceful.”

“And boring.” Harry points out. “And you wouldn’t get to take relaxing swims like this!”

“Right. Relaxing.” Y/N splashes him playfully. “Jerk.”

Harry just grins at you.

…

“Want one?”

Y/N glances at Harry as he packs loose marijuana into a wrapper, concentration clear on his face as he rolls it.

“You learn how to roll those in LA?” Y/N asks, taking a sip of her wine.

Harry chuckles lightly, his skin illuminated by the fire burning in front of them and the moon above them. “Yeah. I’m not very good, though. Usually I have somebody else to roll them for me.”

“So high maintenance.”

Another low laugh rolls out of Harry’s mouth. “Ha. High maintenance.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but an endearing smile is on her face. “It’s still illegal in the U.K., you know.”

“I doubt the police are going to break social distancing rules to arrest me for it.” Harry’s tongue pokes out of his mouth as he tries his best to roll the joint tightly.

Y/N watches as Harry brings the wrapper to his mouth, licking it lightly. To her dismay, her attraction to Harry had yet to fade, and spending every moment of the day together wasn’t helping.

“I’m not an eighteen year old girl on your tour bus anymore, Harry.” Y/N raises her wine glass. “I drink red wine now. I’m sophisticated.”

Harry snorts, his eyes flickering to her before looking back down at the joint. “Sophisticated, right. Like you didn’t do body shots off the bartender at your birthday party this year.”

Y/N’s cheeks burn. “Birthdays don’t count.”

“Neither did tour buses, and neither does my backyard in the middle of a pandemic.” Harry seals the joint as best he can. “You may have a fancy job now, but you’re still my Y/N.”

His Y/N. That phrase ignites the now familiar flutter in her stomach and, over the last few days, her core. Something about Harry identifying her as his drives Y/N insane, even if it’s nothing new.

“And what exactly does your Y/N do?” She manages to say after a moment.

“She doesn’t take shit from anyone. She gets drunk fast and high faster. She’s always down for a laugh. And, although she won’t admit it, she has a tendency to make bad decisions that she tries to suppress, but can’t always manage to do so.” Harry sparks his lighter and sticks the joint between his lips, lighting it and puffing it quickly.

“Then you should know that your Y/N can’t have a joint of her own.” Y/N steals the joint from Harry’s lips, taking a few puffs of her own from it before handing it back.

The smoke curls in her lungs, forcing a few coughs from her.

“Alright?” Harry asks, concern in his eyes.

Y/N nods, her hand pressed to her chest like she can stop the burn. “Yeah. Just haven’t done that in a while.”

“You always cough so much. It would be cute if it wasn’t so bloody concerning.” Harry says casually, lifting the joint to his lips and inhaling.

Y/N watches as he exhales smoke slowly. She wonders if she looks as attractive as he does when she blows out smoke.

Harry grins at her with just the corner of his mouth, like there’s a secret tugging at the edge of his lips.

Y/N really doubts it.

“Here.” Harry places the joint between her lips. “Inhale slowly.”

Y/N does as he says, doing her best to keep from coughing until the joint and his hand is away from her face. Her eyes burn a bit, both from the smoke and the oncoming high that’s starting to twist through her body.

“That’s a good girl.” Harry praises her before leaning back, placing the joint back between his own lips. “You’ve gotten better at that. Thought you were going to pass out the first time we smoked, remember?”

“I remember I almost did.” Y/N giggles to herself as she settles down into the couch more. “I coughed so much that I thought I was going to die on that tour bus.”

“Niall was certain you had.” Harry laughs too, and Y/N known they’re both playing back the same memory. “Wasn’t quite sure how we were going to explain that one to Paul. Neither was I, honestly.”

“You don’t give me enough credit.” Despite the feeling coming over her, YN still takes another sip of her wine. “I was fine.”

Harry nods as he finishes the joint, setting the butt down into his ash tray. “Still…we had some fun nights on the bus when you were there.”

“That was a fun summer.” Y/N agrees, her eyes fixed on the fire before them. “Lots of good memories.”

As Y/N watches the fire, Harry watches her. He lets another moment or two pass before speaking again.

“When you were on tour with us that summer…” He rubs his lips absentmindedly. “You and Niall. Did you two ever…?”

“What? Fuck?” The weed and the alcohol take away the careful tone of Y/N’s regular speech, leaving honesty and bluntness behind.

Harry laughs once. “I was going to say date, but yeah. I guess so.”

“We didn’t date. We fooled around a few times.” Y/N shrugs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He was fun. But we both knew it wasn’t anything serious, just something to do while I was on tour with you.”

Harry nods a bit, reaching for his own drink and taking a sip. Y/N watches the movement with heavy lidded eyes. His arm muscles flex underneath his tattooed skin when he moves, and the way his fingers wrap around his glass is fascinating to her.

“I figured he would have told you.” Y/N pulls her sweater around her tighter. Now that the sun has set completely, a chill has appeared. “You guys always talked about girls together.”

“No, he didn’t tell me. And I didn’t ask.” Harry keeps his glass in his hand, looking down at it with an unreadable expression. “I thought you might tell me, but you didn’t, either.”

The substances in Y/N’s system are clouding her mind, but she does her best to focus on Harry’s words. As a way to ground herself, she pulls her sweater away from her body, hoping that the cold air will help.

“I’m sorry.” She says slowly, like it takes all her effort to get the words out. “I didn’t mean to…hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh.” Confusion fogs Y/N’s mind. “Then…why is it bothering you?”

“It’s not bothering me.” Harry denies, finishing off his drink. “I was just wondering why. You usually tell me everything. You always have.”

Y/N bites her lip. “I don’t tell you about every person I sleep with.”

Harry hums low in the back of his throat, but offers no other response.

After a few minutes, Y/N stands up. “I think I’m going to head to bed.”

Twisting his empty glass around in his hands, Harry nods. “Alright. I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“You know, you have a guest room.” Y/N pauses, fiddling with the bottom of her sweater. Her skin feels unsettled, and the fabric against it isn’t helping. “I should probably start using it. Social distancing, and all that.”

Harry looks up at her, a stubborn look reflecting in his eyes. “No. I sleep better with you beside me.”

When Harry finally comes up to bed an hour later, Y/N is still awake, eyes closed, with her back away from the door and head toward the wall. She doesn’t turn over when she hears the door creak open, and instead just listens to the rustling sounds of Harry changing, going to the bathroom, washing his hands, and returning to the bedroom.

Y/N feels his weight on the bed, but doesn’t hear him slide in next to her. Instead, she does her best to stay completely relaxed when she feels his fingers brush against her hairline, pushing back a few loose strands.

Staying completely relaxed, it turns out, is easier thought than done. The moment Harry touches her, Y/N feels the nerves in her face burst to life. It’s like electricity, like nothing she’s ever felt before from any previous touches from Harry. Behind her closed eyes, Y/N feels her head spinning, but she’s certain it must be the weed and the alcohol in her system.

Finally, the sheets are pulled back, and Harry gets under the covers. He pulls Y/N back against him, and Y/N can feel the hot skin of his chest pressed against her shoulders. Harry takes a moment to adjust before sighing, almost in content, and then he presses a gentle kiss to the back of her shoulder.

The tender action leaves Y/N speechless. The action itself isn’t new; they had always been very physically affectionate with each other. But there’s something about the moment that Y/N can’t quite place a finger on. Perhaps she would be able to if she was sober, or less tired, but with her brain in its current state, the words she needs are lost, and she’s certain she won’t remember the feeling in the morning.

Harry inhales deeply, his nose buried in her hair, and sighs again. Y/N can feel him relaxing back against her, but his arms stay wrapped around her tightly. It’s a comforting embrace, and makes it easy for Y/N’s mind to finally quiet and drift off.

…

“You’re still working?”

Y/N looks up from her laptop to see Harry standing above her, sweaty from his workout. His hair is tied up in a little ponytail on top of his head, and he has a towel wrapped around his shoulders that he uses to wipe sweat from his face. His body is literally glistening in the sunlight, and Y/N suddenly finds it very hard to focus on her work.

“I am.” She says finally, closing the lid of her laptop and stretching out on the beach chair. “Or I was. I’m done for today.”

“Good.” Harry sits down on the chair next to her. “I’m going to have a shower, but I was thinking we should try baking something later.”

Y/N raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I want cupcakes, and homemade are way better than store bought.” Harry says easily, stealing Y/N’s water and taking a gulp from it.

Y/N watches his throat move as he swallows the water, how his Adam’s apple bobs, how he licks his lips when he finally pulls the glass away from his mouth.

Y/N’s own mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“Alright, yeah.” Y/N nods weakly. “We can bake something later. It’ll be fun.”

…

“It’ll be fun.” Y/N shakes her head in disbelief. “God, I can’t believe I said that.”

“It was fun!” Harry argues, holding up a red velvet cupcake. “And we did it!”

“And we made a mess.” Y/N gestures to the kitchen around them, which looks like a warzone. Flour, powdered sugar, and cocoa powder cover every counter surface. There are broken eggshells on the counter, splatters of batter everywhere, and both Y/N and Harry have dyed red hands from food colouring.

“It could be worse.” Harry shrugs, clearly untroubled. “C’mon. Try a cupcake.”

Y/N reaches for one, but Harry simply lifts the one in his hand to her mouth. She locks eyes with him as she takes a bite, the icing smearing across her top lip.

Y/N chews slowly and swallows hard. “Yeah. They’re good.”

Harry extends a hand, and his finger runs along her lip, collecting the icing. He pops it into his mouth, sucking for a moment before humming in agreement. “Yeah. Sweet.”

The cupcakes, it turns out, pair well with watermelon cocktails, and soon Y/N and Harry are sitting on the couch, takeout and cupcakes in front of them and drinks in their hands as they giggle and talk. They’re intoxicated, but not just from the alcohol in the strong drinks that Harry makes.

“Honestly, working from home isn’t ideal, but it’s not that bad.” Y/N pops a bite of food into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Definitely not the worst part of quarantine.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans back on the couch. “What’s the worst part?”

Y/N shrugs. “It sucks being away from people, cooped up inside.”

Harry nods, but his face looks wistful. “I miss sex.”

Y/N laughs, but she nods in agreement as well. “Fuck, I know. I miss sex so much.”

“It’s nice, you know? A good way to burn some energy…always sleep so well after…” Harry sighs, taking a sip of his drink between his phrases. “I feel like I’m back on a tour bus again, with no one around but my hand.”

A giggle escapes Y/N’s mouth. “How tragic.” She also takes a sip of her drink, and tries to stop herself from making a face. Harry really does make them strong. “I just miss touching. I haven’t been this touch starved since I was seventeen.”

Harry makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. “We touch.”

“That’s different.” Y/N finishes her drink. “That’s friendly touching. It’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Harry challenges her, a glint in his eyes that Y/N’s come to recognize as a sign of trouble.

She refuses to take the bait. “You know what I meant.”

“I don’t.” Harry says it innocently, and he reaches forward to take her glass from her. “How about I get us some refills while you think of how to say it?”

Y/N lets him take the glass (she loves his drinks, despite how strong they are), but shakes her head. “Stop being an ass. You know exactly what I meant.”

A low laugh rolls out of Harry as he walks to the built-in bar he has in the lounge. He begins to recreate the drinks, muddling this, adding a splash of that. If Harry wasn’t already a rock star, she’d suggest he become a mixologist.

“Maybe I do know what you meant.” Harry shakes the cocktail shaker with ease before straining the liquid out over their glasses, which he’s filled with fresh ice. “But I want to hear you say it.”

Y/N runs a hand through her hair. She feels warm from the alcohol, and the lit candles around them aren’t helping. The food and cupcakes sit on the table, all but forgotten in their new conversation. “Say what?”

Harry’s lips pull up in a smirk, but his eyes show something else. He walks back over and hands her the drink before taking a seat next to her again. “The kind of touching you miss.”

Their fingers touch as Y/N takes the glass from him, and suddenly the warmth of the room feels ten times hotter. “You want me to say it?”

Harry lifts his glass to his lips, but keeps his eyes on her. “I do.”

“I…” Y/N takes a sip of the drink (which is stronger than the one before) and then presses the cold glass to her cheek. “I miss touching. Intimate touching. And…being touched intimately.”

Harry inhales deeply, stretching out his shoulders before responding. “Yeah. I miss that too. Holding hands, touching someone’s stomach, chest, legs…having them play with my hair…”

“I play with your hair.” Y/N says defensively, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

Harry laughs once. “Right, but like you said…that’s different.”

Y/N clears her throat. “Right.”

Harry takes a long sip from his drink. “’S still nice, though.” Harry adds after a moment, licking his lips. “I love when you play with my hair. You know that.”

Nodding softly, Y/N begins to trail a finger over the rim of her glass. Whenever she begins to get tipsy, she begins to fidget more, and feel freer in her actions. And when Y/N glances back at Harry, she can tell he recognizes the sign as well.

“What about you?” He asks, bringing her back from her thoughts. “What do you miss having people do?”

Y/N drinks again, pulling her knees to her chest as she leans against the couch’s armrest. “I miss…having my hair played with, too. That’s always nice. I miss having my fingers played with…neck kisses…I like when people, like, rub my arms or thighs, just absentmindedly…” She leans her head against her arm. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” Harry rubs his nose lightly, and Y/N can tell he’s feeling the alcohol, too. “What’s my turn?”

“Tell me what else you like.” Y/N smiles softly, a small laugh just barely bubbling out from her. “We’ve never actually talked about it, H. Isn’t that strange?”

Harry turns to face her more, pausing to think for a moment. “I suppose we’ve never been specific before, yeah.” He taps his thumb against his H ring. “I like being in control, usually. Telling them what to do, where to touch me…” His eyes get a faraway look in them. “But sometimes it’s nice to give up control. Have someone else…”

“Decide.” Y/N finishes his sentence for him when he trails off. “Yeah. I’m more like that, I think. I usually let someone else decide. But I like the in-between, too. Like…both exploring each other.”

“What do you mean?” Harry cocks his head to the side curiously.

Y/N shrugs loosely, her finger still tracing her glass. “’S hard to explain.”

Harry’s voice is low when he replies, almost like he’s somewhere else. “Try.”

“Well…” Y/N takes a drink before setting her glass down. “It’s like…do you remember your first time?”

Harry blinks, surprised at the question, but nods. “Yeah. I do.”

“And remember how nervous you were?”

“Yeah.”

“And like…” Y/N plays with her fingers as she ponders her next words. “You were nervous, yeah, but there was also this excitement in you. Kind of like…a breathlessness. And you looked at the other person and knew they…”

Harry closes his eyes for a moment. “Felt the same.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tucks her hair behind her ears. “And just, like, being comfortable with them, and knowing you could both explore, and ask questions, and you were both together…” Y/N feels heat rise to her cheeks as she trails off. “I don’t know. I feel like that’s rare, but I—it’s nice. I like it.”

“Yeah.” Harry rubs his thumb over his lip as he shifts his position on the couch. “It’s nice, yeah. Rare, usually. But nice.”

“I think it’s rare, because, like—” The alcohol makes it harder for Y/N to gather her thoughts, but also harder to sensor them. “I don’t know, I feel like when I was younger, and hadn’t had sex yet, I took more time with, like, finding the right person? Like I wanted it to be with someone who loved me for the first time, and someone I was comfortable with, and it was. And then after, the love part didn’t matter so much for me.” Y/N glances at Harry, who seems to be hanging on her every word. “Which, like, was fine. What mattered to me the most was that whoever I had sex with respected me. And they did, so that was…good. But it’s different.” Y/N rubs her arms. “I don’t know if that makes sense…”

“It does.” Harry assures her, placing a light hand on her knee. He begins to rub small circles. “Keep going.”

“I just think that, like, that in-between, breathless, exploring each other kind of thing…the comfort…that’s rare because it only really happens with someone you love.” Y/N murmurs. “At least, that’s how it is for me. And I haven’t really been in love much in my life.”

“I’ve been in love probably too much.” Harry admits, his hand still on Y/N’s knee. “Too much to be good for me.”

Y/N shakes her head adamantly. “No, H. That’s good. That’s…brave. You’re not afraid of how you feel. Most people are.”

“Maybe.” Harry finishes his drink again with one long gulp.

Y/N watches as he does, seeing a little drip of liquid slip from the corner of his mouth. She can’t stop herself from leaning forward and wiping it away with her thumb, feeling the stubble of Harry’s chin scratch against her.

Harry watches her with hooded eyes as she leans back to her previous position. His hand slips a bit higher, from her knee to her lower thigh, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Who have you been in love with?” He asks. His words are slurred a bit, and his accent seems thicker.

“My first boyfriend, Parker. You remember him.” Y/N sighs, closing her eyes as she herself remembers. “And…Christian, from university. We were together for two years. That’s it, I think.”

Despite the alcohol, Harry’s face still shows some surprise. “Really? No one else? No one since Christian?”

Y/N shrugs. “I’ve dated, yeah, and had relationships, but…I don’t know. I didn’t love any of them. I was…infatuated. But I never…it was intense, but like—intense like a spark. Nothing prolonged.”

Harry hums in response. “Thought you were going to say Niall for a moment. He was pretty torn up when you went back to school after that summer.”

Y/N’s face mimics Harry’s surprise from a moment ago. “Was he?”

“Yeah. Moped around a bit, spent time by himself, on his phone every two minutes…” Harry’s expression shows the difficulty it’s taking him to think back eight years while drunk. “I knew it was because you left. Thought you two had an…agreement, or something.”

“An agreement?” A giggle escapes Y/N. “This isn’t a Jane Austen book, Harry. We didn’t have an agreement.” Once she gets her laughter out, she sighs. “He was that upset?”

“Yeah.” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “So I thought…he must be in love with you. And you were…”

“No, I wasn’t.” Y/N says softly. “He was so upset that you thought he was in love with me?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N bites her lip. “Was he more upset than you?”

Harry takes a moment to reply, looking at her with a serious expression. His lips are so red, and his eyes are so green, and both of them are so drunk that neither of them can sense the meaning behind what they’re saying.

“No.” Harry finally responds. “He wasn’t.”

…

“Good morning.”

“Shhh.” Y/N covers her eyes with her arm. “Don’t yell in my ear.”

“I whispered.” Harry counters, but his voice is a bit quieter this time. “Do you have a headache?”

“I didn’t know something flavoured with watermelon could make me feel so shitty.” Y/N groans a bit, shifting on the bed without opening her eyes. “What did you do to me?”

When Harry laughs, it’s not audible, but Y/N can feel it through his chest pressed against her side.

“How are you completely fine right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m used to it. I’ve always been way better with hangovers than you.” Harry presses a small kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “How does breakfast in bed sound?”

“Normally amazing, but I can’t eat right now.” Y/N mutters. “How about coffee in bed?”

“Sure.” Harry smiles a bit. “You look cute like this.”

“Shut up.”

Harry returns ten minutes later with a tray of coffee, toast, and eggs, of which he manages to coax Y/N to take a few bites. She doesn’t really want it, but she knows it’s easier to do as he says instead of arguing.

“How about we have a movie day today?” Harry suggests after breakfast. “In bed, since it seems like you won’t be moving anytime soon.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N glares at him from the top of her coffee cup.

Harry raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I didn’t make you drink. You chose to.”

“I know, but it’s easier to blame you.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Is that why you’ve been doing it for twenty years?”

“Exactly.”

Harry carefully lifts the empty tray to the ground before holding up the remote. “You can pick the movies.”

Y/N bites her lip. “If we watch Titanic, will you make fun of me when I cry?”

“Of course not. I’ll even cry with you out of solidarity.”

“Alright.” Y/N settles back into the blankets. “Put it on, then.”

It’s easy for them to be like this, Y/N thinks, as Harry pulls her into his arms when the movie starts. It’s always been so natural for them to be physical and affectionate with each other. They’ve never acted any other way.

Except this doesn’t feel like any other way.

Yes, Y/N has watched countless movies while cuddling in bed with Harry. But has he ever whispered in her ear like that before? Has he ever rubbed her sides so carefully before? Has he ever let his lips rest on the bare skin of her shoulder, almost at the base of her neck?

Y/N can’t recall. However, she’s certain that if he had, it hasn’t felt so electric.

“Look at them. Look at how Jack watches her.” Harry murmurs his words directly in Y/N’s ear as they watch Jack draw Rose. Y/N can feel his lips brushing against her, and the heat of his breath and tone of his voice makes her shiver.

“She’s very pretty.” Y/N nods, shifting in Harry’s arms. She likes how warm he feels.

“I suppose, but that’s not what I meant.” Harry traces shapes on her arm. “I meant look at how he looks at her. Do you think they have the kind of love you talked about last night?”

Y/N glances over her shoulder at him, surprised he remembers their conversation. “I think so. Do you?”

“Yeah.” Harry says in a low voice. He says no more, so Y/N turns back to face the television.

They continue to watch in silence, gripping each other a bit tighter as the Titanic begins to sink. As they watch a mother reading to her two young children in bed, Y/N begins to lose her composure, like always. Tears well in her eyes, and she lets out a quiet hitched breath, a single sniffle.

“It’s alright, love.” Harry’s hands move to her stomach, holding her tighter to comfort her. “Don’t cry.”

Y/N can hear the tears in his voice, just as they’re in her own. “Can’t help it. This part and the band and the old couple in bed—they always get me.”

“I know.” Harry rubs his thumb along your side.

Y/N reaches behind her without turning around, threading her fingers through Harry’s messy curls. She plays with them absentmindedly as she watches, and tries to ignore how right it feels to be close to him like this. She wonders if he notices it, too.

Harry presses a chaste kiss to her shoulder.

…

The day they hit the one month mark of quarantine, Harry sits across from Y/N at breakfast with a determined look on his face.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Y/N glances up at him, her attention barely shifting from her book. “A proposition?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of proposition?” Y/N tilts her head to the side. What she first thought was just determination on Harry’s face, she realizes, is actually determination and mischief, and she knows it won’t end well.

“I haven’t had a tattoo in a while.” Harry steals a strawberry from Y/N’s plate. “And I have a machine here, so I was thinking you could give me one.”

Y/N stares at Harry incredulously as he pops the strawberry in his mouth. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.”

“I’m a terrible artist, Harry. You know that.” Y/N shakes her head. “And even if I wasn’t, I have no idea how to tattoo someone!”

“You can watch a YouTube tutorial, or read a WikiHow.” Harry sighs loudly. “I’m so bored in isolation!”

“What do you even want tattooed?” Y/N eyes the intricate tattoos on his arms suspiciously. “I doubt I could do something like your ship.”

“Something simple.” He shrugs. “Probably lettering.”

“Probably?” Y/N says suspiciously.

“That’s why I want you to do it. I want it in your handwriting.”

Harry’s tone is easy, but it makes her breathing shallow.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of something to remind me of this time, because of how weird it is.”

Despite her increased heartbeat, Y/N laughs. “What, do you want me to tattoo COVID-19 on you?”

“No. Be a little more creative than that.” Harry scoffs.

“Why do I have to be creative?”

“Because I want you to decide what I get.”

Y/N’s eyes widen. “You’re not serious.”

“I am! Why is that so hard to believe?” Harry asks. “I trust you. And you’re good with words.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

…

“Make sure my drink has two shots in it.” Y/N calls to Harry as she looks over the tattoo supplies on the living room table.

Harry laughs. “I’m not sure I want my tattoo artist to be drunk.”

“The only way I’ll even be your tattoo artist is if I’m drunk.” She counters. “I still think this is an awful idea.”

Harry hands Y/N a tall glass with a light pink liquid in it. “Drink this, and you’ll change your mind.”

Y/N takes the glass and takes a large gulp, not focusing on the taste of the mixers, but the liquid courage behind them.

Harry grins, lifting his own glass. “Cheers.”

“Shut up and sit down.” Y/N mutters. She ties her hair back before grabbing the disinfectant wipes. “Where do you want this?”

“My upper inner arm. I already shaved it for you.” Harry smirks as he points to the area, which is easily exposed in his loose tank top.

“And you’re sure I can write it with pen?” Y/N asks nervously as she disinfects the area.

“Mhmm.” Harry leans back comfortably in his chair. “What did you decide on?”

“It’s a secret.” Y/N uncaps the pen, getting closer to him.

“So I can’t know until after it’s on me permanently?”

“Is that a problem?” Y/N asks innocently. “I thought you trusted me?”

Harry chuckles. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Also that I’m good with words.” Y/N makes sure Harry’s head is turned away before she carefully writes the phrase she chose. Then she snaps on gloves and starts the machine like she watched in videos early that day.

“You’re fine, love.” Harry assures her, seeing the nervous look on her face. “It’s a small tattoo. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Quiet.” Y/N mutters. “I need to focus.”

True to Harry’s word, the small tattoo only takes a few minutes to finish. When it’s done, Y/N gives it one final wipe before setting the machine down and taking off her gloves.

“Alright.” She picks up her glass and drains it completely. “You can look.”

Harry peers at his arm, curiosity clear on his face. There, in Y/N’s loopy handwriting is the phrase “touch me.”

“It looks so fucking good, Y/N.” Harry grins at her. “You did amazing!”

“I didn’t fuck it up?” She asks, chewing on her lip anxiously. “Is it alright?”

“You did a lovely job.” Harry smiles. “Wrap it for me?”

Y/N does as he asks, carefully wrapping the fresh tattoo in plastic wrap and taping it to his arm. “I think I’ll accept my tip in the form of another drink.”

Harry snickers. “Coming right up.”

Two drinks later, they’re both back in the honest and loose headspace that they’ve grown familiar with. It’s not enough that they’re unaware of their actions, but both Y/N and Harry know that their lips are looser because of the liquor in their systems.

They’ve migrated to the bedroom to get comfier, but took a few items from the bar with them. It’s with these items that Harry tops up Y/N’s glass again as he speaks.

“So tell me…” He sets the cocktail shaker on his bedside table. “Why ‘touch me’?”

“You said you wanted something to remind you of isolation.” Y/N takes a long sip of her drink. “And that’s what we both miss the most, right? Being touched?”

Harry nods slowly, his rings clinking against his glass. “Yeah. I’m probably going to go straight to the bars after this is all done. Find someone there.”

He laughs lightly, showing that what he says it half a joke, but Y/N sighs wistfully and shakes her head in disagreement. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?” Harry is surprised, his laughter fading. “Why not?”

Her shrug almost causes her to spill her drink on the bed. “I don’t know.” Y/N sighs again. “I don’t really—I’m not a hookup fan. Not right now, at least. It’s not what I…want.”

“What do you want, then?” Harry finishes his drink, but sets the glass down instead of refilling it. “If not sex?”

“I want sex.” Y/N says defensively. “But I want—I don’t want it to be someone random. I want sex, but I want to be…intimate. Like, I want to know that person cares about me, and I care about them.”

Harry licks the last of his drink from his lips. “Like that breathless feeling?”

“No. It would be nice, but no. That takes time.” Y/N brushes her hair behind her ear. “Just…someone who cares. I don’t want a quick fuck, I just—”

“You want to be touched. Intimately touched.” Harry takes the empty glass from Y/N’s hand and sets it down on the table next to the bed.

Y/N nods gently, her limbs feeling loose. “Yeah. Intimately touched.”

“You know, I could…” Harry trails off, pursing his lips. “We could…do that.”

The alcohol makes Y/N slow to recognize the meaning of his words. “What?”

“I’ve noticed you…the way you look at me, it’s…different than it was.” Harry says carefully, his eyes gauging her reaction. “For the last few weeks. And I—I know that I’m…attracted to you, too.”

“We…” Y/N struggles to think of what to say as she finally registers what’s happening. “We’re friends.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see you as attractive.” Harry looks down at his hands. “Don’t you…? I mean…”

“I—yeah. I think you’re—” Y/N laughs a bit nervously. “You’re attractive, H, you know that. We’ve just never…discussed it.”

“I’m not saying we have to fuck, or—we don’t have to do anything.” Harry straightens his shoulders and looks you in the eye. “Just—when we touch, it’s mild. If you want to be touched intimately, we could…”

“Like, a hand job?” Y/N says slowly, her words blunt with confusion.

Harry goes a bit red, but he shakes his head quickly. “No, Christ, that’s not what I meant, I—just—can I show you?”

“Um,” Y/N swallows hard. “Sure.”

“Okay.” Harry nods slightly, taking carefully measured breaths. “If this feels weird, or anything seems wrong, just tell me to stop, alright?”

Y/N replies faintly. “Alright.”

Nodding again, Harry moves closer on the bed, sitting on his knees so he can get closer to Y/N, who sits cross-legged. His hands rest lightly on her bare thighs, and his rings are a cool contrast to his warm skin.

Harry begins to rub his hands up and down her thighs slowly. His movements are measured, and he watches Y/N’s reaction carefully for a sign of her disliking his actions. However, what he finds is a nervous but interested girl staring back at him.

“Like this. Like, what you like.” Harry says lowly. His hands move more to her inner thighs, but they don’t creep higher. “And…”

“And…?” Y/N asks, her heart rate increasing even more.

Harry moves one hand to the hem of Y/N’s tank top, pushing it up a bit so his hand can rest on her waist. He rubs over her warm skin, marvelling in how smooth and soft it is to his touch. His fingers graze the lace of her bra, but he goes no higher.

“How—how’s that?” Harry asks quietly.

“It’s, um, it’s good.” Y/N replies as she struggles to keep her voice normal. “Yeah. Good. But, um, can you…” Harry’s movements pause at her words, and Y/N feels her cheeks get even warmer. “Maybe touch my, uh, my neck. If you’d like.”

Harry nods, and the hand on her thigh moves to her neck. He traces his fingers across her shoulder and over her collarbone, delighting in feeling the curves of her body. Y/N’s breath hitches when his fingers travel up her neck, and Harry swears he can feel her pulse increase under his fingers.

Y/N’s not sure if it’s the fact that she’s touch starved from self isolating that makes Harry’s touches feel so good, or if it’s the fact that it’s Harry touching her, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, allowing him better access.

She feels Harry’s breath before she feels his lips, but she’s still surprised when she feels him begin to sponge light kisses across her neck.

“H…”

“Is this alright?” He asks the question right below her ear, and yet she can barely hear him because he’s so quiet.

“Yes.” Y/N breathes. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Harry returns to pressing light kisses to her skin, his hands still rubbing over her sides and hips.

For the first time since seeing Harry naked in her bathroom, Y/N can’t deny or explain away her attraction to him. She can’t convince herself that she doesn’t want him to touch her, because she does, and she can’t tell herself that she doesn’t need him, because she does. Every fibre of her being is telling her that she needs Harry, and she needs him now. Her heart is pounding, her skin is on fire, and her core feels like she’d going to explode if he doesn’t do something. And yet, Y/N can’t tell him to touch her more. She’s frozen, mind blank, and she can only register what Harry is doing at the moment as what she wants.

Harry continues to kiss her neck, never lingering too long in one spot, never sucking too hard. Every kiss is gentle and chaste, except the few rare ones that include the tip of his tongue running over her skin.

After what feels like an eternity, Harry pulls away from her neck, face flushed. Despite his hands still on her body, Y/N makes an involuntary sound in the back of her throat.

“Is that better?” He asks lowly, rubbing his thumb against your hip.

“I—kind of.” Y/N says softly. If anything, she thinks, it’s worse. She needs to satisfy the burn inside her, but she doesn’t know how.

“Good.” Harry replies, but he doesn’t take his hands off her.

Y/N’s own hands have been sitting at her sides as his moved over her body, but she raises one now, as hesitant as Harry was. She extends it towards his arm, but pauses with her fingers right over his skin.

“Is it okay if I…?”

The corner of Harry’s lips lifts up, just barely. “Yeah, love. Go ahead.”

Harry’s skin is warm beneath her touch. Y/N traces the outline of his mermaid tattoo carefully before moving onto others. She loves how his arm curves under her touch, how he stays still and lets her explore. She appreciates it, thinking that if Harry made any sudden movements, she’d force herself to pull away.

Soon, her fingers move from tracing his tattoos to tracing the lines of his muscles. She moves down his forearm to his hand, running her fingers over the veins that show through his tan skin, over his knuckles, down the tips of his calloused fingers and back.

Harry sucks in a breath, and Y/N’s trance flickers for a moment as her eyes move to his face to see what’s wrong.

“Sorry, just—surprised me.” Harry says, voice low yet sheepish. He nods down to his thigh, where Y/N realizes her own hand is resting.

“Oh—” She moves to pull her hand away, but Harry places his own on top.

“It’s fine.” He says quickly. “Keep going.”

Y/N bites her lip as she turns her attention back to his arm. Her fingers move slowly and carefully back up his forearm to his upper arm. She traces over his tattoos while she rubs her thumb gently against the muscle, and stops her fingers at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. With a quick glance at Harry, she pushes the sleeve up, tucking it up on his shoulder so she can run her fingers over his ship tattoo, which is one of her favourites.

“Feels nice.” Harry murmurs, his eyes following her movements.

Y/N glances back at his face, taking in his appearance. His lips are red from the time he spent kissing her neck, and his cheeks are still flushed. His eyes are darker than usual, and she’s not certain if it’s the candlelight or something else causing it. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, with a few loose curls hanging down. Out of reflex, Y/N reaches up and pushes his hair back out of his eyes.

Before she can return her hand to his arm, Harry captures it in his own. Y/N watches as he brings it to his lips, inhaling as her wrist passes underneath his nose. Although she’s not sure why, there’s something about seeing how much smaller her hand is in Harry’s that delights her.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her wrist, following it up with another on her palm. Y/N’s eyelids flutter at the tender sensation.

“It’s my turn to touch you.” She says softly, her voice strained.

Harry hums in reply. “I know.” He kisses your wrist once more before looking at you. “I’ll help.”

Lifting his hand from his thigh (your hand, which was underneath, stays where it is), he pulls up his shirt just enough that he can sneak your hand underneath. He rests it on his lower chest, and even though his shirt is still partially covering him, Y/N knows she’s touching his butterfly tattoo.

“I like to be touched here.” Harry says in the same low voice.

“Okay.” Y/N bites her lip, her head swimming with alcohol and the smell of the candles and Harry’s cologne and Harry. “It…would be easier without your shirt.”

Without breaking eye contact, save for the moment fabric covers him, Harry pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. “Better?”

Y/N’s eyes drift down to his tanned stomach. His body is familiar and a stranger to her all at once. She knows his tattoos, scars, every mark on his skin from a distance, but seeing it like this—touching it like this—makes her feel like she’s never truly seen him before.

“Better.” She manages to say, her hand brushing across his ribs.

Y/N spends a while exploring the planes of his stomach, the contours of his body. When she gets to his v-lines, and runs her fingers over the ferns tattooed there, Harry shivers a bit, his hand gripping her knee tighter.

Y/N massages his thigh gently. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Harry clears his throat. “I’m good.”

“Okay.” Y/N nods, but moves her hand further up again, over his chest and over his collar bones. She takes a moment to trace the lines of his neck, feel the beat if his pulse underneath her fingers, and then tangles her fingers in his hair. She uses the leverage to tilt his head back a bit, and presses her lips to the base of his neck.

Harry’s cologne smells better up close, and Y/N adores the heat of his skin on her sensitive lips. She presses small kisses over the curve of his neck, pausing over his jugular. Her tongue darts out and she carefully licks along it before ending the motion with a kiss.

“Christ…” Harry exhales slowly, the tips of his fingers digging into her knee slightly.

Y/N knows they’re crossing the threshold of just touching each other for the sake of touching. She can feel herself dripping in her panties, and when her eyes flicker down, she can see the outline of Harry’s half hard cock in his shorts. Together, they’ve reached the border of friends helping each other out, and she’s certain that she wants to cross it with him. However, she’s not sure if they should.

Pulling back enough to look Harry in the eyes, Y/N clears her throat. “H, we—what are we doing?”

Harry waits a moment to answer. “I…I don’t know. I have no fucking clue.”

“This isn’t friendly anymore.” Y/N’s voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not just—it’s intimate, yeah, but it’s more…” Her eyes move to the outline of his hardening cock once more before looking back up at his face. “It’s more.”

“Yeah. It’s more.” Harry moves his hand further up her thigh again, rubbing slow circles. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “You don’t?”

“It’s been so long since…” Harry trails off, his gaze drifting down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “And it’s you. I’ve always wondered if—we—”

“I’ve wondered, too.” Y/N admits, her voice filled with nerves. Are they really discussing this? “Especially since that day, in the bathroom—”

“I wondered if you looked then.” Harry’s voice drops lower (which Y/N didn’t think was possible). “I thought about it later that day. I—fuck, I wanted you to look.”

A small noise escapes the back of Y/N’s throat. “This—we’ve been drinking, and—it’s the alcohol, H. Neither of us is thinking straight.”

“This isn’t the alcohol talking. I’ve thought about—when we’re in the pool, when we cuddle, when we flirt, I—I can’t help it.” Harry closes his eyes for a brief moment, like he’s collecting himself. “I need you. And I think…I think you need me too.”

“I do. I need you.” Y/N touches his stubbled jaw with careful fingers. “But we’re friends. This is going to change that.”

“We don’t know that.” Harry leans into her touch. “You said before that you wanted someone you’re comfortable with, something intimate, something breathless. You and I are comfortable, and intimate, and—I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I want you.”

Y/N isn’t sure if he means he wants her in a purely physical way or something more, and while she knows she should clarify that, all she can focus on is his voice and the way it’s going straight to her core.

“I want you, too.” She says simply.

Harry brings his hand to Y/N’s hip. “Can I kiss you?”

Y/N nods. She’s not sure she’s capable of giving a verbal response.

Harry takes it upon himself to lean closer, his fingertips digging into Y/N’s skin in a way she adores. He pauses, hovering just above her lips for a moment, as if to give her time to pull away. Instead, Y/N just waits in anticipation, delighting in the feeling of his breath running over her skin.

When he kisses her, Y/N tastes alcohol, mint, and what she swears is her own heart in the back of her throat.

Any previous kisses she’s shared with Harry have been half kisses, given in teenage games of truth or dare and in a friend’s parent’s basement. Those kisses were safe, guarded, and an obligation. This kiss is the exact opposite.

Although it starts chaste, it quickly grows more passionate. Y/N can’t stop herself from tugging on Harry’s hair more than she imagines Harry can stop himself from rucking up the hem of her tank top. His fingers dip under the band of her lace bralette as she nips at his lip, tugging slightly, delighted when a strangled sound echoes from the back of his throat.

Within minutes, Y/N’s allowed Harry to pull her to straddle his lap, his hands grabbing at her hips with a neediness she’s never seen him exhibit before. Of course, she feels the same way, and she lets her hand run down his chest over and over, using her nails a little more each time. Although there’s no one around to see, no party to return to, nowhere to go, Y/N wants to leave a mark. She wants anyone who sees his chest to know that he belongs to her.

Harry breaks away from her, lips red, eyes frenzied, and breathing heavy. “Can I—?” His hands tug on the hem of her top, tugging in question.

Y/N lifts her arms in response, letting him pull it off and toss it to the side. Harry moves back in to kiss her again, but she keeps her arms up, giving him a long look.

“You’re not done.” She says simply.

He understands right away, and his fingers find the band of her bralette again. This time, however, he removes it slower, almost as if the removal is ritual itself, and his hands are less frantic when they return to your skin.

Harry looks at Y/Nu with wide eyes, and she understands the meaning in them: this is so much more than just touching, and so much more than two friends using each other for mutual pleasure. With every touch, they further cross a line, and neither of them can stop.

With this realization, Harry’s movements become more cautious. His hands come to rest on her sides, his thumbs just brushing the side of her breast.

“You’re fine.” Y/N assures him in a soothing voice. “Keep going.”

“Are you fine?” He counters, his voice an equal mix of concern and need.

“H.” Y/N takes his hands in her own and places them over her breasts. “Like that. Touch me like that.”

Harry sucks in a short breath as she manipulates his hands, showing him how to rub her and touch her. After a few moments, she lets her hands move to his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Y/N begins to grind against him, desperate for a bit of friction. Their kisses are soon accented with their moans as they each pull the other closer in lust and need.

Still, underneath the physical desires, there’s a current running between them. Y/N knows it’s been there for the last few weeks, humming quietly in the back of her mind, but being here, now, with Harry touching her, it’s come alive like an electric fence. She can’t turn it off, and she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to in the slightest.

Harry begins to kiss down her neck like before, but this time his kisses are anything but chaste. When he reaches her breast, he kisses around them before taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Oh fuck—” Y/N arches her back, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. “Harry…”

He hums against her, and his spare hand rubs her back like he does when they get ready to sleep. Usually, the motion is calming, but right now, Y/N feels anything but calm.

Harry continues until he’s satisfied with his work, and then he kisses his way to her other breast, wrapping his lips against her other nipple. He spends just as much time on that one, letting his teeth graze it ever so slightly before soothing the action with his tongue.

When he pulls back, there’s a little line of spit connecting Harry’s mouth to her nipple, and Y/N whimpers at the sight.

“H…” She runs her finger through the line before gripping his chin with her thumb and forefinger. The need inside her builds, as does her fondness for the man in front of her. “God…”

Harry tweaks her hard nipple with his finger, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, but enough to make a gasp fall from her mouth. He offers no response in the form of words, but the hungry look in his eyes has only increased.

“Let me…” Y/N climbs off of his lap, gently pushing him to lay back on the bed. “Yeah?”

Harry runs a hand through his messy curls, nodding quickly. “You want that?”

“Yeah.” Y/N nods too, pressing a wet kiss to his swollen lips. “So bad. Yeah.”

Her hands move to the waistband of his shorts, and Harry lifts his hips off the bed. Y/N tugs down his boxers in the same movement, and tosses both articles of clothing to the side before looking back at him.

Harry’s cock is just as beautiful as she remembers it being the morning she accidentally walked in on him. Even more so, she thinks, because now he’s hard, and the head is the most appetizing shade of pink, with drops of precum pearling at the top. When Y/N wraps her hand around his girth, she adores the heat that she feels.

“So pretty…” She says the words almost to herself, and strokes him lightly to get used to the feeling of him in her hand. “I just want to…”

Y/N leans down and flicks her tongue over his tip, collecting the precum gathered there. In return, a strangled moan leaves Harry’s throat as his arm moves to cover his eyes for a moment.

Y/N presses a kiss to the head of his cock before she continues licking, reveling in the sounds Harry makes. She had no doubt, with a voice as angelic as his, that his moans and whines and whimpers would be just as beautiful.

When she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, she feels Harry’s hand move to her hair. She looks up at him without lifting off of his cock, staring him in the eye as she takes more and more of him into her mouth.

“Fuck—” Another moan leaves Harry’s lips, more strained than the last. “That’s it…” He tugs on her hair, but doesn’t push her down. Even when lost in pleasure, he’s careful with her.

Y/N loves him for it.

Pacing herself, she takes more and more of him into her mouth until her nose is pressed to the base of his stomach, brushing against his (neatly trimmed) pubic hair. She stays down for just a moment before pulling up completely to breathe, but keeps her hand on him, stroking him slowly.

“You look so good.” Harry mutters, running his hands over her hair in a soothing motion. “I imagined it, but didn’t think…so much better…”

Y/N moves to push her head back down, but Harry stops her, bringing her up for a kiss instead.

“I want to taste you, now.” He tells her, laying her down on the pillows. “Is that alright?”

Y/N nods desperately, feeling even more heat rush to her core and pool there. “Mhmm.”

Harry kisses his way down her body again, slipping his fingers into the waistband of her shorts. He leaves her panties on as he pulls the shorts down, and lets out a low groan at the sight of her pink Calvin Klein panties, and more specifically, the dark pink spot that’s apparent on them.

“You’re soaked…” He presses a kiss to her sensitive inner thigh before brushing a finger over the wet spot.

Y/N jumps a bit, making a sound in the back of her throat. “Harry!”

“Sorry.” He kisses her thigh again. “I’m sorry. Just relax, yeah? It’s just me. I got you.”

Harry continues to kiss along her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the thin cloth covering her center. When he presses his first kiss to the fabric, Y/N grasps the sheets in her hands.

“God…” She whispers, fists clenched.

Harry reaches up and takes one of her hands, placing it in his hair wordlessly before kissing over her again, his tongue peaking out just a bit.

The torture continues for what feels like forever, with Harry teasing her over the soaked fabric of her panties. Finally, Y/N sighs in relief as she feels his hands grip the fabric, and she lifts her hips eagerly as he tugs the article of clothing down.

The first thing she feels is his hot breath hitting her core, which is enough to make her legs reflexively close with pleasure. Harry’s hand grips her leg, pushing them back open as he takes in the sight of her dripping cunt before him.

“Fuck…” He inhales deeply, committing her scent to memory. “Your pussy is so gorgeous.”

Y/N whimpers at his words and tugs on his curls. “Please, H…I need you.”

“Need me?” Harry asks in a husky voice, his finger touching her outer lips just barely.

“Yes!” Y/N whines, not caring how she sounds. “Never needed anything more…”

Harry runs his finger over her slit, collecting the wetness dripping from her. YN moans loudly at the contact, not fully relieved but grateful for the light touch.

“So fucking wet.” Harry’s voice sounds not completely his own. “Fuck, Y/N, how are you so wet?”

Y/N feels heat rush to her cheeks, and she mumbles her reply in what’s almost an embarrassed voice. “You know exactly how.”

“Don’t even know what to do first.” Harry ignores her reply, lost in his own world as he continues stroking her slit. “Just want…”

He presses into her without warning, and Y/N arches her back off the bed as Harry’s finger slips into her cunt. His cold rings touch the top of her entrance as Harry pauses inside her, his eyes heavy with lust.

“And so tight.” He moans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. “Oh my God…”

He curves his finger inside her, wanting to feel every inch of her that he can. Y/N continues to whimper above him.

“More.” She begs him, pushing back against his finger. “I can take more, Harry, please.”

Harry easily slips enough finger in, repeating his motion as she pushes back on him. However, the pressure building inside Y/N disappears abruptly as his fingers do, and she’s just about to get angry at him when she feels his tongue replace his fingers.

“Fuck!” She exclaims loudly, her eyes closing as she throws her head back. “Harry—!”

Harry moves his tongue in and out of her, loving the taste of her juices in his mouth. He moves further up to her clit, licking and sucking over the sensitive bundle of nerves as Y/N writhes above him.

“Taste so good.” He growls from between her thighs. “Fuck, Y/N…you’re going to cum for me, yeah?” He asks as he reaches up and grips her hands in his, interlocking their fingers. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Another strangled moan leaves Y/N’s mouth as he speaks. “I-I’m so close, Harry. Keep going, please.”

“Tell me.” He demands, licking over her clit again. “Tell me you’re going to cum for me.”

Y/N grinds against his tongue as she grips his hands tighter. “I’m going—fuck—I’m going to cum for you, H. I’m going—”

Harry sucks hard on her clit, and Y/N throws her head back as an orgasm hits her harder than ever before. Her thighs clench shut, trapping Harry’s head between them, but he just continues to lap at the juices flowing from her cunt while making the most obscene sounds Y/N has ever heard.

Harry doesn’t pull back until Y/N unclenches her thighs, and before he does, he presses one last kiss to her clit, making her flinch.

Y/N is so exhausted she can barely open her eyes. Once she does, however, and sees Harry, she feels all the exhaustion fade.

Harry’s lips are, somehow, even more red than before, and his whole chin is slick with her wetness. He keeps licking his lips, like he can’t get enough of the taste, and Y/N feels like her whole body is on fire.

“Harry…” She whispers, squeezing his hand again. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Harry lifts himself over her body, which is still shaking from her orgasm, and kisses her gently. She can taste herself on his mouth, and she adores it.

“You taste so fucking good.” He murmurs, pressing his sweaty forehead against hers. “Like candy.”

Y/N swallows hard. “I haven’t—no one’s done that in a long time.”

“I’ll be glad to do it again.” Harry replies, brushing her hair back. “But right now…all I want to do is make love to you.” He looks at her with sincere eyes. “Will you let me?”

The tenderness of him asking almost brings tears to her eyes, and Y/N nods, her hands coming up to cup his rosy cheeks. “Yeah, H. I’m…” She bites her lip as she realizes the truth of her words. “I’m yours. Always.”

Harry inhales sharply before kissing her softly, his hands stroking her hair in a comforting fashion again. “How do you want to…?”

“I want you on top.” Y/N replies, touching his swallow tattoos. “I-I want to feel you. Feel your weight. Feel you close.”

With a nod, Harry positions himself over her, spreading her legs wide enough that his body can fit between. He holds himself up with one hand and uses the other to guide his cock to Y/N’s folds, just brushing the head over them. He’s teasing himself just as much as her.

“Harry…” Y/N leans her head back at the sensation. “Please, H…”

“I don’t—wait—” Harry pauses his movements, and Y/N can see on his face the strength and discipline it takes for him to do so. “I—a condom—”

“I’m clean, and I have an IUD.” Y/N assures him, running her hand along his shoulders. “Are you?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I am, but—are you sure?”

As Y/N looks into his eyes, the love and concern and want written all over them, she knows she’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “I want to feel you, without anything in between. I—” She takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead, and the tender action makes Y/N close her eyes as she revels in the feeling. A moment later, Harry moves down again and puts his forehead against hers as he pushes into her.

The moment he enters her, Y/N feels a fullness she’s never experienced before. Not only is Harry stretching her cunt in a way that feels euphoric, but she feels complete. He’s as close to her as he’s ever been, his breath is mingling with hers, his body weight is held over her carefully, and Y/N thinks she could die in the pleasure of this moment happily.

“Y/N…baby…” The pet name seems to fall easily from Harry’s lips as he bottoms out, holding himself still to adjust to the feeling. “Oh my God…”

Y/N digs her fingernails into Harry’s shoulders, pressing kisses to his lips between gasps for breath. “Move, H, please.”

Harry begins to thrust his hips, setting a slow but deep pace before gradually speeding up. While part of Y/N wishes he would thrust as fast as he can, a deeper part of her is grateful that Harry is taking his time with her. This feeling, now that she has it, is better than anything she’d ever felt before, and Y/N doesn’t want it to end anytime soon.

Harry kisses Y/N again as he moves inside her. Although they’re as close as they’ve ever been, each of them keeps pulling the other closer. As Harry thrusts deeper, Y/N pulls more of his weight down on her. As Y/N scratches her nails down his back, Harry kisses her jaw. Neither of them can process exactly what they’re doing, but neither of them can stop. Each touch is tender, each kiss is passionate, and each moment brings them closer together in so many more ways than just physical.

They don’t speak except for the occasional whisper from Y/N for Harry to move faster, or the occasional moan of Y/N’s name falling from Harry’s lips. The only constant sounds in the room are of the slickness between Y/N’s thighs as Harry moves between them, the sound of his skin meeting hers, both of them panting and moaning, and a few whispers of “please” that are barely audible. Despite the lack of speech, however, the two are in constant communication. Kissing, biting, scratching, and squeezing have become the vocabulary of their new language. When Harry looks into Y/N’s wet eyes, he knows that she feels something running through the very depths of her being. When Y/N feels Harry tuck his head between her neck and her shoulder as he whimpers, she knows that he trusts her to comfort him and hold him there.

Soon, Y/N feels the waves of pleasure begin to build, and she knows that when they finally break, they’ll pull her under. “H, I—fuck—I—” She can’t manage to form the sentence she needs to.

Harry, however, can tell exactly what she’s going to say. “Please.” He pants, adoring how she buries her head into his shoulder. “Please, love, cum for me…” He kisses over the shell of her ear as he thrusts deeper. “Need you.”

Y/N whimpers, biting down on Harry’s shoulder as her orgasm rolls over her. Harry feels her walls tighten around his cock, but he doesn’t slow down, and he works her through her climax until she whines in his ear.

“So good, H…” Y/N can barely find the strength to whisper the phrase.

Hearing her sound so fucked out, feeling her cunt squeezing him, and seeing the euphoria on her face is enough to bring Harry to the edge. He slows his thrusts, about to pull out, but Y/N presses on his back to keep him close.

Harry groans as a shiver rolls through his body. “I’m about to cum, Y/N—”

“Stay inside me.” She pleads, pressing the pads of her fingers between his shoulder blades. “I-I’m yours, Harry, I told you. Yours.”

Y/N looks up at him with such trusting and vulnerable eyes that Harry can’t make himself argue with her. He nods instead, his thrusts increasing in speed again until he feels himself reach the edge of pleasure.

As he freefalls into Y/N, his hips stutter, and he presses deep inside her while her name falls from his lips over and over again. He can’t think of anything else to say. He can’t think of anything else worth saying.

When Harry finally manages to pull himself together enough to pull out, Y/N instantly feels the emptiness inside her. She wishes he would stay, but knows that it’s not practical, and instead just relishes in the feeling of his cum dripping from her entrance. It’s like he’s claimed her as his, left a physical mark of himself, and Y/N doesn’t have the strength to stop herself from loving it.

They lay in silence for a few moments, trying to catch their breath and regain a sense of where they are. Both Harry and Y/N are sweaty, exhausted, and covered in each other in more ways than one. The wrap on Harry’s tattoo has slipped from his arm. Somewhere in their pleasure, Y/N has lost an earring. And yet, the only thing each of them cares about is looking at the other.

Out of instinct, Harry pulls Y/N’s shivering body into his, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He can’t imagine she’s cold, and Y/N can’t bring herself to tell him she’s shivering because of the feeling of being so close to him, but neither of them denies the other of the affectionate gesture.

Y/N loses track of how long they lay there until Harry breaks the silence.

“I—” His voice cracks, and he clears it quickly before trying again. “I’ll get you a cloth to—to clean you up.”

Y/N nods, and Harry gently untangles himself from her before going to the bathroom. Y/N can hear the running of water, and turns her head to see what he’s doing, but when she spots his naked silhouette, she closes her eyes. Despite what they just did, there’s a shyness in her still when she sees him completely stripped.

Her eyes stay closed, and she only detects his return from feeling his weight return to the bed. He places a gentle hand on her trembling knee, pulling her open ever so slightly.

“’M just cleaning you up.” Harry says in a quiet tone. “Is that okay?”

Y/N nods again. She’s not certain she has enough strength to say anything.

Harry wipes between her legs with a gentle touch, watching how she flinches at the slightest of pressure. “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely, kissing her knee tenderly before continuing. “You’re sensitive, I know. Almost done.”

Once he finishes wiping away the cum dripping out of her (his cum dripping out of her), Harry tosses the cloth onto his pile of clothes on the ground, deciding it can be dealt with later. His most pressing concern at the moment is Y/N.

He lays back down on his side so he can face her, and pushes a lock of hair away from her closed eyes.

“Y/N.” Harry murmurs, hand resting on her waist carefully. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is rough when she answers, and Harry can hear the echo of her moans in her words. “I-I’m fine, H. Just…tired.”

“Do you…” Harry bites his lip. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N gives a slight shake of her head. “Maybe—maybe tomorrow, yeah?” She does her best to open one eye, but quickly shuts it again when she sees how Harry is looking at her. “Can’t right now.”

“Okay.” Harry lays his arm over her side as he moves closer. “Tomorrow.”

Y/N presses her head into his shoulder and commits the scent of his skin to memory.

…

The first thing Y/N registers when she wakes up is the feeling of someone touching her hair.

She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know it’s Harry. Of course it’s Harry. It’s always been Harry. In every way.

Y/N sighs and readjusts her position in bed, moving a bit closer to Harry. She shivers once from the cold, still naked from last night’s activities, and that’s the only hint Harry needs before he pulls the sheet up around her more.

“Are you awake?” He asks softly, careful in case she’s still lost deep in sleep.

Y/N moves her head in a passable nodding motion, and her voice is thick with sleep when she answers. “Mhmm. Barely.”

A low chuckle escapes from Harry’s mouth, and the next thing Y/N feels are his warm lips against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“A little hungover. A little sore.” Y/N finally opens her eyes as she speaks, and almost wishes she hadn’t.

Harry’s hair is a mess from both sex and sleep, messy and wild and haphazardly pushed out of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and his neck and chest are covered in marks from both Y/N’s lips and fingers. She knows that if he turned over, his back would be the same, and it embarrasses her and delights her at the same time. He looks completely fucked and content, and more relaxed than she’s seen him in ages.

Y/N wonders if she looks the same. If she looks as pretty.

“Sorry.” Harry says, his tone a bit sheepish.

“It’s not your fault.” Y/N replies, shrugging a bit.

“Well…it is, actually. I made your drinks. And I…” He trails off, brushing his fingers down her bare hip to her thigh.

“Yeah.” Y/N feels her face get warm. “I guess it is your fault.”

Harry laughs lightly, but it fades away as he looks into her eyes. “We, uh…we should probably talk about what happened.”

Y/N purses her lips. “Yeah. We should.”

“So…first question, I guess.” Harry props his head up on his arm, but keeps running his fingers over Y/N’s hip gently. “Do you regret it?”

Y/N sits up a bit more in bed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. “No. I don’t. Do you?”

“No.” Harry replies instantly. “I don’t regret it.”

“Okay.” Y/N is so aware of Harry’s eyes on her as she thinks of her question. “Did…did you enjoy it?”

A snort falls from Harry’s mouth, and he shakes his head incredulously. “Christ, Y/N, of course I enjoyed it. It felt—you felt like heaven.”

Y/N flushes at the comment. “I’ve never…I’ve always made my partners wear condoms. So that was a first for me.”

Harry’s fingers pause over her hip, but only for a moment. It looks as though he’s deciding whether or not he should comment on that, but changes his mind at the last moment. “Did you enjoy it?” He asks instead, echoing your question.

“I did.”

“You said you were mine.”

Y/N swallows hard. This conversation is less incriminating than making love to him last night, but it seems infinitely more powerful. Probably because they’re both sober, she thinks.

“That—” She clears her throat. “That’s not a question.”

Harry sighs, but there’s an endeared smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You said you were mine. Did you mean that?”

Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, so she looks down instead. Harry’s hand lies between them, and she intertwines their fingers, playing with his rings as she carefully formulates her answer. “I’ve—I’ve always been yours, H. Ever since we were kids, I’ve belonged to you.” She runs a finger over his H ring. “Even when you were gone.”

Harry frowns a bit at the tone of her voice. “I’ve been yours too, Y/N. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

“You’ve always been further out of reach.” Y/N pulls her hand from his, until their fingertips are just barely touching. “Always just…a little out of reach.”

Harry intertwines their fingers again. “I’m not out of reach. Not right now. And I’ve never—if you ever called me and said you needed me, I would’ve been on the first flight back home to you. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Y/N. I still would, and I always will.”

Tears prick Y/N’s eyes, and although she hurries to close them, one slips out. Harry catches it on his finger before it can run off her cheek, and when she looks at him again, there’s a concerned look on his face.

“C’mere.” Harry mumbles, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He rubs her back like he always does, and the motion is so comforting that she almost forgets the vulnerable position they’re both in. “You’re my girl. You’re always going to be my girl.” He murmurs in her ear, voice low and soothing. “Always. Don’t you know that?”

Y/N nods, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“If this is too much for you…” Harry traces his fingers between her shoulder blades. Y/N thinks he’s tracing words, like they used to as children, but she can’t tell what words he may be tracing. “I understand. We can just—we can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I—” Y/N shakes her head, looking up at Harry. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N?” Harry asks, his tone as pleading as it was last night. “All I’ve ever tried to do is give you what you want, and usually I’m pretty good at telling what that is, but right now, I’m lost. I don’t want things to go back to how they were, but I don’t—I can’t lose you, so just—if you just tell me what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll make it work. I promise that I won’t be mad, or hurt, or anything.”

Y/N sits up as best she can, her fingers combing through Harry’s messy curls on reflex, as she always does it when he gets upset. “I can’t pretend that I don’t want you, H. I do. I need you. I told you that last night.”

“But you’re crying.” Harry cups her wet cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone. “I hate that.”

Y/N leans into his touch. “It just feels…strange.” She says after a moment. “All of this. I spent so long trying to stop myself from thinking of you like this, and now that I am, I feel like—like it’s wrong.”

Harry tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth. “Does it feel wrong?”

His low voice makes her shiver. “No. It feels right. Really right.”

“I feel like…” Harry’s eyes flicker between Y/N’s own eyes and their intertwined hands. “I feel like we’re both dancing around saying it.”

Y/N sucks in a breath. “Saying what?”

“Saying…” Harry leans in and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Saying that we’re in love with each other.”

Y/N feels breathless at the words coming from his mouth. “You’re in love with me?”

“Are you not in love with me?” He replies, moving so he’s leaning over her more. “We’ve said I love you so many times before.”

“That’s a different kind of love.” Y/N mumbles, touching the chain dangling from Harry’s neck.

“But we were both meaning something different when we were saying it. At least, I was.” Harry inhales deeply, like he’s centering himself. “I’ve known…for a while, but I’ve felt it for longer than I’ve known it. And I thought that you might…”

“I think I do.” Y/N whispers. “But saying it feels so—so permanent. Like we can’t go back to being friends if it blows up in our faces.”

Harry traces a finger down Y/N’s cheek, her neck, between her breasts, to her side, touching just below her ribs. “Maybe we can’t. But I don’t think we’ll want to, Y/N. I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “This last month, it’s been like we’ve been…playing house, or something. I’ve loved it. I keep hearing from friends saying that they’re so sick of the person they’re living with, so tired of them, but I’ve never felt that way about you, and I don’t think I ever will. I’ll never get sick of you.”

Y/N laughs a bit. “That’s romantic.”

“Shut up.” Harry can’t help but smile slightly. “It is romantic.”

“Yeah. It is.” Y/N says softly, her hand rubbing over Harry’s tattooed arm. “You’re really in love with me?”

Harry nods. “I am.”

“Huh.” Y/N bites her lip. “So I guess we’ve been lying to our moms, haven’t we?”

Harry laughs loudly, collapsing on the bed next to Y/N. “Jesus, can you not mention our mums when we’re naked in bed?”

“I’m just saying! We’ve been saying for years that you’re not in love with me, and it’s all been a lie.”

“What about when they ask if you’re in love with me?” Harry’s tone is joking, but there’s a hint of nervousness in the back of his voice. “Has that been a lie, too?”

Y/N’s heart pounds as she nods. “Yeah. We’ll have to get them something really good for Mother’s Day this year to help make up for it.”

A grin spreads over Harry’s face, almost triumphant, as he leans down to kiss her. “Agreed.” He moves to cage himself over Y/N. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“I want to hear you say that you’re in love with me.” Harry’s grin turns into a smirk.

Y/N flushes as she shakes her head. “You say it first.”

“I’ve already admitted it!”

“So have I!”

“Not as well as I have!”

“Oh, so it’s a competition now?” Y/N scoffs. “What a wonderful start to our relationship.”

“I’m just saying, Y/N, admitting it is the first step to—”

“Are you seriously going to say that to get me to say that I love you?”

“Just—”

“You’re so irritating—”

“I’m irritating? You—”

“You’re the worst!”

“And yet you’re in my bed with no clothes on!”

“Okay. Nope. Relationship over.” Y/N pushes Harry off of her and wraps the sheet around herself as she gets out of bed. “You blew it, Styles.”

“Y/N.” Laughter falls from Harry’s lips as he leans over the edge of the bed. “Love. Come back to bed.”

“I think a minute and thirty-seven seconds may be the record for the world’s shortest relationship.” Y/N searches her bag for some clean clothes.

“Come here!”

“Another world record for Harry Styles.” Y/N calls to him without turning around. “You must be so proud—”

Her words are cut off in a shriek as Harry picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he brings her back to his bed.

“Harry!” She yells, hitting his arm. “Put me down!”

Harry tosses her on the bed, gentle enough so as not to hurt her, and cages himself over her sheet-covered body. He’s still completely bare. “Take it back.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Fine. We’re still together. One less record for you.”

“Good. Now…” Harry brushes a finger over her lips. “Say you’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s laughter fades a bit as the nerves set back in. “I…”

“Please, Y/N?” Harry murmurs, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Please say it.”

“I’m—” Y/N sucks in a quick breath, and all of her protest leaves her body as she exhales. “I’m in love with you, Harry.”

She can feel Harry’s lips forming a grin against her neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Y/N tugs on his hair gently, just enough so she can pull his head back to look in his eyes. “Now you say it.”

“Y/N.” Harry says her name like it’s something precious. “I’m in love with you.”

A flush of pleasure crawls up Y/N’s spine at his words, but she does her best to keep her tone light-hearted. “So are you calling our moms, or am I?”

“I’ll do it.” Harry reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “And I’ll be sure to mention how it took us getting drunk and having sex to realize—”

“Harry!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell your mum we used a condom—”

“I’ll kill you, Styles, and I’ll make it look like an accident.” Y/N shoves his shoulder hard.

Harry grins at her. “Now that’s romantic.”

#feedback is appreciated and use a condom kids #harry styles oneshot #bestfriend!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles preference #one direction imagine #one direction preference #one direction fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction #best friend!harry sty;es #watermelon sugar #watermelon sugar music video #fine line album

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howelljenkins · 4 years

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As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom.

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing. I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly.

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold.

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children).

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical.

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#*#og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

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stonertransdad · 3 years

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Life Update since I hadn't been on here in forever

The pandemic was/is wild! Lockdowns started literally around the time we were going to the fertility specialist to get her pregnant. I lost my job to COVID in March shortly before we did the procedure, but we decided there's never really a good time to have a kid. Why not during a global pandemic when one of us in unemployed? (BTW, I don't recommend having a kid during a pandemic. Not being able to go to all of the appointments and having to sit in the parking lot was brutal.)

Let's talk about May friends...it was rough. (TW for mention of suicide btw. I'll post a gif where it's safe to start again if you wanna skip over it.)

So May 1st is the anniversary of my father's suicide. It had been 4 years. I found his body and since he wasn't married, I had to handle his affairs and arrange his funeral. May 1st, 2020 my wife and I had a Zoom game night with our friends and I got drunk because everyone was drinking (except my wife because she was pregnant). After our game night at like 2am, I had a psychotic break. I threatened to kill myself numerous times. My wife tried to talk me down, but eventually called the cops to take me. I thank her for that because looking back, that was the moment I knew something needed to change. I was convinced the cops were gonna kill me because I'm a trans dude in rural West Texas. I legit took the phone out of my wife's hand, hung up on 911, and yeeted her phone across the backyard and tried to hop the fence. Eventually the cops came and talked me down. They took me to the hospital an hour away in handcuffs (for their protection I did nothing wrong). They took me to the religious hospital that I was born in. So when they looked up my info by my name and date of birth from my driver's license (I only changed my middle name) literally all my paperwork and my bracelet had my deadname and wrong gender despite all of my legal stuff saying male with my new middle name. I mentioned it to them and they didn't care. They misgendered me the entire time I was there. I had hit my head hella hard on the bath tub when my wife was trying to snap me out of it, did the hospital even check me for concussion? Nope. I had punched so many things and my hand and wrist were swollen and discolored. Did they check out my hand and wrist? Nope. I was there for over 10 hours before I was able to convince them I was okay and that it was just the alcohol. Did I mention during that 10 hours I was literally out in the hall on a gurney with no mask and this was when COVID was running rampant in Texas (the first time)? I heard people die that night. I had nothing to distract me because they took away all of my personal items and clothes. My wife picked me up and we went home and I have been sober ever since. It's not the first psychotic break I've had with alcohol in my system. Alcohol just doesn't agree with me, but I'm finding new things to replace it with.

TW has been lifted...it's safe now.

A couple of weeks after that I began teletherapy because I had been on the same mood stabilizer and anti-depressant for almost a decade. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that I felt like it hadn't been working for at least a year. This is a reminder to check in with your doctor if you feel like your meds aren't working. You may just need a different dose or a new med. There's no shame in that. I bounced around on various medications trying to find the right combo, some side effects scarier than others, but we got there. Before this, I had been diagnosed with ADHD, Major Depressive Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. My therapist threw out my Borderline diagnosis and said it was CPTSD instead, which made sense.

Fast forward to December because my wife was pregnant, I was unemployed still, and we did absolutely fuck-all because the global panini was still raging.

Our son was born on December 3, 2020. He weighed 5lbs 9oz and scared the ever loving shit out of us. He wasn't breathing when he was born so they called NICU in ASAP. I'm freaking out because I can hear and see what's going on while my wife was asking if he was okay as they put her guts back in place to sew her up. 5 or so minutes pass and a nurse asks if I want her to take some pictures. I'm like is he okay, he still hasn't cried. She's like "oh yeah, he's chillin." This goon was being held by a nurse and was just looking around not crying or anything. Chillest baby ever (he still is btw). I held him next to my wife's head until it was time to go back to the room. Little dude did have to spend 4 nights in the NICU because he couldn't keep his sugars or temperature regulated, but he was healthy otherwise. He's now 4 months old and is starting to sit up on his own a little bit and he's OBSESSED with standing. He's still a little guy, but very healthy and growing like a weed. He saves my life daily.

So after being unemployed for over 9 months, I started a new job working in a call center. I absolutely hate talking on the phone. It gives me anxiety and throws me into panic attacks, but I had been putting out hundreds of job applications since I lost my last job and this was the first offer I got. I wasn't really in a position to turn it down since my unemployment had ran out 2 months prior. It was 2 months of training, then we'd be on our own. I got thru the training and thought I could handle it...until they started putting us on live calls with someone helping us if we got stuck. My mental health hit the lowest point it had in a few years and my wife was terrified she was going to lose me. She convinced me to quit on February 28th (not because I didn't want to, but because I'm a stubborn ass who felt guilty). My meds got tweaked a little bit more dosage wise during this mess.

Starting about mid-February, I was experiencing severe shakiness, tremors, and spasms. I've always been a shaky person and never really thought too much about it, but at some points I could barely feed myself, or get a drink, or hold my son. On March 7th, I tried to make an appointment with my doctor about the weird symptoms I was experiencing, but she was out of town and her next opening wasn't until the 31st. My body said that won't work and my wife rushed me to the ER on the 9th...I had begun having seizures that day. I had no previous history of seizures. Got to the ER and had a seizure literally as I was walking thru the door, so they rushed me straight back. They took some blood and that was literally it. No MRI. No CT. They pumped me full of Ativan and said it was just a panic attack and to go home and chill.

Spoiler Alert: It wasn't just anxiety. I was having 20+ seizures a day. On the 10th, my wife rushed me to a different hospital...the good hospital over an hour away. First we had to drop off our gremlin with my mom to make things a little easier. Yet again, I had a seizure as I walked in the door and was taken back immediately. I don't really remember much because they kept pumping me full of Ativan and morphine because I had been in excruciating pain from the number of seizures I'd had. I do remember them doing a CT pretty quickly after I got there. Then they weren't happy with the results of the CT, so they took me to get an MRI, which showed possible signs of Multiple Sclerosis (but I didn't find that out until AFTER the notes showed up in my patient portal after being home a few days, so I raised hell...more on that later.) They did a 24 hour EEG on me and it showed nothing abnormal. Also, EEG glue is a bitch on your hair and scalp. After looking at everything and given my previous mental health history, they diagnosed me with Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures, or PNES. It is a subset of Functional Neurologic Disorder, or FND. I couldn't walk well anymore and had to use a walker when I was discharged. I was in the hospital for 3 days.

When I had my follow-up appointment on the 23rd, I asked why the possibility of MS was never mentioned to me since it was very clearly in the notes. The doctor didn't have an explanation. He called in a referral to neurology so I could get a 2nd MRI to confirm MS and marked it as high priority. He also didn't take my pain seriously. My pain levels had been at a 5 or higher every single minute since they took me off of the morphine in the hospital. He told me to keep taking prescription strength doses of ibuprofen and Tylenol, which I had been. I let him know I had been and it didn't even take the edge off the pain. He ignored me. Leading up to this appointment, I had also added urinary incontinence to my growing list of symptoms and was forced to wear diapers so I didn't have to do laundry all the time. The doctor also took me off my ADHD meds because they were lowering my seizure threshold. He also took me off of my sleeping meds and nightmare meds for the same reason I'm assuming.

I kept my appointment on the 31st with my primary doctor because she's been my doctor for 5 years now and I knew she'd take my pain seriously. She did. She immediately wrote me prescriptions for a muscle relaxer and Tylenol 4. She also told me that my referral had been rejected by neuro. She said my case wasn't a good one for what she called a "wallet biopsy" and the doctors in neurology could be real assholes. She immediately sent the referral to other locations to get an approval. I am still waiting on that despite it being marked as high priority. She wrote me a prescription for a wheelchair because we both agreed my wheelchair was not enough for particular days.

Yesterday my wheelchair was finally ready for pickup, so my wife drove me to go get it. I'm still unable to drive due to my seizures and my tremors and twitches as it's predominantly in my legs and arms. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user now. Some days I can go short distances without my walker, some days I can't go without my walker, some days I can't even get out of bed, and some days I will be using my wheelchair. Don't judge a book by its cover, not all disabilities are visible. I have managed to keep my daily seizure count down in single digits and have even had a few seizure free days. They are still incredibly taxing on my body. I feel like I can't ever replenish my spoons fast enough to keep up with anything in my life.

So all in all, life has been chaotic. We are moving from Texas to New Mexico in the next few weeks, which should be interesting considering I can't overdo it without throwing myself into seizures. We will be closer to my mother-in-law so she can help us with our son and I can start resting a bit more on the more difficult days. Being a stay-at-home dad with an invisible illness has been one of the most challenging things I've done in my life, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

Sorry this is so long. I just wanted to update my followers since it's been over a year since I posted before a few days ago.

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purplesurveys · 3 years

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1277

Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to? Ooooh moving forward, probably Angela hahahaha I have no idea how I’d break it to her if ever I do start seeing somebody again. She’s well aware of all the shit that I let slide so she might get intense with the scrutineering.

What is the most exciting thing about your life right now? Just the fact that I feel on top of the world these days. My days of being depressed and picking at my insecurities seem to be far behind me and the change has looked to be apparent coming from friends who’ve told me I seem happier, louder these days.

What was the most important non-academic thing you learned in high school? To not be scared to fight harder for the things you believe in or what make up your identity, coming from having to hide a same-sex relationship during that period. That feeling of being constricted and having to hide to stay on some conservative seniors’ good graces really pissed me off so high school was really crucial in letting me discover just how much I’d be willing to fight and test the waters to be able to live as me.

Have you ever had a job that deeply affected your personal life? How so and do you still work there? Hmm no, not really. If anything my job is one of the things that helped make me a lot livelier and happier.

Do you have a “one who got away”? It felt that way at the start when my view was still skewed, but it didn’t take long until I realized she was not a loss at all.

If you were in a superhero movie, would you be the hero or the villain? Hero.

If you found a mouse in your house, would you be frightened? Mice or rats are the literal worst fucking thing I could see in my house. I definitely see myself making a big deal out of it lmao, especially rats.

Have you ever tried to perform magic tricks? Nobody ever taught me, so no.

Can you do more with a yo-yo than just "go up and down"? Nah, which kinda makes me feel ashamed because considering it was a Filipino who invented the modern yo-yo, I feel like it should be my responsibility to know a few tricks LOL.

What is one form of technology that you wouldn't be able to live without? Instant messenger.

Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not? Starting high school. Before that I was living in our family’s duplex, so my grandma could make packed meals for all of us – not to mention the fact that my parents were also still on their way to establishing themselves at their respective workplaces so we weren’t all that well-off yet.

When we moved into our own place, we started with my mom making our meals but eventually it just proved to be time-consuming and a lot of work considering she also had a job to go to. With that and the fact that both my parents at that point already got a couple of promotions, we switched to allowance.

Would you rather go to a water park or an amusement park? Why? Amusement parks though I would only probably head to the safer rides and food stalls with all the deep-fried offerings haha. I cannot handle more intense rides. On the other hand, water parks have always sounded nasty to me.

What is one instrument you wouldn't mind learning how to play? Piano.

What's the longest amount of time you've had to wait in line for something? The stupid LTO, because you can never count on government agencies to be efficient. Technically my whole time in there took a couple of stages, but all in all I spent eight hours there.

What is something that you would like to learn more about? Korean. I just graduated from my Basic Korean 1 class but I already have plans to enroll in the following course, since I seemed to do well and I want to keep the momentum going.

What is something that one of your family member collects? Mom has a large collection of chef-themed figurines and other sorts of trinkets like a chef timer, shot glasses, etc - but mostly the figurines - that she has displayed in a glass case. I should keep that in mind for when I start Christmas shopping, actually...she hasn’t updated that collection in a long time. Thanks for the idea!

Have you ever moved to a new school before? If so, how did it feel? No, not in the middle of the same period since I went to the same school from kinder to high school for 14 years. I only “moved” when I started college. Like I’ve said in previous surveys, it felt freeing to finally not under be the hands of an environment ran by...well, Catholics. It was a culture shock to see rallies everywhere, to find out I could wear short shorts or even go to school naked if I wanted to, and to see boys in my class (I went to an all-girls), but it was all the good kind of shock.

Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework? Always, because I never wrote them down.

Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why? I experience neither season.

Depending on where you live, why might a day of school get canceled? Typhoon.

If you could meet any fictional character from a book, who would it be? Melanie Hamilton from Gone with the World.

What are some common places that people tour when they come to your city? I rarely see foreigners here since my area isn’t particularly known for tourism; most go to the island provinces like Cebu, Aklan, Palawan, etc. If I had to recommend spots here, I’d tell them to go for Pinto and maybe the rooftop bars that offer a view of Manila’s skyline.

What's one food that you did not enjoy as a child, but do as an adult? Chicken curry, which I used to dread.

Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy's wings or a unicorn's horn? I guess the wings just because I feel like it’s the only practical one.

What is an animal that you'd like to have as a pet but it's not allowed? I don’t think that way about animals I can’t keep as pets anyway.

What are some things that you do to make the world a better place? I always clean up at restaurants (my mom doesn’t understand why I do it because “the servers are here for a reason, Robyn”) but I always see the relief on their faces when they see I’ve stacked up the plates and cups so I don’t see a reason to stop doing it. I keep the door open for people who happen to enter/exit a building the same time as me, share dog adoption posts, don’t make a fuss about or towards a shop staff who messes up...things like that. I hope it’s able to help, even if just in a small way.

Has the last person you had sex with ever had sex with someone besides you? I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has already.

What’s your favorite store at your mall? We have several malls within the vicinity but I like frequenting NCAT.

Have you ever done a workout DVD? No but my mom is fond of those.

Who usually takes out the trash in your family? Either of my parents.

What song are you currently obsessed with? My Universe is soooooo good. It’s Coldplay’s classic sound but they somehow managed to perfectly blend in BTS’ style as well, so I love how it turned out.

When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook? I've never gone fishing.

Do you take any prescription meds? Nope.

What happens if you don’t take them? Who was the last person you dreamt about? My dad.

Do you prefer your tea sweetened or unsweetened? Sweetened, though I don’t usually actively look for iced tea. I’d have it if it was served, but I don’t typically order it for myself.

How often do you honk your horn? As long as I am annoyed, which gives my mom a mini heart attack every time because she insists I just let people have their way to avoid getting into fights. Sometimes when she’s driving and someone’s being stupid on the road I lurch forward to do the honking for her and it pisses her off soooooooooo much but it also gets the job done so *shrug*

Do you have any children? If so, names and ages? I don’t.

Have your parents ever witnessed you doing something inappropriate? What? TMI but I almost got caught doing the m-word once but my reflexes were at lightning speed that day so when my door opened I was able to fix myself up and appear as though nothing was happening lol. My mom also saw a hickey on me once but I was able to veer the conversation away when she started inquiring.

Did you get babysat a lot as a kid? No, I did the babysitting.

If you were the principal of a school, what would you do differently? Actually deal with teachers who mistreat or make issues towards their students. I had several teachers I know didn’t like me but I could never do anything about it because there was no way in hell the school was going to take my side.

Are you doing anything fun tomorrow? Continued from yesterday. If I took this question yesterday to refer to today I would’ve answered yes because we actually have a really fun PR stunt scheduled for execution today, wherein we get to sponsor someone’s whole wedding from food to flowers to the host and fillm crew :D :D But tomorrow is just Monday so the real answer to this is no.

What is something you'd like to receive as a housewarming gift? I dunno the usual housewarming gifts, but I would appreciate anything practical, or anything that you’ll need at the least expected times, like batteries or even like Sticky Tack.

How old were you when you first experienced the effects of puberty? Oooh I was an early bird – I was 9 when I could first tell my first period was on its way; it came a month after I turned 10.

What is your least favorite holiday, and why? I don’t dislike any holiday because they all mean a day off work lol.

What were some outdoor games you played as a child? We usually played piko (hopscotch), our local version of freeze tag that we dubbed “Ice ice water” for whatever reason, and a garter game that we call 10-20. Dodgeball was a favorite during recess and lunch, too.

Did you accompany your parents on "Take Your Child to Work" Day? That’s not observed here, but my mom did use to take me and my siblings to her first workplace. Are cemeteries peaceful to you, or do they freak you out? They’re actually more interesting to me than anything else. I like learning about the different lives of many different people, even if I only technically know them by their birthday and date of death. Sometimes the inscriptions would be more detailed and tell more about their life, sometimes I’d come across babies who only lived a few days...and it’s just interesting to have those glimpses into life.

Which ancient civilization would you be interested in learning more about? Filipino, because Western colonization destroyed proof of most of it.

Do you have better long-term memory or short-term memory? Long.

What was the last situation that made you cry? Describe. I cried this morning. Nothing bad or heavy, I just found myself thinking again about my mental state last year.

Which forest animal would you be most afraid to encounter? Anything that wouldn’t hesitate to tear my limbs apart.

Do you believe in anything supernatural? (ie: spirits, etc) No.

Has anyone close to you ever gone to war? No. The closest link I have to the military, other than my dead great-grandfather, is Angela’s uncle who’s like a general or like a colonel or something, idk titles.

Have you ever experienced altitude sickness? Yeah, occasionally. Pressure in the ear is a bigger nuisance to me, though.

Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly? The last time I saw my grandfather. My only clear memory of him that day was stepping out of the house to leave (my mom and I were visiting) and him sending me off with the message to always be kind and good. If I had known I would never see him again, I never would’ve left.

Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet? Hmm no, not that I can recall.

If you had to get advice from someone of the opposite sex, who would you go to? I’d go to Hans for certain advice, but not for every single situation. He’s the only person that comes to mind.

What was the last new food/drink that you tried? So last Wednesday I finally got to try this Instagram-based doughnut shop that I’ve been eyeing since August and it turned out to be even MUCH BETTER THAN EXPECTEDDDDDD. Like yeah their photos were always mouthwatering but I didn’t expect it to taste as good as it looks, since most pretty food I’ve encountered usually end up just tasting meh. Anywho, I got two orders of their sampler box and they served me their specialty bacon doughnut, signature brown butter, and a bunch of their chocolate and peanut butter variants and I loved every single fucking thing.

Have you had a good day today or was yesterday better? Oh it’s hard to tell, it’s only 9:05 AM. Both days might be uneventful, though.

Have you ever played Sudoku? I don’t actually get how to play it hahaha. I feel like I’m too stupid for sudoku.

Do you ever take surveys for money? I tried it last year when applying for jobs was still a bitch for me, but the thing is most of those surveys look for employed participants so there was rarely ever a survey that fit me anyway.

Do you like Barbie or Bratz better? Bratz.

Do you prefer purple or green grapes? I don’t like grapes.

Who was the last person that made you laugh? Idk, probs one of the boys since I was watching videos of them earlier today.

Where does your best friend live? A nearby city.

Who did you last confide in? Angela.

Does your car have an alarm? Sure.

Where was your mom born? Somewhere in Metro Manila.

What can always make you feel better no matter what? My dogs.

What is something you’ll never eat again? Why? I don’t think there is anything. I feel like I’m always bound to retry things and that I would be open to doing so, even fruits. One thing I’m firm about never drinking again, though, is coconut water. Get that SHIT away from me.

What is currently happening that is scaring you? I’m not feeling scared these days.

Have you ever found a stranger’s note somewhere? If so, what did it say? Probably. But nothing sticks out.

#survey #surveys

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harryspet · 4 years

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his to keep | j.jk

[WARNINGS] dark jungkook x named oc, toxic/abusive relationship, pregnancy, kidnapping, panic attack, super angsty, jungkook being a piece of crap, basically yandere jungkook

A/N: I just wrote this because I was feeling angsty. I also like to imagine Jungkook as if he wasn’t an adorable human lol. If you are triggered by the things about PLEASE DO NOT READ. Most of my fics are smutty but this one isn’t as much and I still like it. I might be able to do a part two with this one if people like it.

In which she finds out she’s pregnant and decides it’s time to escape her toxic relationship but Jungkook decides he’ll do everything to keep his family together.

Please like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 3k

Everyone wished they were her. Even if the world didn’t even know she existed, people all around the world love to have what she had with Jungkook. Not the love they say they have for all their fans but passionate and romantic love. Obsessive love.

Eun-sun had met Jungkook because of a chance encounter. She worked at the counter of the tattoo shop he randomly stopped by one day. He was with a small group of friends and, dressed down, she didn’t immediately recognize him. It wasn’t until one of his friends had said his name that she realized one of the most famous men in the world was standing in the same room as her.

She played it cool, of course, or at least she tried to. Her heart pounded as she went to retrieve the artist that they had requested.

He seemed to single her out though and he only looked at her as his friends flipped through a book of designs. He leaned against the counter and asked her coolly, “You don’t have any tattoos?” It was the summer and her arms were completely bare so he could tell.

She shook her head, her eyes a bit wide, “Not your thing?” He continued and, for a moment. Eunsun thought he was actually interested in her.

“The permanence … it kind of scares me,” She admitted, trying not to sound nervous, “I suppose that’s not what you want to hear from a person who works at a place like this.”

Jungkook smiled at that and, like the whole world, she was entranced by it.

She worked here in order to help out her family who were struggling to make it in the city. They owned a small convenience store where she usually worked later at night.

“No, you make a good point. There has to be some voice of reason here to keep people from getting stupid tattoos,” Eunsun blushed and one of Jungkook’s friends called for him.

He smiled at me one more time before walking back over to his friends.

Eunsun didn’t know it but, in that short moment, Jungkook had decided she was worth it. Worth letting her enter his crazy world.

She initially said no and that it was a crazy idea for her to come with him around the world. She insisted she’d only be a burden to him and that she had responsibilities back in Korea that she couldn’t leave. He only insisted, deciding to make a deal with her, he’d help out with finances if she agreed to give him company on the road.

She explained that she wasn’t a prostitute and he only laughed, “Of course you aren’t, just trust me, please.”

And she agreed because he was so damn convincing but she insisted he not give her more than the money she was already earning. Jungkook never told her that he had given her parents way more than that.

Although he didn’t really present himself to the world as powerful, Jungkook was practically a prince. Every moment of his day was planned and his every wish was granted. It had become normal to him at that point but she noticed the craziness of it all.

Eun-sun had never been on a plane before but now she was traveling everywhere on a private one. She had to wear a mask constantly and soon learned she wasn’t allowed to walk with Jungkook in public. He introduced her to one of his personal assistants and she was to simply act like she was a part of their entourage. All though she became friends with his assistant, she never really felt like she belonged in his world.

It wasn’t like he could claim her publicly and she wasn’t his girlfriend anyways.

When Jungkook wasn’t working, he was with her. They talked so much that some of the makeup artists grew frustrated with her because Jungkook could never sit still anymore.

She met all the members of the famous boy group and it amazed her how naturally they tried to include her in their family. Some of the boys had their own partners and some didn’t seem like they dated at all.

Things were exciting constantly and Eun-sun loved the workings of his complicated world but there was a moment where things shifted.

A panic attack.

She had never seen someone have one and, honestly, she wasn’t sure what to do when she entered his room one night and found him on the floor trembling. His hand clutched his heart and for a moment she thought he was having a heart attack. She ran to him kneeling beside him, “Jungkook-” He was breathing so hard, hyperventilating.

“Jungkook, please tell me what’s wrong,” She whispered, her voice shaky.

He was crying, choking on his own sobs as he started to roughly grab at his hair. She grabbed his hands, pulling them away from his face, “Jungkook, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,” She spoke calmly, trying to get him to look in her eyes. She was holding back her own tears after seeing him like this, “Breath, breathe.”

He was still crying but his eyes finally met hers, and he started to breathe. It seemed he would lose his progress every now and then as he remembered whatever was freaking him out. As he began breathing again she said, “You’re doing such a good job. You’re so strong. Just breathe, please. Tell me what you need.”

He looked over to a black bag across the room and she understood. She crossed the room and began to look through the bag. She found a prescription bottle and began reading until she realized it was anti-anxiety medicine.

She emptied the correct amount onto her hand and found a bottle of water in the mini-fridge. She hurried back to him and got him to put the pills into his mouth. She held the water bottle as he began to sip from it.

He was still shaking and sweating all over but she held him as he started to calm down, “You’re okay, Jungkook. I know it’s scary but it’s just a feeling. You’re doing such a good job,” They sat on the floor in front of his bed and he rested his head on her lap as he tried to control his breathing.

She ran her fingers through his hair and he finally got some well-deserved sleep.

When the doctor came in the morning, he refused to let Eun-sun leave despite the advice of his managers. She was already there for him and he didn’t want to hide this from her. The constant pressure of having to do his best to impress his fans had caused the panic attack. Eun-sun was the one who convinced him to sit out for the next two tour dates.

She slept in his room from that day on and their bond only grew from there.

Eunsun liked baking, she was actually great at it. Jin had even said that he wanted to open a bakery with her one day. Knowing Jin, that could be a very real thing to happen. She enjoyed when they stayed in houses and not hotels because she could utilize the kitchens.

She had perfected her Japanese mochi ice cream and she was ready to serve it to the boys for their dinner. Most of them were out on the terrace, having finished their dinners, and were sitting around the fire. She was delicately placing the desserts on a plate when she felt someone brush behind her.

She was about to lean back into the person until she realized it was Minho, their personal trainer, and she immediately blushed and bowed her head in apology, “I’m sorry, I thought you were Jungkook,” she laughed nervously.

The muscular man only smirked, leaning against the counter with crossed arms, “You’re very smitten with each other, aren’t you?”

“Uhm,” She opened her mouth, trying to find something intelligent to say, “You could say that.” She felt his eyes burning into her and she moved quicker, trying to get the food onto the platter.

“Wait, did you check with the nutritionist about those? The boys are on strict diets.”

She turned around to face him, her mouth in the form of an ‘o’. “Oh, I didn’t mean to interfere. It’s fine, I can just-”

“I’m kidding,” His lips pulled into a smile, “They eat whatever they want most of the time.”

It seemed he expected her to laugh so that’s what she did, trying not to create an awkward silence. She lifted the platter and said, “Would you like to try one?” He nodded, plucking one off.

“Eun-sun,” She turned to see Jungkook staring at them from the screen door that led outside. She had never seen that look before, disgust, and it not was not only directed at Minho but at her, “Everyone’s waiting.”

“Sorry,” She apologized though she wasn’t sure what she had done wrong. She didn’t give Minho another glance as she walked towards Jungkook, “I didn’t know everyone was waiting.”

Jungkook closed the door behind them, that dark look in his eyes. That night, as she shared her treats with all the boys, Jungkook didn’t say a word. She only noticed how his arm was always snaked around her, like he had to be touching her or she might flow away somehow.

He began drinking too, something that often helped with his anxiety. She noticed that he usually just melted into his own world when he was drunk and that’s what happened that night.

They stayed up talking and laughing until the fire burnt out and they all realized they had a plane to catch in the morning. Eunsun tried to help Jungkook up to his room but he responded harshly to her, “I can do it, I’m not drunk.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line and she tried not to seem hurt. She watched him stumble up the rest of the steps, “Jungkook, I’m gonna get you some water,” He mumbled some curse word and she turned away from him.

She retrieved a glass for him and returned upstairs to their room. She sat the glass down on his nightstand and turned out the light. Jungkook had already plopped onto the bed tiredly. She went into the bathroom and prepared for bed, putting on a pair of pajamas. He was still wearing his jeans when she walked out of the bathroom, “Don’t you want to change your pants?” She asked as she slipped in the bed.

He groaned as if she had woken him up, and then he began to undo his belt. She was silent, unsure of what to do because he had never undressed in front of her. She was sure he didn’t care because he was drunk and simply looked away, pulling the comforter over her.

Minutes later, the bed dipped beside her and she felt his body warmth against her. He pressed his front into her back, wrapping his arms around her. He still smelt of soju and it was starting to make her feel nauseous, “Jungkook, go take a shower if you’re going to do that.”

He ignored her and that’s when she felt the soft kisses on her shoulder blade. She flinched, the feeling so foreign, and pretty much nailed him in the nose in the process, “Aigoo,” he cursed, laying back.

Eun-sun turned quickly, hoping it wasn’t bleeding, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-” She didn’t have time to worry anymore because he leaned up to kiss her. And she kissed him back.

He craved more, his fingers beginning to lift the fabric of her nightshirt, “Jungkook . . . you’re drunk and I’ve never even-”

He shushed her, “Let’s make each other feel good, okay? I need that and you’re the only thing that makes me feel happy these days.”

He pressed his lips to hers and, that night, she gave herself to him.

Despite the special night they had, Jungkook was hungover in the morning. They all sat at the breakfast table but Jungkook had his head down. Eunsun tried to encourage him to eat something greasy but he ignored her.

She was picking at her plate, talking to the boys, when she noticed someone was missing, “Where’s Minho?”

They seemed to go silent at that and all of them looked at Jungkook and then back at me, “I think he’s going home for the rest of the tour,” Namjoon spoke up though he seemed unsure of his words.

Jungkook lifted his head, grabbing his water, before saying to no one, “I fired him.”

Eunsun stared at him with wide eyes, “What do you mean?”

Jungkook sipped his water, leaning on the table, “I mean that I hope he never works another day in his life.” And the silence in the room was deadly.

Eunsun gave him an incredulous look but Jungkook didn’t even meet her eyes, “This is because of yesterday?”

“I saw the way he looked at you,” Jungkook sneered, “He should’ve known better, fucking creep.”

“No,” Jungkook snapped his head toward her and she shifted uncomfortably, “Y-You should no better. All he did was talk to me and you’re acting like a child who had his favorite toy stolen.” Eunsun stood suddenly, not wanting to argue anymore in front of everyone.

She walked away from the dining room, “Eunsun, come back here!” She didn’t and it wasn’t long before she heard glass shattering against the wall.

“Eunsun, please open the door. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for getting so angry.”

“You don’t understand, Eunsun, it’s because I love you. And I’m just stressed from the tour.”

“Please, can we just be alone together and talk?”

“I know it was wrong what I did. You have to forgive me. You have to let me make it up to you . . . I don’t think I’ll make it through this without you”

She stayed for happy moments. For getting to watch him perform in front of thousands of people. For seeing him laugh so much in all his American interviews. For the nights spent watching movies. For the photos taken while sightseeing. For the sex when he was sober. For being known as Jungkook’s girl to everyone on the team.

But it only lasted two months.

Because of the night he got into a physical altercation with a staff member who had made a snide remark about Eunsun being a whore. The man’s face was unrecognizable after Jungkook released all his anger into him. He defended her but he became a monster when he did.

He had to be taken to the hospital because of how bad he bruised his knuckles. Eunsun didn’t go with him and he almost started another fight trying to get to her. Luckily, his members convinced him to go without her. She returned to the hotel with a test given to her by one of the makeup artists.

She took three and each one had those two double lines.

By the time Jungkook got back to the hotel, she was on a plane back to South Korea. And she and her family had plans to disappear as soon as she landed.

“You always do this. You’re overreacting. Answer your phone. I love you.”

“This isn’t funny. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. I love you.”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Eunsun. It’s because I love you.”

She didn’t want him, at first. But as her stomach grew rounder and she felt his kick, she fell in love. Even after she first saw him in the hospital and realized how much he looked like Jungkook.

Her Junghoon.

The small town they moved to had a bakery and Eunsun made her living in the day by making deliveries. She hoped one day they’d consider giving her a spot in the kitchen, even if it was for washing dishes. Her mother stayed home to watch Junghoon and her father worked most nights.

She returned home one night with a cake to celebrate Junghoon already being five months old, but, as soon as she walked through the door, the cake fell right to the floor. Her mother was standing in the kitchen weeping, one of his bodyguards’ keeping on her, and Jungkook was sitting in the small living room. Junghoon was in his hands being rocked.

The baby was silent as if he knew who Jungkook was.

Eunsun stepped into the dim light of the living room and Jungkook looked up at her, “He’s beautiful. He looks just like his Mommy,” Two of his bodyguards were in the small room too. They seemed to have dark intentions just like their boss.

“Let me hold him,” Eunsun spoke and then a gun cocked. She eyed the bodyguard across the room and there was a gun in his hand. Jungkook raised a hand to the man as if to say calm down. “Jungkook, let me hold him.”

Her lips were trembling now.

“I was going to let you go. I was. And then I found out you took a pregnancy test the day you left,” She was so close. So close. “I didn’t know until a month ago. You robbed me of knowing I had a son. I didn’t get to name my own sun. Didn’t get to see him take his first breath. And you were okay with that.”

His voice was laced with venom but he didn’t yell, only because his son was in his arms, “Why would I want him raised by a monster?” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“That’s what you think of me?” She nodded and tears began to swell around his eyes, “All I ever did was love you, Eunsun, and I will be in his life. We’re all going to be a family.”

Her heart stopped, “It’s too late for that.”

“If you want your parents alive then you’ll come with me. And you won’t fight it.”

“You sick fuck-”

“You stole Junghoon away from me, it’s only fair,” Jungkook moved closer to her. They were both crying but Jungkook’s were happy tears, “I’m sorry, Eunsun. We start fresh now. We’ll be a family.”

And they’d be as broken as families come.

My request are open! This is my first jungkook fic but I few more works so check out my # masterlist :)

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karajaynetoday · 4 years

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these arms would not be taught to hold another's, 'cause we're the special two | ashton irwin

image credit

Hello tumblr pals! Hope you’re having a wonderful day. As promised, here’s a little epilogue for it’s not the pain they’re getting over, it’s the love. i’ve tried to make it as soft and loving as possible, because i feel that these characters deserve a bit of that after everything they’ve gone through. thanks for all of your support and feedback on this little series, it’s always going to be special to me, and i love knowing how much it has resonated with you <3

Here is Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four if you’d like to revisit them first. This part is inspired a little by The Special Two by Missy Higgins, and the italics in the piece are lyrics from the song.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: mention of death of a parent, mention of exhaustion, anxiety, depression

(This is a fem reader insert)

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I've hardly been outside my room in days 'Cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays

It’d been two months or so since Ashton had driven away from you on that rainy, gloomy morning. You’d tried your best to push through the overwhelming loneliness that you felt once he’d gone, and you were back to being by yourself in your mother’s house again. Your siblings were pushing through their own grief by keeping busy and moving forward, making plans to move out and pursue university studies or travel the world, and it warmed your heart to know that they were going to be okay. But at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel like you were losing that sense of being needed that you’d held for so much of your life, and a sense of hopelessness was beginning to creep into its place.

This time around, the distance was made less painful by daily text messages and weekly video calls. You thought you’d feel awkward talking to Ashton through a screen, after such an intense time together in person over the last little while, but it felt so comforting and natural that neither of you ever missed a call. Ashton was somewhere in Europe, France maybe? And he’d be criss-crossing over the continent for the next few months. You saw the excitement in his eyes when you mentioned that you’d always wanted to visit Europe, Italy especially, but you stopped him mid-sentence when he offered to book you a flight. You weren’t ready to leave here, not yet. You just needed more time to feel like yourself again. Ashton reassured you and said he understood, like he always did, and that he would be waiting whenever you were ready.

When you're young you have this image of your life That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife

You’d started to feel increasingly out of sorts. At first the fatigue felt like an overdue episode of being burnt out, which was understandable given how draining your life had been lately. But then there were other mysterious symptoms too, that didn’t quite add up, so you managed to drag yourself out of bed and to a doctor’s appointment. They couldn’t diagnose you with anything unexpected, and there were murmurs of exhaustion, anxiety, depression, too much stress. They sent you on your way with referrals and prescriptions, and you spent the next few weeks being put on waiting lists and at appointments and trying new things, until slowly the haze began to lift. It didn’t clear entirely, and you knew from your past experiences that it would never totally fade, but you were able to get out of bed in the mornings for no other reason than because you wanted to, which was an achievement within itself.

The lawyers had dealt with your mother’s will swiftly, noting that the house and belongings were to be split equally amongst you and your siblings. After a few emotional days revisiting old belongings and the old memories that came with them, you’d all agreed that selling it and moving out to newer places was the best way forward. It would be hard to part with the place that you’d grown up in, and it’d be strange to come home to somewhere new, or celebrate Christmases or birthdays around a different kitchen table, but it also felt like that was exactly what your mother would have wanted for her loved ones: to cherish her memory by living their lives as brightly as she shone down on them.

But I will fight for you, be sure that I will fight Until we're the special two once again

The house sold quicker than you’d anticipated, and all of sudden you were surrounded by moving boxes with no real sense or desire to move them anywhere. Your heart had always belonged here, in the familiar streets and secret hideaways and creature comforts of home, but lately it had longed for something else. Something more. Some sort of adventure, some sort of change of scenery. It was one of those now or never moments, and you were torn over what to do. Stepping away and recognising that your family would be alright without you constantly by their side was a hard pill to swallow, but it was also so freeing.

One afternoon, Ashton’s mother had invited you out for coffee. You could tell she was keeping a watchful eye on you, no doubt out of loyalty to your mother and love for you, but you also had a suspicion that a certain son of hers had asked her to make sure you were doing okay. You were chatting away, talking about your dilemma about where to move house next, when she pulled a piece of paper out of her bag and slid it across the table. You immediately recognised it as Ashton’s tour itinerary, and four days off in Italy had been circled in pink highlighter.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“Absolutely not. I cannot fly to Europe, not now. I don’t have anywhere to live yet, and there’s forms to sign, and boxes to sort out, and…”

All she did was fix you with an amused stare, and you could see the mischievous glint in her eye that you’d seen in Ashton’s many a time before.

Within a matter of hours, your flight was booked. Your moving boxes would go to storage for now, and you could sort them out whenever it was that you returned. You’d been sworn to secrecy, and added to a WhatsApp group message of some people that you hadn’t spoken to in years, but they were thrilled to hear you were on your way. Apparently Ashton had been missing you much more than he’d let on in your video calls, and your heart leapt when you realised how soon you’d be reunited.

And we can only see each other, we'll breathe together

These arms will not be taught to need another's

'Cause we're the special two

The flights were long but uneventful, and before you knew it you were on your way to a hotel in Italy, trying not to bite your nails out of nerves. The band schedule had a few days off after today, but in their messages to you, Michael, Calum and Luke had explained that you were welcome to join the tour for as long as you’d like. It seemed silly, to feel so close to people who were virtually strangers, but they also felt like family, and you felt like you were ready to embrace something new.

The plan was to surprise Ashton after the show, because if you arrived beforehand, you knew he wouldn’t want to let you go when he was called to stage. You met Kat, the tour assistant, in the lobby, and she was so kind and warm that you felt immediately calmer in her presence. That was until the elevator doors opened onto the band’s floor, and she handed you a key card and wished you luck.

Fuck. This was happening. You’d just flown half way around the world to surprise someone that you were even officially in a relationship with. Who were you? It felt bizarre, and surreal, and so unlike you, but at the same time, something propelled your feet down the corridor. Your heart was pumping, and your hands were clammy, but your knock on the door was firm and strong. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply in the few moments you had to yourself before the door swung open, and Ashton stood in front of you for the first time in months.

Watching his reaction would’ve made you laugh, if you didn’t immediately start crying from the overwhelming sense of relief. He was confused, and then shocked, and then speechless, and then there was that smile. The smile that could power a thousand suns. He reached out his hands towards you, and when you took them he immediately pulled you into his arms. You were both whispering nonsense to each other, and clutching on for dear life, and breathing each other in like you’d had a lifetime apart.

“I’m so sorry it took me this long to come home to you.” This time, it was your turn to offer this apology to Ashton, who immediately shook his head before pressing his lips to yours softly.

“Never apologise, my love. It could take all the time in the world, and I’d still be waiting for you just the same.”

“Is now a good time to tell you I bought a one way ticket?” You said quietly, eyes darting up to meet Ashton’s gaze. He was looking at you incredulously, and you had a moment of panic about whether or not that was the right decision to have made.

“Are you kidding me? That’s the best fucking news I’ve heard in a long time.”

There was that smile again, and more soft kisses, and being pulled into the hotel room with giggles and clashing limbs as Ashton tried to maneuver you and your belongings inside, as well as closing the door behind you both.

A quick shower and a call down to room service for some late night pizza, and then you were settling in under the covers as the lack of sleep on the flights and all your hours of travel started to hit you. You were trying to stay awake, because you didn’t want to miss a moment, but Ashton could see right through you.

“Sleep, my love. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow.” Ashton murmured, absentmindedly drawing small circles into your back as you settled into his chest with a yawn.

“You promise? How about the day after tomorrow?” You asked, cracking one eye open to glare at him in jest.

“The day after, and the day after, and every single day after that until you get sick of me, which will be never, because there’s no one in my life I’m more intertwined with, and it’s my favourite thing about the entire universe.” Ashton explained matter-of-factly, and it made your heart soar.

He reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, and you were bathed in darkness. Sleep overcame you quickly, and instinctively you found safety, and security, and wholeness in Ashton’s arms, as he found in yours. And all you needed was that moment, over and over again, forever.

These arms would not be taught to need another's

'Cause we're the special two

Taglist: If there’s a line through your name, I couldn’t tag you, so please message me to let me know your new URL or what the go is! @suchalonelysunflower @blackbutterfliescal @redrattlers @loveroflrh @spicycal @notinthesameguey @metalandboybands @cheekysos @ashton-trash @another-lonely-heart @queenalienscherrypie @becihadshawn @allthestarsandthemoon

#ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin imagine #ashton irwin one shot #ashton irwin fanfiction #my writing #hope you like it!#just a fun lil extra #it's 1am now so i'm going to sleep but happy reading!

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

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Hello! i don’t think i’ve given you any of my weird headcanons in a hot minute so here’s a new favorite! Steve with ADHD, at first nobody notices it, he gets along well enough as a young kid people just think he has an active imagination, when in real it y he just can’t pay attention. He’s in 5th grade when his teacher pulls him out of class and tells him he needs to start paying attention, Steve almost starts crying as he tries to explain to her that he just can’t, that it doesn’t work (pt.1)

(pt.2) so the teacher tells him to stay back after class that day, he totally forgets and almost ends up leaving just further probing her suspicions. She asks him to extol in what he means, he doesn’t know what to say, says that too many things are happening for him to pay attention in class, and that sometimes if he hears another teacher he’ll end up listening to that, or if he can look out a window he’ll get distracted, and she already knows what’s going on, calls his parents for a meeting

(pt.3) So his mom comes in, his dad “could make it” but that works out for steve because his mom actually gets him tested, and his test comes back positive so he has to take meds now and sure his grades aren’t the best but they are so much better and he can actually sit in class and focus, but randomly in his sophomore year tommy finds the pills and makes fun of him and he gets so embarrassed that he just stops taking them, and his grades drop bad and he can’t focus and he feels like shit

(pt.4) he goes around like that for a while feeling lost and distracted but refusing to take his meds and be lame, he only starts taking them again after nancy breaks up with him because he needs to focus on something that isn’t the break up, but they aren’t working well which is to be expected he hasn’t taken them in more then a year, so he ends up totally freaking out and that’s how billy finds him, sitting on the bathroom floor with the WORST headache he’s ever had and he takes pity on him

(pt.5) billy and steve were kind of friends after the fight they had talked and worked things out, not super close but enough to not be so weird around each other anymore, so billy takes him home and makes sure he gets new meds and makes sure he keeps taking them and on days when he can tell steve is space and distracted and clearly forgot he’ll drive to his house and make him take them, and steve will bitch and moan but he actually loves that someone cares enough to make sure he’s ok

(optional pt.6) billy realizing he really likes steve when steve is talking about a special interest and getting super happy and he just can’t help but feel in love with him (is this totally based off my expletive with adhd? yes it is! is this the exact way my hug said she realized she love me? yes it is 🥰)

Hi! I have another one of your AMAZING headcanons in my drafts still, I’m working on it I’m sorry I’m the slowest writer ever.

So, I think I’ve said this, but ADHD makes A LOT of sense for Steve. I don’t have ADHD, so I’m sorry if this is in accurate, I did some research, didn’t want this to be like, bad.

Also, I put him on Ritalin for timing purposes and bc it can cause panic attacks. 🤷‍♀️ and his favorite animals are giraffes, goats and lobsters, 3 of my favorite animals.

Read on ao3

When Steve was little, he could never focus on something for longer than ten minutes.

He would be running through the house, leaving toys on the ground when he remembered a game he could play in another room. His nannies would roll their eyes, picking up after him.

When he got to school, it was more of the same. He would get distracted by every bird that he could see outside. He would be in the middle of class, the teacher would say something about giraffes and his mind would race about animals, would think about every country in Africa he could name, would think about whether or not Lithuania was in Africa.

His grades would slip, tests were a nightmare when he got caught up watching a bee buzzing near the window, only to realize he had answered three questions and only had eleven minutes left.

He was always a poor student, until fifth grade.

Mrs. Wilson had called him up after class, had noticed him zoning out and was about to chide him when she noticed the tears in his eyes.

“I just, I don’t know what happens, sometimes, my thoughts go too fast for my own brain and I can’t focus.” He was sniffling across from her.

“Steve, I’m going to have a chat with your parents. You’re not in trouble, but I think we can help you.” She smiled as she pat his shoulder, letting himself get collected before going to his next class.

She called his parents in at the end of the day, his mother sitting in the seat next to Steve, the principal joining them.

“I’ve noticed some trends in Steve’s school work and his presence in class. We think it may be in his best interest to test him for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. We feel that pinpointing the problem for him may be more helpful moving forward.

Mrs. Harrington agreed, waved her hand in a way that said she was bored of the conversation. Steve spent the whole next Saturday going through various tests, was wrung dry by the end of the day, but left with a clear diagnosis.

He began taking a low does of Ritalin, began focusing in class. His grades skyrocketed, getting the very first B+ he had ever gotten on his English essay.

He was okay until sophomore year.

He was an okay student, could focus in class, but not necessarily retain or understand the information.

But then Tommy found the pills, had laughed at him and called him retarded, the word that had haunted him his whole life, spat at him by the father that didn’t care about him.

So he flushed the pills, never refilled his prescription.

His grades slipped immediately. He wasn’t able to focus in class, had gone back to the days of staring out the window and getting confused about why it was called a square root.

He was constantly moving, would bounce his leg, would tap his pencil, would sometimes take the hall pass and just walk.

He knows taking his meds would fix the problem, but he had Nancy know, didn’t want her to know this weakness of his, this shameful secret.

But then he didn’t have Nancy, and his thoughts were racing, jumping from Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to-

He broke down February of senior year.

Graduation was soon as Steve’s grades were ass. He needed to focus on something that wasn’t Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad. So he filled his old prescription, took the same does he had two years ago and went to school.

When he was first put on the meds, he was told panic attacks and anxiety could be a side effect. He had never experienced that before, but now, now he lived in constant anxiety, and with his Ritalin, he was a mess.

He had locked himself in the bathroom above the gym, the one nobody uses. He was on the floor, trying to ground himself against the wall, trying to think of anything other than Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, demodog, demodog, demodog-

“Pretty Boy?”

Billy was in front of him, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Steve.

“B-Billy?”

“You okay? You’re kinda, kinda losin’ it.”

“I, I went off my meds for a, a few years, and I put myself back on them, and it’s, I, I know it’s lame, but they usually help and now-” he sobbed as Billy pulled him into his chest, soothing him softly.

“What meds?”

“Ritalin. It’s for, for ADHD.” Billy huffed a laugh.

“I fuckin’ knew it. The way you talk a mile a damn minute.” Steve’s heart sank. “And it’s not lame. Some peoples’ brains are just, wired different.”

Steve was starting to calm down, the anxiety shoving over into a raging headache. He groaned into Billy’s shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Head hurts.”

“Want me to take you home.” Steve just nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. Billy drove him home, sat with him while Steve called his doctor, made an appointment for next weekend.

Steve had gotten a new medication, adjusted to his current state. The new meds were like magic, allowing Steve to focus when he needed, wouldn’t let him fall into hyperfocus on something that wasn’t productive. He finished senior year on a good note, with okay-enough grades to score his diploma.

He spent the summer at Scoops, working alongside Robin.

Billy came in every day. Would sit with him on Steve’s break. On the days Steve seemed more spaced, he would marrow his eyes, would say you didn’t take your meds today, would drive to Steve’s house to get them for him, would make sure he took them, would take drinks out of Steve’s hands at parties, would make sure he wouldn’t do anything to interfere with them, would dread the days he would find Steve nauseous from the meds.

Bonus:

Steve realized he was in love with Billy when he found out Billy starting keeping a small store of Steve’s meds in his car, would update them periodically to make sure they were safe, effective.

Billy realized he was in love with Steve when he was talking about every animal he could name. He showed Billy the small library of books he had bought for himself about animals, could explain the difference between kingdom, class, phylum, and genus. Was throwing out Latin names for his favorite animals, giraffa camelopardalis, capra aegagrus hircus, nephropidae. Billy couldn’t help himself, had just leaned over and kissed him, left Steve giggling as they made out.

#yikes writes #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #harringrove #steve has adhd

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astrallines · 4 years

Text

The Crumbling Tower of 2020

Notes on the Triple Conjunction

Hello friends. What follows is a short introduction to the incredibly rare and historical astrological conditions of the year 2020. This was written with the intention of accessibility first and foremost; I believe it’s important that people have some idea of this moment in a historical context, and the tools to evaluate the themes and stories that are emerging currently and in the near future. To my eyes astrology is at its most useful when it is neither prescriptive nor prophetic. It is foremost a tool of psychological midwifery; reading the meaning of the world and its events.

So it’s in my interest to be painting in broad strokes. If you want concrete predictions or exact dates for orbs of conjunction now and in history, then there is a vast field of mundane astrology for you to Google. The myths I’m unfolding here are only for context and consideration—I hope you find them helpful.

Also, there will be a major western bias in my evaluation of history, which sucks, but that’s the milieu I grew up in and can speak to, and it remains the information most easily available. But of course astrological conditions are affecting the entire world. We can still trace the vibe through western examples.

Our Axial Moment There are two incredibly rare astrological events happening this year. One event is the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn in the sign of Aquarius. These two planets come together routinely, mechanically, every 20 years. But the rhythm of their waltz is such that each meeting takes place in signs of the same element for 200 years at a time. So when they conjoin in Aquarius, in the last weeks of 2020, that will be their first time together in an air sign since the 14th century.

Since 1802, all of their conjunctions have been in earth signs. (Much more on the significance of this later, but some may already notice this 200 period’s coincidence with the industrial revolution and the age of capital). In the 200-odd years before 1802, they would join every time in fire signs—and for the 200 years before that, water. One waltz more brings us back to the 1300s and 1200s, the previous epoch of air signs. Returning to the present day, we should realize that since an age like this persists for two centuries at a time, it is essentially impossible for someone who witnesses such a transition, to have ever even known anyone who witnessed the previous transition. That is, the 100 year old person in December 2020—even if they had, as a newborn, shared a breath with a 100 year old person—would not reach far back enough in history to have even a dim, second-hand knowledge of the epoch of fire (1603-1801). These periods are effectively the frame edges; the curtains around the drama of the world stage.

Rare as it is, the other historical aspect of the year is much rarer: the fact that Saturn and Jupiter will also conjoin Pluto in Capricorn before they dance their first step together in Aquarius. Though these 3 will never occupy the exact same degree together, they will come very close, on and off throughout 2020. Of course a triple conjunction of planets will always occur in more unpredictable intervals than any pair of planets because of the 3 separate orbits. Famously—well, famous among astrologers—it last happened in the sign of Capricorn during the founding year of the city of Babylon, 1894 BCE.

History of the Elemental Epochs Because the Jupiter-Saturn synodic cycle is so regular, and because we didn’t know about outer planets til the 18th century, the dance of these two planets through the elemental stations is by far the oldest astrological tool for determining epochal periods. It has long been assumed to be the basic attitudinal/affective backdrop of the zeitgeist. (Now that we know about Pluto, we have a new vibecheck every 12 years! But isn’t it funny that generations didn’t have names until we noticed Pluto in 1930?)

I would be remiss not to mention that there are overlaps between these periods. For instance, Jupiter and Saturn were briefly conjunct in an air sign (Libra) for a few months in 1981. So toward the end of each epoch, humanity gets a little multi-month preview of the coming age. 1981 and the transitional period is a whole other topic in itself, but that’s all I’ll say here.

Even though these elemental ages have been observed for so long, we don’t have a ton of historical examples to draw upon to get a sense of the nature of a particular epoch. As for the air age that we’re entering into, we can refer to the high medieval period as the last instantiation, but to get a third example we have to go into history 6 centuries before that! Soon the world starts to look so different from the current day, that we have to stretch the imagination that much farther. So let’s just a get a brief summary of the previous cycle through the elements.

Earth 1802-2020

This is the epoch we are still in as I write this. It began during the industrial revolution, and the earth themes are undeniable. Human begins have had a resolutely atomic understanding of the universe; materialism is rampant; and it feels that capital and capitalism are catalysts of most human drama. We take things literally and concretely: instead of speculating about other realms, we want to drive our spaceships to big slabs of land like the moon and Mars. We have discovered how to build and make so much STUFF!

Fire 1603-1801

This period is famous for the enlightenment and the French and American revolutions. The time of great sparks! Reason, brilliance, luminance ... self-validation and self-determination. This is really when human beings began to appreciate the value of the idiosyncrasy of a particular thinker. “THIS dude’s contribution” etc. Rights, laws, freedom, were all in vogue. “Here I am!” say the fire signs.

Water 1425-1602

Just as materialist scientism was born out of the liberating thought of the enlightenment, so were the insights of the enlightenment enabled by the world-broadening discoveries of the renaissance. During the water epoch, everyone was sailing everywhere, being introduced to new cultures, and the “new world” was reached by the Europeans. At home, classics of antiquity were being rediscovered and the world was broadened in that sense. Shakespeare was poppin off in a big way. The concept of the stage is essentially water; water is the idea that there is an affective component to reality at all.

Air 1226-1424

Is it a coincidence that the least widely known stage of the cycle is the one we are now entering? Or is that just the nature of history, as it fades further into the past? This period was called, in the West, the “high medieval” era. It was marked by civic demarcations that more or less persist to this day—the previous few hundred years saw constantly changing borders, but now people grouped more firmly into ethnic or national identities drawn to territories. This is also where we got chivalry and the first real rights for women in a long time. And there was the discovery of an actual social life and leisure. “Hanging out” was invented, thank God.

Reality itself received a major patch update: we invented mechanical clocks, which caused people to relate to the passage of time in a totally new way. We used to just slice up the sunrise-to-sundown period into 12 equal parts; now hours were a constant length throughout the year. Common folk had glass windows in their homes for the first time, and the elite even wore glass in front of their eyes to correct their vision. Music became much more complex, as people had more time to take it seriously and form theories. People could go to libraries; for the first time ever there were more books in cities than in monasteries. Cities were finally the place to be. We invented the compass, the game of chess, and the printing press. The astrolabe, like the compass, allowed us to orient ourselves to something that was formerly hopelessly abstract (the stars). Most of this cool shit came from the Arab world, which was flourishing.

Air Epoch 2.0 That’s the historical overview. Obviously there is much, much more there for any anthropologist or history of philosophy ass person. But we are beginning to see some idea of the relation between the qualities symbolized by the elements and the respective periods. Now we can begin a more informed speculation.

The movement from the previous earth age to the previous air age seems to be one of dramatically more complex social relations. Less emphasis on the riches of a kingdom, and more emphasis on its culture, civility, and sophistication. Abstract things became the treasures. As we look to our own incoming air epoch, it is easy to envision a world that places more emphasis on networks instead of objects. Social media, gig economy, and blockchain all appear to be prefigurations of this. In terms of philosophy, it no longer seems very radical to conceptualize oneself as part of a universe whose essential composition is not defined by particles (nouns) but relations and processes (verbs).

What Was Babylon? I ain’t no student of ancient culture. Until a few months ago, I didn’t even know Babylon was where Iraq is. Of course I think it would behoove all of us to research as much as possible the previous instantiation of this astrological aspect, but I also think it’s valid to speak about its cultural impact through a layman’s osmosis. As far as I can tell: what is Babylon best remembered for? The miraculous hanging gardens, the Tower of Babel, and the law code of Hammurabi. Hammurabi’s code, inscribed onto a stele about a century after the founding of Babylon is celebrated as the first known written laws, some 190 edicts long—and by the estimation of modern scholars, supremely humanitarian for its time. What is the modern equivalent of the ancient innovation of codified laws? Hard to fathom, but something for us to consider as the new age dawns.

More famously, there is the story of the Tower of Babel. A persistent image of human hubris, even today people respond to the tower motif as a symbol of defiance of God or of nature, and it is routinely invoked when artists and pundits comment on the ecological folly of industrial enterprise. Human beings tried to use their intellectual capacities to reach the position of God. Without reading the Bible, I can tell you that the punishment for this was the diversification of languages. All of a sudden people couldn’t speak to each other, because there were so many ways to speak.

Today we take for granted the many languages of human beings, so what is the modern equivalent of this event? Taken as a metaphor, the variation of languages could represent a variation of worldview. Styles of interfacing with reality. Because the element of air is so closely associated with concepts like perception, the structuring of thought, communication, and virtual realities, we might imagine that in the new age we will begin to understand just how deeply diversified our mechanisms of interpreting reality are. Phenomenology seems like a pretty fringe field in our current world, but AI is certainly not; and content creators have increasingly brought phenomenological themes to the center of their work over the last couple decades. Just as the previous air epoch (12/1300s) saw the advent of movable type, perhaps we will soon develop novel means of recording our impressionistic realities.

Finally, Babylon was host to the famous hanging gardens. Supposedly built by king Nebuchadnezzar to please his wife who missed the natural beauty of Iran, it is still unclear whether this wonder of the world ever existed in physical reality. In any case, the story is relevant: a ruler, in the midst of tremendous infrastructural expansion, and with it the inevitable subjugation of nature, finds that his greatest cultural influence across the centuries is ecological restoration. Looking at these three legacies of Babylon together is rather interesting: the law code stele, though purportedly divine in origin, is unquestionably real to our materialist sensibilities—you can go and see it. The Tower of Babel, taken from the Bible, was probably not real in the same fundamental way; though there was without question a great ziggurat in Babylon, the Biblical account is not literal. The hanging gardens is the most mythological. So between the three we have different concentrations of myth and historical fact.

Second Second Life I write this in the first few weeks of social isolation during the coronavirus pandemic. There is much more to be said about the connection between this unprecedented social condition and the imminent radical astrology—maybe the subject of some other essay. But off the dome, we can see plainly the defaulting of Capricornian things: governments, businesses, economies, and social infrastructure. Without much of a choice, we are withdrawing our energy from the material to which we are accustomed. We’re cooped up in our houses, where the merciful currents of the internet continue to draw us on, to operate in cyberspace as normal. New social functions and vocabularies are already emerging as we are forced to reconsider the online networks that have seemed so toxic for the last few years. People find themselves operating “peer to peer” out of necessity. Some “inessential” products may no longer be available on amazon, but your neighbor might have them. More importantly, people are reaching out to each other for nothing more than human contact. We’ve been wringing our hands about the importance of human connection, but capitalism—through spectacle or stranglehold—has drawn us away from putting it first.

Social service is (along with certain essential aspects of the internet) ruled by Aquarius. Saturn, governor of concern, has already ingressed into this sign, but will retrograde back out in a few months; and then at the end of the year, it will be joined by Jupiter, who greases the wheels, expands the potentiation of Saturn’s concern, and affords prosperity to those who take social service seriously. And together they will inaugurate the new age.

#astrology #mundane astrology #great conjunction #jupiter #saturn #pluto #jupiter-saturn conjunction #saturn-Pluto conjunction #tower of babel #babylon #coronovirus #capricorn #aquarius #air epoch #elemental ages #jupiter saturn synodic cycle #triple conjunction

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swordandquill · 4 years

Text

Title: Winter Break

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: The team find themselves snowed in in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

Author’s Note: Fair warning, I haven't written the rest of this story yet, and I'm not sure when I'll have a chance to finish it, but I thought the first scene was a good fit for the Comfortember prompt: exhaustion, so I'm going to go head and post it.

(Also, Sophie’s chapter is up next for Just a Call Away)

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

Eliot saw Hardison slump down into one of the hard terminal seats to his left and start punching away on his phone and didn’t even side eye him. There should have been at least a little spike of adrenaline in seeing him there when he definitely shouldn’t have been, but instead there was just a bone deep weariness that came with the knowledge that for Hardison to be there something had to be very wrong.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the woman at the gate counter did her best to sound apologetic, but it was obvious she was just frazzled; two massive storm cells had re-routed seven flights to the little Podunk airport, and there were more people crowded into the terminals than the place probably saw in two or three months, “there’s just no way to tell when we’ll be able to start rebooking outgoing flights.”

“No worries, darling,” Eliot fell back into an easy drawl, too tired for much else, “can’t control the weather.”

It hurt slinging his bag over his shoulder and reaching down to grab his second bag was almost too much effort to be worth it, but he did anyway, with an easy smile at the gate worker and no sign of discomfort.

When he got to Hardison, he let his bags fall heavily to the ground, then dropped himself into the chair beside him, still not bothering to look at him.

“Who else is here?” he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and head bowed.

“Whole team,” Hardison continued tapping away on his phone.

“Fucking hell,” Eliot rubbed a hand over his face.

“You alright, man?” Hardison finally glanced over at him.

“What have you checked so far?” Eliot ignored the concern.

It went without saying that all five of them being re-routed to the same airport in the middle of nowhere couldn’t be a coincidence, especially given the fact that the last job had been rough enough for them to take the precaution of booking five different flights on their way out, with the plan to regroup back at HQ gradually over the next three or four days.

“Running checks on air control, pilots, and flight staff,” Hardison offered, “haven’t found anything yet.”

“Can you get into the air control logs?” Eliot forced down a shiver; the hoodie he was wearing was no match for how cold it was outside and how poorly the terminal was heated.

The way every movement sent sharp pain through his shoulder though made it very clear to him that it wasn’t worth it to dig his coat out of his bag. The over-the-counter pain killers he had taken right before his flight had long worn off, and what he really needed was a place to hole up so he could take a round of the prescription strength stuff and get some rest.

That ship, it seemed, had sailed, though. And then been sunk under a foot of snow.

“Here,” Hardison handed his phone over to him, all the officially logged information on the seven rerouted flights on display.

Eliot flipped through the information, checking and cross checking all of it. He forced himself to go more slowly than he usually would, aware of just how tired he was and how easy it would be to miss something or make a mistake, and mistakes just weren’t an option where the team’s safety was at stake.

By the time he had listened to the exchanges between the tower and the pilots for all seven flights on Hardison’s earbuds, Nate had appeared, dropping down in the chair on Eliot’s other side, a paper cup of questionable coffee in one hand.

“Where are Parker and Sophie?” Eliot asked, his unease at their absence growing now that Nate had shown up and they still hadn’t; he knew they could take care of themselves, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

“Trying to find a coffee stand that will make a decent cappuccino and let Parker put half a bottle of syrup in her hot chocolate,” Nate relaxed back in his chair, not looking particularly distressed by their current situation, “you want anything?”

“No,” even the idea of coffee made his stomach roll; he knew he needed to eat something to settle it, but eating sounded like a terrible idea at the moment.

“Find anything yet?” Nate looked at Hardison over Eliot’s hunched back.

“Nothing,�� Hardison shook his head, “plus I still can’t find us anywhere to stay. Everything is full.”

“Eliot?” Nate asked, glancing down at his phone when Sophie texted him a warning that Parker had managed to put six extra pumps of mocha in her hot chocolate without the barista noticing.

Nate wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or terrified. He settled on asking Sophie to grab a bottle of Gatorade for Eliot, then slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Nothing,” Eliot handed Hardison’s phone back to him, then slumped forward again, “three of the re-routes were requested by the pilots, four of them were made by air control. They tried to re-route Sophie’s flight to a larger airport, but the storm shifted, and they had to send it here. The pilot on your flight was retired air force. He kept using air force codes and the tower was giving him shit about it. Hardison’s pilot kept flipping his call sign and his co-pilot kept cutting in to correct it. Re-routes all make sense for the way the two storm fronts are shaping up.”

“What does that mean?” Hardison glanced at Nate over Eliot’s back, a slight tip of his head in the hitter’s direction.

“It means that there’s nothing there,” Nate dropped his free hand to the back of Eliot’s neck and began kneading, “if they were trying to pull something, they would have made sure everything was perfect in the logs in case someone went back to review them. Which means everything is pointing to this just being a really weird coincidence.”

“There is no way this is a coincidence,” Eliot grumbled, grateful to have some of the tension finally ease out of his shoulders under Nate’s hand.

“The world is a strange place,” Sophie’s very expensive and highly inappropriate for snow storms shoes appeared in Eliot’s line of sight, “you look awful, sweetheart.”

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before going to sit on Hardison’s other side, leaning over his shoulder and sipping her coffee as she watched him continued to try to find them a place to stay.

“Do you have any real shoes with you?” Eliot gripped at her.

“I’ll have you know, I could buy two sets of those fancy kitchen knives you love so much with what these shoes cost,” Sophie said in mock offense, “but I do have weather appropriate shoes if that’s what you’re asking. I’ll dig them out once we decide on our plan.”

Parker planted herself on the floor at Eliot’s feet and stared up at him, the line of chocolate on her top lip a clear indication that she had already managed to down her hot chocolate. Eliot just raised his eyebrows at her. He couldn’t deny, he felt better having all four of them close, knowing that at least they were in reach if something happened.

“Our plan is to find someplace to stay to wait out this storm,” Nate continued rubbing Eliot’s neck, “if the weather report is right, we could be stuck here for the next three or four days, and I don’t think any of us want to spend that long sleeping on airport benches.”

“Whatever we end up doing, we should stick together,” Eliot insisted.

Eliot knew he was paranoid, and he knew sometimes that paranoia was justified and sometimes it wasn’t. The problem was, it didn’t matter if there was actually someone out to get them, or he was just tired and his brain was defaulting to ‘danger,’ it all felt the same. It felt like his team was in trouble, and he needed to do something, needed to make sure they were safe.

“We are definitely sticking together,” Hardison grumbled, “I’ll be lucky if I can find even one room for us.”

“You hurt your shoulder again,” Parker frowned up at Eliot.

Nate’s hand went abruptly still on the back of his neck, and Eliot glared down at Parker. He had been careful about not showing the injury, but this was Parker, and her observation skills were frighteningly good. Her sense of tact, not so much.

“I just dislocated it,” Eliot did his best to sound dismissive, “it’s fine.”

“When did that happen?” Nate demanded.

“Does it matter?” Eliot was not interested in having this argument again.

“I need to know when you’re hurt on a job,” Nate squeezed his neck briefly, then went back to kneading at it.

“It’s fine. Popped it back in, no problem. It wasn’t worth throwing Sophie’s exit off for,” Eliot should really have straightened up and pulled away, but he couldn’t muster the energy to, “it happens… sometimes.”

He caught himself before he could say “all the time,” partly because that was definitely the wrong thing to say right now and partly because it wasn’t really true. There was permanent damage in his left shoulder that made it slightly more prone to dislocating, but it didn’t happen all the time.

“Tell me next time it happens,” Nate pulled his hand away, and it was everything Eliot could do not to follow it.

“You want me to tell you next time I skin my knee too?” the hitter asked peevishly.

“Yes!” the rest of his team chimed in.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Eliot grumbled at them, but he couldn’t help the quiet warmth that pooled in his chest.

“You should wear a sling after you dislocate it,” Parker leaned her head on his knee, still looking up at him, “it makes it feel better.”

“I don’t have a sling,” Eliot pointed out, “it’s fine.”

“You have pain meds,” Parker reached back to drag one of his bags closer.

“Need to eat something before I take any more,” Eliot used his foot to push the bag away from her; he would definitely end up retching if he tried to take even the over the counter stuff right now, and he’d rather not, “leave that alone. We need to figure out our next move.”

“You’re going to drink this,” Nate opened the Gatorade bottle Sophie had slipped him before handing it to Eliot, “and we’re going to have to think outside the box if we want to find a place to sleep tonight.”

Eliot glared at the radioactive yellow color, but took it anyway. Nate wasn’t wrong; he needed the fluids. He should have had Sophie grab him some tea though. Even crappy airport tea would have been better than Gatorade. He forced himself to finally sit up so he could drink, and Nate’s hand fell back to the nap of his neck and started kneading again. Eliot leaned back into it under the guise of settling into his chair more comfortably.

“We could buy a house,” Sophie suggested, only half joking.

“We could steal a house,” Parker grinned, head back to resting on Eliot’s knee, “that would be faster. Also more fun.”

“I could kick someone out of a room,” Hardison squinted at his phone, “but that seems like kind of a shitty thing to do.”

“Oh! Find someone who’s a jerk and kick them out,” Parker shifted so she could look at Hardison over Eliot’s knee, “then it would be okay, right Nate?”

“It would be… less not okay,” Nate offered, clearly amused, “but let’s call that plan D.”

“Can stealing a house be plan A?” Parker asked eagerly.

“No,” Nate snorted, “but it’s definitely ranking above sleeping in the airport for three days.”

“Sleeping in the airport better be plan Z.” Sophie huffed.

“No,” Hardison grinned, “plan Z has zombies.”

Eliot sipped at his Gatorade slowly, waiting to gauge how it would settle on an empty stomach, and tried to prioritize what they needed to do. Security and the team’s safety was always his first priority, but he needed to get his brain to let that go for a little bit so he could figure out what they would need to manage being snowed in in a tiny town for a week, because Nate’s estimate of three days was generous if the weather reports were even half right.

His brain was not cooperating. The airport was overcrowded with angry people who were looking at being stuck there for days with no other options, and every aggressive gesture and raised voice had his eyes jumping to the person, assessing the level of threat, then skittering away to the next one. There could be a threat there somewhere; the five of them ending up together some place they hadn’t intended to be felt like a trap.

He needed to get them out of here. That seemed like a good first step.

“Do we have a car?” he interrupted Hardison’s detailing of plan Z, which he had heard way too many times.

“Yeah, I reserved us a van as soon as I got in,” Hardison confirmed, “ain’t fancy, but they’re supposed to put the chains on for us.”

“Maybe we should just get out of here then,” Eliot gave the half full Gatorade bottle a disgusted look, “we should aim for getting enough supplies for all of us for at least a week, just in case, and it’s early enough that the grocery stores might still be open if the blizzard hasn’t shut them down.”

Somewhere behind them a disgruntled businessman got unnecessarily loud with airport personal and one of the meandering security guards started to make his way towards the disturbance. Nate felt Eliot tense under his hand and shift his weight to a position it would be easier for him to get up in a hurry from. Parker was starting to look a little twitchy too, although being pressed up against Eliot’s knee and at least partially sheltered from the chaos of the terminal was probably helping.

“I’m not keen on the idea of driving out into a blizzard with no final destination in mind,” Sophie frowned.

“Living out of a van with five other people and freezing my ass off for a week,” Hardison flipped through web pages faster than Sophie could follow, “that better be somewhere after plan Z.”

Eliot knew they weren’t wrong, but Parker was hugging the leg she was resting against like a teddy bear, and he would have to step on her if he had to get up quickly to deal with trouble. It felt like the better option was to go sort out their next move behind locked doors, even if they were just car doors.

Nate gave the back of Eliot’s neck a reassuring squeeze, and Eliot pulled his ankle back, partially trapping Parker between his leg and the chair. He gave her a tired smile when she looked up at him and pretended not to notice when she started untying his boot lace. She would retie it using whatever her favorite knot of the week was.

“We’ll call sleeping in the van plan E,” Nate offered.

“That seems awfully high on the list,” Sophie complained.

“Well, then we better come up with a plan A,” Nate scoffed, “and Eliot’s right, we’re going to have to make a supply run and try to stock up. It would be better not to have to make too many trips out if the roads are bad,” he pulled his notepad and pen out of his inner pocket and passed it to Eliot, “the grown-ups don’t want to live on orange soda and coco puffs for a week, so this one’s all you.”

“Put coco puffs on the list,” Parker stage whispered to Eliot.

He snorted softly, but put it down first. He was acutely aware that Nate was trying to give him some kind of distraction to focus on, and he wanted to be more irritated by it than he was, but focusing on something besides the crowd and being able to organize his thoughts on paper did actually help.

It took a surprising amount of food to feed five people for a week, plus the logistics of possibly losing power, and all the other things they would need, things to cook food in, plates and utensils of some kind if the place they were staying didn’t have any, restocking the med kit, taking into account that he really didn’t feel like cooking and the rest of team’s cooking skills ranged from “probably won’t kill anyone” to “definitely will make something explode.”

“Isn’t this hiking country?” Nate asked suddenly.

“Unfortunately,” Hardison grumbled, “I’m going to go sleep on the floor in the corner over there before I’m going to camp in this though.”

“Summer vacation rentals,” Eliot filled in before Nate could, “they’ll be closed up for winter, so they shouldn’t be booked. Just make sure they have their utilities turned on.”

Hardison perked up at the idea and started searching on his phone, Sophie leaning eagerly over his shoulder again.

“Finish this,” Nate picked up the bottle of Gatorade from where Eliot had set it on the arm rest and held it out to him, “or I’m hunting down a bottle of Pedialyte for you.”

“You know,” Eliot set the pad on his knee and took the bottle from him reluctantly, “Pedialyte actually tastes better.”

“Isn’t that like baby food?” Parker peered curiously at the list, noting with satisfaction that Eliot had put not only coco puffs but also fruity pebbles and frosted flakes on it for her.

“Yeah,” Nate confirmed, “so don’t be a baby and drink your Gatorade.”

“Got one,” Hardison announced, “a lovely summer chalet with two bedrooms and a sleeping loft, full kitchen, and real wood fireplace. Also, on the grid and utilities running. It’s closed for the winter, so no rental contacts listed.”

“Can we steal it?” Parker asked eagerly.

“Let’s try just renting it first,” Nate shook his head, “see if you can get a contact number for the owners.”

“If?” Hardison snorted, “like I couldn’t do this in my sleep.”

“Stop bragging and give me the phone,” Sophie tried to snatch the phone from him as soon as the number was up, “what are we doing?”

“Family vaca,” Nate ignored Eliot’s grumble from beside him.

They called the particular grouping of IDs “family vaca” because Eliot got angry when they called it “Eliot needs to go to the ER and Nate needs durable power of attorney for him,” although to be fair, there were other ways they used this particular arrangement.

“I’m so glad I reached you,” Sophie started talking before the person on the other end of the line could even ask who was there, giving Eliot a wink as she pulled out her friendliest southern drawl.

Eliot rolled his eyes and began adjusting the list now that he knew they would have an actual kitchen. Just how well outfitted a rental’s kitchen would be could vary widely, but at least they shouldn’t need dishes and utensils, and if they were lucky, it would have a gas stove and they’d still be able to cook if the power went out.

“Add marshmallows,” Parker demanded and let go of his leg to reach for his bag.

“Stay out of my stuff,” Eliot used his foot to push the bag away from her again.

“You need your jacket,” Parker swatted at his shin, “I know you had the one with the fuzz on the inside with you; you wore it when we were casing the warehouse.”

“Other bag,” Eliot gave in, then shoved Parker gently with his foot, “don’t rearrange anything in there. It’s all exactly where I want it.”

“You always pack your bags the same,” Parker complained as she unzipped the second bag, “it makes finding things so boring.”

“It’s…,” Eliot broke off, distracted by two security guards rushing past them, heading in the direction of the meager food court.

“Almost out of here,” Nate patted his knee, “once we’ve got the cabin worked out, we’ll hit up a grocery store, then get settled for the night.”

“I don’t like any of this, Nate,” Eliot frowned at him.

“I know,” Nate agreed easily, “it’s a lot of coincidence, but it’s also a lot of moving pieced that can’t be controlled or predicted, and we do need to get moving if we don’t actually want to spend the next week stuck in the airport.”

“Coat,” Parker held up Eliot’s jacket, one of his beanies firmly on her head.

He suspected he would not be getting that beanie back, but that was alright; he had another one somewhere and Parker would need a hat once they got out of the airport. He reached for his jacket, but Parker snatched it back.

“Let me help,” she insisted, “it’s not good to raise your arm over your shoulder right after you dislocate it.”

“You know, this is not the first time I’ve done this,” Eliot let her help despite his protest, “I know how to deal with it.”

“Yeah, but you don’t half the time,” Hardison grumbled.

“If I ain’t dead then I delt with it,” Eliot glared.

“Sophie says it’s not funny to joke about that when you’re hurt,” Parker zipped up the jacket for him despite him trying to brush her hands away.

Sophie glanced over at them at her name, but continued her cheerful conversation with the rental owner, giving them little more than a raised eyebrow.

“Well, then, when is it funny to joke about it?” Nate asked, clearly bemused.

Sophie reached across both Hardison and Eliot to swat him, never once breaking the steady chatter of her conversation.

“Hat too,” Parker pulled a beanie over Eliot’s head, then tucked his hair back so it wasn’t in his face, “it’s snowing really hard. Did you put ice packs on your list?”

Eliot let her snatch the pad from him, although the fancy pen she started adding to it with looked like it was Sophie’s. He had not put ice packs on the list, but he had planned to grab a couple if they had any, along with more Tylenol and ibuprofen. He had some in his med kit, but if all five of them were going to be dipping into the kit, it would be better to stock up.

“You are just the sweetest thing,” Sophie cooed at the phone, “don’t you bother with coming out in this dreadful weather. We can manage just fine.”

Sophie hung up and grinned at the team, “the house is ours for as long as we need it. There’s a lock box on the porch with the key.”

“I can just pick the lock,” Parker protested as she pushed herself to her feet.

“It’s okay to use a key sometimes Parker,” Nate stood and started gathering up their bags, “maybe change it up a little every now and then.”

“I don’t like keys in lock boxes,” Eliot shoved himself up, “too easy to get to and copy.”

He was dizzy for a second, just long enough for Hardison to put a hand on the small of his back. Eliot stepped away from him and no one said anything. He just needed to eat something, preferably something that wouldn’t make him sick, that was all.

Hardison snatched up his bags before he could grab them, and if he hadn’t been feeling so lousy, he would have kicked him in the shin for it.

#leverage #comfortember #eliot spencer #Isabeau's writing

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maknaesdancersrappers · 4 years

Text

july 21

hello. july 21 is a special day for me and you dont have to read this because its just me venting out my thoughts and emotions as long as i can without word/character limits on any platform.

july 21 is my maternal grandmother’s birthday. when i was born, my mom went abroad often and my dad had the regular 9 to 5 job plus extra hours for commute. so growing up with my sisters who are 5 and 7 years older, our grandparents and aunts took care of us.

im also more fond of my maternal grandmother since my paternal grandmother lived far away and we rarely ever get to see her (usually only during summers and once she stayed with us for awhile) until she passed away from Alzheimer's.

during the long hiatus i took early this year (late december to mid-march?), a lot has happened in my life. my health was put at risk because of the ash fall brought by the volcano eruption (january 12); i had allergies for weeks - i couldnt breathe properly, let alone sleep because of it. it was about to be the second year after graduating college and i have yet to get a job; the pressure from my family - and myself - was so unbearable that i caught myself slipping back to my very, very, very dark thoughts. and the worst thing that happened in those three months: my grandmother passed away. in filipino, grandmother is lola (loh-lah) and i’d like to use that for the rest of this post.

if you ask anyone in their neighborhood, any of our family friends, and relatives, everyone will tell you that her death was sudden. because everyone knows her as the sometimes-funny-sometimes-cranky old lady that owns the convenience store at the corner of the street. she was 96. she was 96 but she refused to get a wheelchair or use a walking stick even though her knees started to hurt after a few steps. she was 96 but didn’t need glasses to read most of the time. she was 96 but didn’t have any maintenance medication. ever since she reached her 90′s, she had gone to the town clinic at least twice because she fell over (from loss of balance) and busted her head. yet she would walk the next day like she doesnt have stitches on her scalp. she hated going to the doctor, she’d always claim that nothing hurts and the only thing she wanted the doctor to fix was her hearing (its as weak as how her eyesight is clear)

i wasnt the only one in the family that got severely affected by the ash fall. my lola also had trouble breathing because of it. she also went to the doctor for it and they only prescribed her antibiotics. please remember this info. this should be around early february

she got a little better but her voice was very hoarse from the phlegm. even before this, lola had little to no appetite and would only eat when someone else is eating (usually if it’s us, her granddaughters). and by little to no appetite, i mean her whole meal would be three spoonfuls of rice and one piece/chunk of whatever the main dish/ulam is. whenever we ask if she had eaten (even though we know she hadnt) she’d always claim that she already has (this eventually became a little joke in our family.) we took this sign as her dementia getting worse (although she was never really diagnosed with it, we had naturally assumed it because she would always repeatedly tell us stories that she insists happened even though some have been debunked and there were times she forgets our names if we havent visited in a while.)

after she gets better from the cough (idk the real diagnosis of it), her legs started to swell and because her routine had been reduced to being bedridden for most of the day, my aunts thought it was just poor circulation. it took two weeks before they brought her back to the town clinic and again, they just prescribed her with some medicine. everything after this is blurry to me until feb 21

my mom, being the eldest, made the decision to bring lola to the hospital. she’s, rightfully, unsatisfied with the town doctor’s diagnosis and prescriptions because lola is in so much pain and her legs were still swollen and its been weeks. i was with her in the emergency room while my mom and aunt did the paper work and the staff ran tests on lola. i’m contacting my sister who was in singapore and we’d video call to entertain lola since she was very adamant - and vocal - that she did not want to be admitted to the hospital bc she was “fine.” goSh she made so many hospital staff laugh because she would always announce whenever she had to fart. after like 2 hours, we move her into a ward and my mom tells me that i’ll have to stay overnight to watch over her. i was very apprehensive of this idea. i honestly did not want to. seeing her in pain was bad enough, but the fact we were in a room with other people and she was crying out loud made me really anxious but it was final. my mom, aunt, and uncle all went back home just to have dinner and they’ll come back since lola’s doctor would be coming by to give the results and for that hour they were gone? i lost it.

lola started talking/praying out loud, asking god why she was in so much pain, asking what she had done to deserve this; and i didn’t know what to do but hold her hand and kiss her head. i couldn’t even show her i was crying. when my mom got back, i told her i cant do it and she eventually convinced my other sister to join me, who cancelled her plans for the next day. that night, i did not and could not fall asleep. after a few hours, her doctor finally came by and dropped a bomb on us. he was kind enough to talk to my mom and aunt behind the curtains in the softest voice ever while i helped the nurse with lola, but i could hear him crystal clear.

cancer of the liver.

they even momentarily walked back to lola to touch her stomach and stepped back out. i almost thought i misheard, but my mom and aunt’s expressions were too grim that it basically confirmed it. later on, my mom finally told me and explained that the antibiotics she had been taking weeks ago were too strong for her because of her lifestyle and diet. there were tumors in her liver and surgery wouldn’t do anything. i dont remember what i did aside from sketching on the journal i brought, but until i got home at 10am the next day, i did not sleep a wink.

feb 22. when i woke up at 2PM, i was told that they had lola discharged from the hospital. there was nothing we could do but try to ease the pain to the best of our abilities and wait. starting that day, i went over to lola’s house to help out with feeding her, giving her medicine, and just trying to keep her happy by randomly smiling at her when i see her looking around or dancing to no music.

feb 24. these were the early weeks of covid - ph hadn’t had a case yet, i believe, but travel restrictions were being implemented. my sister in singapore was doing everything to make sure she could come home because we don’t know when, but we know lola was leaving soon. of all the things our mom told her not to do, she cried at the entrance of the embassy and by the grace of god, someone took pity and listened to her (bc she was denied entry since she had a small cough) and she was able book a flight at midnight and be home in 4 hours. that afternoon, when i arrived at lola’s house, that was the very first time i stood at the doorway to greet her like i usually did and she didn’t smile. not even the corners of her lips moved. she was in that much pain that she couldn’t even greet me back like she always did, which was to smile and nod her head. that night, we all decided to sleepover there (with the exception of my dad since he had to feed our dogs at home). i take my usual seat in the living room and i notice a white dress that i remember (from photos) being lola’s 50th anniversary wedding gown and without being told, i know it was what she was going to wear for the very last time.

feb 25. being notoriously a late sleeper, i was about to go to sleep at 2AM when i hear lola groaning and whining out loud. when i checked her, her stubborn lil ass was trying to get out of bed alone!!! so i obviously panic and try to wake up anyone by exclaiming that lola had to go to the bathroom - she’s been wearing adult diapers for weeks now but refuses to go in them and is adamant about bringing her to the bathroom so she could relieve herself - so me, and the same aunt and uncle from the hospital, assisted her into this modified chair so she could pee and the only thing i could do was hold her hand, like always. after that, my uncle said he’d watch over her and lie down beside her on the bed so in case she needs to go again, he can take care of it himself. after falling asleep, i heard a few hours later that my sister from SG arrived. when i woke up later on, my sisters and i presented ourselves to lola bc its been so long since she last saw us complete, and this time she was able to give us a small nod of acknowledgement. i realized that none of my uncles and aunts went to work that day, thinking it was just so we could be complete since my sister was home. but then i overhear them making plans to have a priest come over for the sacrament of anointing of the sick - which based on my last and only experience (my grandfather/lolo), this must be the day. during the session, a few of my aunts and an uncle cried. my sisters cried, too, but i forced myself not to. when the priest left, i don’t know how long, but suddenly, she was gone. i didn’t know how to react. this was the second time i’ve seen someone pass away before my very eyes. everyone was crying out for forgiveness, kissing lola’s head, but i couldn’t move one bit. i was finally crying, but i couldn’t move at all.

3 days. from learning about the real problem with lola, it only took 3 days for it to take her away from us. not even a week, or a month. the only bright side to this was that she’s finally relieved of all the pain that’s been causing her suffering. 3 days of knowing her time was very, very short, but it was still a shock when she finally left.

for the longest time, lola’s goal was to reach the age of 100 because apparently our government will reward her with 100,000 pesos (like 2k usd) for doing so. she wanted to reach 100 because she wanted to leave us with some inheritance haha. and everyone believed she could do it. no one doubted her. until this happened. maybe its just me, but i feel foolish... completely stupid and ignorant for knowing deep down in my heart that she would reach 100 that losing her 3 years prior her goal hurt me more than ever.

it’s been 5 months but remembering her death still makes me cry. i have dreams (and you all know im a lucid dreamer) where she’s still alive and we’re talking about how she beat cancer at 96 in just a few months, but then i’ll remember that she didn’t and the dream in front of me just shatters and i’ll wake up empty and crying. i have never felt so much regret after she passed bc all she wanted was to see me graduate and it was up to me to show her that i got my first job and give her a portion of my first salary, but i couldn’t even do that. i waited too long and now its too late. her ideal type for me was a rich atenean boy who could drive 😂 and i still couldn’t give her that bc im so anti-men. there was a time i was so scared to go back to lola’s house bc she called me out during dinner - “baket ka malungkot/why are you sad?” - when all i was doing was browsing through my phone, scarily enough going through another “episode”, and the last person i’d ever want to know about my possible depression was her. of all my suicidal episodes, i’ve always resolved them by thinking of her - that i will continue living because i wanted to see her smile. because i wanted to see her happy.

i miss her so much. i wish i had been a better granddaughter to her. the small things i’ve done for her were never enough. in the past 5 months, i’ve only dreamt about her twice (actually being with her) and both times made the day so hard to function. i havent moved on and i dont know if im the only one. i dont know if i’ll ever move on. she would have been 97 today. whenever she forgets my name, i’ll tell her i have the same birthday as her and she’ll remember me. she’ll say “ahhh rosean! july 10!”

if someone read through this, im sorry you had to go through that mess. but thank you for hearing me out. no, i’ll thank you the way my lola would thank people, verbatim:

thank you very much from the bottom of my heart.

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bamon4bamily · 4 years

Text

TVD 9x09 (part 2) Enjoy! =)

Cut to - Stefan and Caroline, lying on the beach, having some margaritas, just chilling, doing absolutely nothing but stare at the ocean and talk.

STEFAN: Look at us; who knew we could actually let loose and just go with it.

CAROLINE: I know, I’m loving this side of us!

STEFAN: Marry me again…

CAROLINE: (Laughs, thinking it’s a joke, then realizes he means it) Wait, what?! Are you serious?

STEFAN: Yes, Care; we deserve the wedding we want, not that show we had to put on; I mean, it was beautiful, but it wasn’t us, and we didn’t even get to enjoy it.

CAROLINE: A million times, yes! Let’s do it (they kiss)!... Now, about that thing… I’ve been given it a lot of thought; this is a decision we need to make together. Guess it comes down to answering ourselves if we want this to be short and sweet, or long but uncertain.

STEFAN: If this was just about me, I’d go with short and sweet. I always hated being a vampire, and the mere possibility of becoming a ripper again terrifies me, but the idea of not being able to be with you for much longer, terrifies me even more. I’d like to think I came back for a reason, not just to die all over again.

CAROLINE: I know this might sound selfish, but I rather take a chance with the ripper than lose you. And, if it ever came to that, I’d be here to bring you back. We can do this, Stefan.

STEFAN: We can do anything (kisses her). It’s decided then. Maybe I’m destined to be a vampire…

CAROLINE: Or maybe you’re destined to be with me.

STEFAN: (Tender smile) I like that reasoning better (kisses her).

CAROLINE: So, this option you mentioned, are we sure it’s safe?

STEFAN: No, I mean, there is always a risk with these types of things.

CAROLINE: And Damon is on board with this?

STEFAN: He said it was my decision, he’ll do it if I decide to go through with it, so…

CAROLINE: Are you really sure it’s what you want to do?

STEFAN: What I am sure of is that I want to be with you for as long as I can.

CAROLINE: Me too. Well, once we go back home, we’ll get it done.

STEFAN: And start planning for our second wedding.

CAROLINE: Oh, I’m already on that.

STEFAN: (Laughs) I love you.

CAROLINE: And I love you (kisses him). Now, how about we go upstairs and take a “bath”...

STEFAN: (Stands up real fast) You know, another pro is that next time, we’ll be able to vamp our way to the room (smirks).

CAROLINE: Plus, vamp sex, you gotta miss that (smirks back)!

STEFAN: That alone is worth the risk of the ripper coming back. (Grabs their stuff and carries her to their room).

Cut to – Tulum ruins. After four hours Bonnie and Damon conclude the temazcal ritual; La Bruja offers them some fruit and tea to rehydrate.

LA BRUJA: You are true warriors; I’m impressed you got through the four hours; many don’t get past the first. You know, my ancestors believed the temazcal represented the womb, a place of transition between the heavens and the underworld, and that once you came out of the ritual, you were reborn.

BONNIE: I’ve died many times, linked with a cosmic energy source, but have never felt anything so sublime. Thank you, this truly was a gift.

LA BRUJA: No need to thank me, it was my pleasure. (Turns to Damon, who is very silent and meditative) Damon, how was your experience?

DAMON: Terrifying, yet beautiful at the same time… I don’t know how to explain it. I think I cried at some point, laughed, screamed… Cathartic, to say the least. A million times thank you, honestly…

LA BRUJA: I knew you would face your demons and fight till the end to defeat them. You two have a unique bond, soulmates beyond a doubt.

BONNIE: (Looking into Damon’s eyes with a soft smile) I guess we are…

DAMON: I know we are (kisses her).

LA BRUJA: Destiny doesn’t make mistakes (winks).

BONNIE: Tell me about you and Grams.

LA BRUJA: (Smirks) In the beginning we used to hate each other. Although our covens were amicable, the Bennett’s had a history with the Gemini and the Mikaelson witch, and my coven didn’t approve. Also, your grandma is as stubborn as they come, couldn’t stand her, yet I sort of loved to hate her. Then, a situation forced an unusual alliance and we ended up becoming best friends. After some time, one thing led to the other, and well… you can figure out the rest. One thing is for sure, I love that woman to infinity.

BONNIE: It’s so strange, I feel like there is this whole side of Grams I never knew…

LA BRUJA: Just like there is a side of you she doesn’t either. That is the beauty of human relations, you never truly get to unveil the mystery of the inner self.

BONNIE: I’m happy to know she has that kind of love. Sorry if I seemed rude before, I’m honored to have met you.

LA BRUJA: No hard feelings, I understand you being wary, but I’m hoping that after this bonding moment, we can become friends.

BONNIE: You know it!

DAMON: I’m curious, you said you met my mother, does that mean you’re an immortal?

LA BRUJA: We are all immortal, Damon. Now, what keeps me in this specific state of existence can be thought both as a curse or as a blessing. I am mother nature, assigned to protect and preserve all biological beings. I am bound to this earth till its end…

BONNIE: Don’t you get lonely? Seeing the people you love move on while you remain?

LA BRUJA: Not at all; just because they move on to another plane of existence doesn’t mean we are not connected. We might not be able to interact physically, but spiritually we are linked for eternity.

BONNIE: That’s a beautiful way to look at it.

LA BRUJA: It is. Well, I must be heading out now, but before I leave, I need to give you two things. One, (hands her an amulet) this earth amulet, whenever you need to reach me hold it in your left hand, close your eyes, and I’ll be there in a blink of an eye.

Second, a message from the Shaman… (Says the words in Mayan) “Ti' le ak'abo' le unión vence le k'aas” … In darkness, unity defeats evil. Never forget that, it might be the answer you need when the time comes…

BONNIE: What do you mean?

LA BRUJA: Just, remember, promise me.

BONNIE: I will, I promise.

LA BRUJA: Good. My work here is done.

BONNIE: Listen, we should see each other before we go back home, let us invite you to dinner one of these nights.

LA BRUJA: I’d love to! You know how to reach me.

DAMON: Thank you again, really, this has been one of the best experiences of my life, or death, however you want to see it.

LA BRUJA: Ay, Damon, you are such an uncanny soul; but a good one, so stop doubting yourself.

BONNIE: (Teasing) Listen to the herb lady, Damon, she’s on point.

DAMON: (Laughs) Is Sheila this mocking?

LA BRUJA: Oh, yes, it’s definitely a Bennett thing!

BONNIE: Hey!

LA BRUJA: (Laughs) But that’s why we love you ladies.

DAMON: That’s right, Bon Bon (smirks and hugs her).

BONNIE: Oh, I’m still gonna get you back for this, when you least expect it (kisses him, winks).

LA BRUJA: Well, amigos, my time to go… (just as she suddenly appeared, she disappears, along with the Shaman and the hut).

DAMON: How about a dip?

BONNIE: (Smirks and slowly takes her clothes off) Catch me if you can! (Runs into the ocean, Damon takes his clothes off as fast as he gets up, and vamps in after her. They make love, multiple times, until sunset).

Cut to - Edward, waking up inside a cell in the underground hi-tech facility.

AUGUSTUS: Sorry, son, I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt, but you don’t seem to get it together. I trusted you’d get things done, thought you were on the right track when you took care of that lunatic Darius, but your attachment to the Donovan kid keeps getting in the way; and for the life of me, I can’t understand why. He might be blood, but he is not family. Oh, well, never leave a boy to do a man’s job.

EDWARD: Where is she?! What have you done to her?!!!

AUGUSTUS: Who? Oops, I think they might have overdone it with the sedatives… Well, it will pass, nothing to worry about. Unless… you haven’t stopped taking your medication, have you?

EDWARD: I know what I saw, where is she!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AUGUSTUS: Bring Donovan back, and you might find out.

EDWARD: You have all this high-tech equipment, I’m sure you can find where he is.

AUGUSTUS: Well we know he flew to Lima a couple of days ago, but we found his cellphone, and his wife’s, at their house. I’m guessing someone told them not to bring their phones along.

EDWARD: You had him, he gave you what you wanted, and you let him go. If you still needed him, why would you let him go?

AUGUSTUS: Unfortunately, when it comes to humans, errors are bound to happen; we missed a minor detail.

EDWARD: That’s quite the understatement… but you are wasting your time with me, so go play with your toys, you might have better luck with them. Oh, and I will find out what you did to her, don’t doubt that for a second.

AUGUSTUS: (Grins, sarcastically) In the meantime, I’ll have one of my toys bring you your medication; can’t have you going off to La La land just yet. (An odd man approaches his cell with some pills) I hope it’s the right prescription… (smirks and walks away).

Cut to - Tyler and Lexi playing cards and having a drink, after a long day at the school.

LEXI: (Opens her cards) Royal flush…

TYLER: Are you kidding me?! (Opens his) Poker.

LEXI: Aw, Wolfie, (as she takes his chips) better luck next time.

TYLER: Well, I’m out of money, and dignity.

LEXI: Ha, I warned you. (Takes a sip of her drink) So, how are you adjusting? Are you liking this teaching thing?

TYLER: Much to my surprise, I actually am. You?

LEXI: I’m loving it! I’ve always been a huge fan of Harry Potter, so I kind of feel like I’m in Hogwarts.

TYLER: Are you serious, Harry Potter? (Cracks up).

LEXI: Hey, they’re amazing books!

TYLER: (Teasing) Oh, I’m sure they are, but I never figured you as a fangirl.

LEXI: You have no idea, haven’t missed a single con.

TYLER: Ha, ha! As in those geek events where everyone is dressed up? Please don’t tell me you go in costume…

LEXI: Of course I do, I have Hermione down to a T! Just ask Bonnie, she’s gone to a few with me.

TYLER: Bonnie?! Oh, this just keeps getting better! (Alaric comes running in).

ALARIC: Hey, guys.

LEXI: What’s up, boss?

ALARIC: Oh, gees no, please don’t call me that. We have a situation…

TYLER: What’s going on?

ALARIC: It’s actually quite funny if you think about it. You know how Katherine used to be a Traveler?

TYLER: Uhm, yes, but not after she became a vampire…

ALARIC: Yes, but then she became human, died, was queen of hell, came back; who knows what she really is at this point… Anyway, turns out one of her students is an active Traveler and, well, long story short, something happened, and they switched bodies… and no one can figure out how to switch them back. Just thought I’d let you know so you don’t freak out when a teenage boy comes in here, pours himself a drink and starts acting like a crazy person.

LEXI: Did you just say, teenage boy? (She laughs hysterically) Oh, this is too good!!

TYLER: (Also laughing uncontrollably) Karma is a bitch!!!

LEXI: We have to see this, please, Ric, ask her to come!

ALARIC: Well she, or shall I say, he, is in his room at the moment; freaking out. Radka is with him and the student, trying to look for a way to reverse whatever they did back.

LEXI: (Jumps up) What are we waiting for? Let’s go!

ALARIC: (As they are walking out) Guys, just try not to laugh too hard.

Cut to - Matt and Khuyana, who have been staying at a cabin, somewhere near the Machu Pichu ruins, for a couple of days.

MATT: Middle of nowhere, you, me, and absolutely no connection to the outside world; I can get used to this.

KHUYANA: I have to say, I thought I would go crazy without my phone, but it’s so liberating!

MATT: It is; makes you think just how dependent we are on our little gadgets, and how disconnected from the natural world.

KHUYANA: I’m reconsidering your offer not to go back to Mystic Falls, or Lima, we can just stay here and live out the rest of our days as hermits. You can become a writer, and I can become a sculptor, or a painter.

MATT: Well, I can’t write for my life, so I’ll need to find something else.

KHUYANA: Or you could be the sculptor, you are great with your hands (smirks).

MATT: Well, we have a couple of more days to decide… (kisses her).

Cut to – Sage and Alex in a real high-end apartment, near the University’s Medical Lab. Sage wakes up, real hung-over. Gets out of bed, goes to the kitchen to grab an aspirin. Alex is reading and having coffee.

ALEX: (With happy-go-lucky sarcasm) Morning sunshine!

SAGE: Oh, shut up, Alex; my head is killing me.

ALEX: (Mocking) Wonder why? Here (hands her a pick-me up drink he had already prepared for her, she chugs it).

SAGE: (Hits his chest) Why did you let me drink so much last night!?

ALEX: (Laughs) Are you serious? When have you ever listened to me when I tell you to slow it down?

SAGE: I didn’t even drink that much, how did I get so drunk!?

ALEX: I’m guessing it had something to do with seeing Sam again, and meeting his new girlfriend, Elena… (pushing her buttons) she’s hot!

SAGE: Please, she’s your average, totally overrated, “girl next door”.

ALEX: Meow! Catty much? After all these years, you’re still stuck on him.

SAGE: First of all, it’s only been two years. Second, I’m not. I just think he can do better, that’s all.

ALEX: Wait, I thought… never mind, I don’t even want to know. Listen, we start the program early tomorrow, how about we stay in, veggie out, and binge some Walking Dead.

SAGE: That actually sounds like a great idea, can’t function today; but we’re not watching your lame ass show, so get ready for a Hunger Games marathon.

ALEX: (Rolls his eyes) Fine! I’ll make us some lunch while you set the rest up.

SAGE: (With a puppy face) Salmon and cream cheese bagels?

ALEX: Yes, I knew you were going to ask for that, so I went to the market early in the morning; got some champagne and oranges for mimosas too.

SAGE: (Kisses his cheek) You’re the best!

Cut to- Akumal, Mexico. Caroline, Bonnie, Damon and Stefan are having an oceanfront dinner.

CAROLINE: So, how were the pyramids?

BONNIE: Out of this world, you guys should have come.

CAROLINE: We were exhausted, but will definitely join next time; I’m thinking we should make this trip an annual tradition.

BONNIE: Definitely.

DAMON: No objections here.

STEFAN: Or here.

BONNIE: So, wanna hear a crazy story?

CAROLINE: Always.

BONNIE: We met my Grams soulmate…

CAROLINE: What?! Here? What are the odds! How did you meet him?

BONNIE: Actually, it’s a she…

CAROLINE: (Spits out the wine she had just taken a sip of) What??!!!!! Oh my god!! Wait, are you playing with me?!

BONNIE: Nop, she’s a Mayan witch, and apparently mother nature…

CAROLINE: (In total shock) Grams?! Really?!! You’re joking, right? Did you guys smoke that stuff again?

BONNIE: (Laughs) No, totally clear minded.

STEFAN: You mean to tell me Sheila…

DAMON: That’s right, brother, she even told us herself. Her reflection appeared through La Bruja’s eyes, spilled the tea to Bonnie…

BONNIE: When you hear it like that, it does sound like we were trippin (they laugh).

CAROLINE: Now I’m totally regretting not going with you guys! So, what did she say, what happened?!

BONNIE: She told us how they met, and then she initiated us in a ritual called temazcal; that was pretty much it. Crazy shit, right!?

CAROLINE: Absolutely insane!! I totally want to meet her!

BONNIE: I told her we would have her over for dinner one of these nights, you can meet her then.

CAROLINE: Ooh, yes, can’t wait! Well, now that we are exchanging our day stories, we have one we want to share with you as well… We are having a second wedding!

BONNIE: That’s great!! You definitely need a due over, last one was pretty bad, no offense.

DAMON: Only good take away was mine and Bon Bon’s dance, rest was a Carry meets The Exorcist fiasco.

BONNIE: Do you have a date? Are you going for a June wedding again? CAROLINE: Oh no, I’m done with June weddings; I want it to be as far away from June as possible, so we’re thinking early December.

BONNIE: That’s coming up real soon… sure you’ll have enough time to plan?

CAROLINE: Yes, we want something simple this time around. Plus, I’ll have my maid of honor to help me out.

BONNIE: And who might that be?

CAROLINE: Bonnie Sheila Bennett, do you even have to ask?! Of course it’s you, it’s always going to be you! Don’t tell Elena I said that.

BONNIE: (With a sweet smile) Well, I think this deserves a bottle of champagne.

DAMON: I’m on it! (Calls the waiter to order the bottle).

BONNIE: Have you picked a venue?

CAROLINE: The mansion; like I said, we want to keep it classy but simple.

BONNIE: It will be beautiful.

DAMON: (After the waiter serves them the champagne, holds his glass up) To due overs!

EVERYONE: Cheers!

CAROLINE: Okay, so, we might change the mood with this one, but we need to tell you something else … Stefan?

STEFAN: Well, Damon, you already know what this is about. Bon, we didn’t want to tell you until we had made a decision.

BONNIE: What’s going on, Stefan? You’re freaking me out…

STEFAN: Essentially, I’m dying.

BONNIE: What?!

DAMON: Bro, context! You can’t just spit words out like that!

STEFAN: Sorry, Bon. Let me try this again. So, you know how I died, and then you brought me back, and then, well, I had the cure before I died, and then I gave it to Damon, and then...

DAMON: Oh, for god’s sakes! Bon Bon, thing is, the cure is wearing off fast. At this rate, we don’t know how long it will last before… well you know what. Stefan talked to me about it, and I came up with an idea; the only way out of this is if he takes the antidote, which is in my blood...

BONNIE: Wow, you sure you’re not the ones that are high? Sorry, had to break the tension to process this… Stefan, you do know what taking the antidote means, right?

STEFAN: I do, that’s what made it so hard to make the decision, but after a lot of thought, Care and I decided it’s worth the risk.

CAROLINE: We want to do it once we get back home.

BONNIE: This has never been done before, it could be dangerous, (turns to Damon) for both…

DAMON: Bon, don’t worry; we should be fine.

BONNIE: Not if it works like the cure, it won’t. Plus, you’re missing a major detail, Stefan died without the cure, it’s not in his system anymore so the “antidote” wont work. Your sudden deterioration is because you don’t have the cure anymore, just like what happened to Katherine but at a slower rate … Didn’t think it could happen, given that you died and came back, but I guess it did. Answer is simple, if you want to survive and don’t mind becoming a vampire, you need to be turned the old-fashioned way… (They all stare at her, mind blown, and a bit embarrassed they hadn’t even thought of that).

DAMON: (To Stefan) You see? This is why I insisted we talked to Bon Bon first!

CAROLINE: (To Bonnie) I told him to tell you too.

STEFAN: (To Bonnie) Sorry, I asked them not to tell you. I didn’t want to drag you, once again, into one of my problems.

BONNIE: Stefan, are we friends?

STEFAN: Of course we are.

BONNIE: Then, your problems are my problems; you’re not dragging anyone. (Teasing) But if you would have listened to them, we could have solved this way sooner.

CAROLINE: I can’t believe we didn’t even think of that…

BONNIE: Sometimes the answer is so obvious you doubt if it makes any sense.

CAROLINE: (To Stefan) So, what do you think?

STEFAN: To be honest, old-fashion way scares me even more, at least with the antidote option there was a chance the ripper might not come into play; but if we do it like this, it’s bound to happen at some point.

BONNIE: Not if you learn how to control it, and we can help you do that. You can do this, Stefan, you are much stronger than you give yourself credit for.

STEFAN: Thank you for saying that, Bon.

CAROLINE: So, old fashioned way it is…

DAMON: Dibs on the kill!

STEFAN: There’s no way in hell I’m letting you kill me; Care is the one that needs to do it.

CAROLINE: No, no, no, I’m not doing it. I’ll give you my blood but I’m not going to be part of The murder of Stefan Salvatore, true crime series episode.

STEFAN: Bon?

BONNIE: Oh, hell no.

DAMON: (With a grin) Looks like it’s gonna have to be me, bro.

STEFAN: Maybe it’s best if I just ride out this decomposition…

DAMON: Oh, come on, it could be fun! Just like old times!

STEFAN: Fine, but I swear, if you so much as smirk, I’m gonna go ripper on your ass.

DAMON: I’ll be gentle, and well behaved, pinky swear.

STEFAN: It’s settled then… Care, you’ll give me your blood; Damon, you’ll do the deed; Bon, you’ll be my moral support.

CAROLINE: God, this is insane! If anyone heard this conversation, they’d either put us in a loony or in jail.

BONNIE: That’s true for pretty much every conversation we have (they all laugh).

CAROLINE: Okay, now that we got that out of the way, let’s celebrate! (They spend the night drinking, laughing, dancing, having a great time).

Cut to – High-tech underground facility, Edward’s cell. The man that gave Edward his medication is still standing outside the cell, on guard. Edward can’t stop staring at him, intrigued by his uncanny behavior and appearance (which strangely resembles him).

EDWARD: What the hell are you...

TVD 9x10 coming next! Hope you stop by, read and enjoy!

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