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#camel hair paint brush
altcomics · 5 months
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Apartment.Gallery
That gap between the door and the floor, a crack where crushed sun leaks in. This is what I see before entering Apartment Gallery. All I really remember about the stairwell is the muddy dark brown wood of everything, cut by hiatuses of off-white walls.
It’s an apartment but there isn’t any furniture. There are the paintings, and barely anything else to take in besides them. Two rooms with pictures: the living room and a small bedroom to the left of the kitchen. And in the kitchen there’s an orange slice keychain on a countertop.  People huddle in two’s and three’s, their bodies become one big eye, with their heads the iris and turning peripherally. Then at the end of the night, everyone is crosseyed and bowlegged. Always one eye on the painting, the other on your interlocutor.
The show. Two painters unite. Kevin Larmee and Vogel Morra, hung and organized by Blaise — Kevin’s son, the cartoonist — in Chicago’s upper Northside. Kevin Larmee paints people, docks, water, sunless sky (the Beginning)  and moonless sky (the End). And Morra paints people, flowers, vases, windows, fireplaces, chairs, and trees. Larmee and Morra’s paintings are joined by the grace and awkwardness needed to dance. Larmee favors blues and blacks, bruising the canvas as a necessary arrow of love. Morra: purples and pinks.
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The opening is like this: a dotted line tracing a butterfly’s ditz through the sky.
by Brianna Perry @precious-silly-thing
for House on Fire (2dcloud)
It’s mostly Blaise’s friends here. They seep through the doorway, many of them seem to be meeting for the first time. Someone asks me what I do and I say I am an artist. It feels less embarrassing to say that here. I ask someone,  ‘Are you a painter?’ A mawkish ‘kind of’ comes out of her mouth. Some of them are grad students at the University of Chicago, members of a Javanese gamelan ensemble. Spotted: Ash H.G., a cartoonist with a forthcoming graphic novel called East District. And Katherine Dee, the writer and internet anthropologist. The show’s artists are missing. “They’re both mysterious, so — “ trails off Blaise.
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Paintings are the alignment of constellations, the flipping of a lucky cigarette into the first spot in a pack, stubby toes on crushed velvet. The fracture is fifty words for snow. Dipping a brush in dreamless water, shaping its hair into a fine cone. A brush’s bristles can be tweezed easily from hogs, sables, minks, mongooses, horses, ponies, wolves, sheep, rabbits, goats, camels, and oxen. The bristles are bred for this, a descending column of Kundalini blockages. A brush is vestigial. We can paint with slices of clementine if we weather the juice.
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Larmee’s pictures are cosmic in subject matter but not in scale. There is a tiny importance to them, like a single petal or a Beanie Baby. When I said Larmee painted people, I include angels in this category. A redheaded angel appears opposite his depiction of two figures in silhouette, where one is leading the other through a building being destroyed in a fire.
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Morra’s paintings are predominated by portraiture. The figures are nearly expressionless and anhedonic. It becomes increasingly important to the viewer to determine if the scene painted is candid or posed. Argument for candid: the space surrounding the figures is inchoate, tohu-bohu Rastafari. Argument for posed: Everyone who poses for Morra instantly become an image. Morra’s people scrape by with very little definition: a dot that’s an eye, a line that’s a mustache. The figures are saved from facelessness. It’s not anonymity, it’s privacy.
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There’s mackerel, rice, beer, an idiom of wine whose name I can’t recall. Stephen tells me the name of the wine and I ask ‘Is that a director?’
The sun’s setting, each ray in danger of falling off the central axis. Larmee’s paintings illuminated in ring-like formations, the sun contouring each painting like melted popsicle circumscribing a mouth. The paintings are all surface: there is no pretense given to stain. It’s a painting. The application of paint is thick, white light is pressed and squeezed out between figures or waves.
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Morra lets more light in. There are passages of color above solid blocks of pigment. The subjects of Morra’s paintings are alone. This painter favors the margin. Men sit in corners or against walls, ever brooding. Only the trees feel collective—  as faceless, inconspicuous, upright weather vanes. The brushstrokes staccato across the picture plane, each tree having its own auric shield. A tree in the foreground, cooped in pinks. Morra’s paintings are all wall, retaining walls to be specific.
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Rock-em sock-em puddles of grass indiscriminately line the bottom of Morra’s painting of trees. This is a terpene-lined pastoral. In the living room, Larmee’s dorky grisaille and oceanic ground respond in kind. The dharma of every picture is that each brushstroke precipitates on the surface of the canvas, foggy warm breath making opaque condensation drawings on the pane of the viewer’s mind.
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People fall in and out of the apartment.
And there’s a declining population by 6:30. Conversation has given way to current events. I feel good, because I have talked to everyone there an adequate amount.
One last note: Larmee’s paintings are business-casual, Morra’s are a loosened necktie after a long day at the office. Morra’s paintings struggle to unmoor themselves, the untucked canvas looping around the picture plane like ice cream birthday cake frosting.
The opening’s over. Stragglers sit crosslegged on the floor or perch on the window sill. The sky is purple and blue allover, high noon finally celebrating its quinceañera. It’s getting late, people return to their lives. All we have left is a painting between us, a sick twisted jeremiad dedicated to autumn.
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Apartment Gallery is an apartment and gallery on Chicago’s north side. Vogel Morra and Kevin Larmee ran from September 30th to October 23rd, 2023.
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dudefrommywesterns · 4 months
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Ship: Mike x Rick Todd, Mike & Bessie Sparrowbrush
Words: 395
Description: Mike and Bessie discuss Christmas presents. Drabblecember Day 6: Wrapping Gifts
When Bessie walked in, Mike was fiddling around with tape and wrapping paper. She set her stuff down at the door and walked over.
She leaned in and asked, “Ooh is that for Rick?”
Mike jumped. They'd been so engrossed with their wrapping they didn't notice her come in.
Bessie sat down at Abby’s sketching desk and asked, fully interested, “What did you get him?”
“Oh, just some new paint brushes,” Mike said casually. “I don't know how long he’s had his but the bristles are starting to bend at odd angles.”
“Can I see them?” she asked.
Mike shrugged, “I guess so.”
Bessie took one from the box Mike put them in and balanced it between her fingers. She ran her thumb through the bristles.
“Hm. They’re nice.”
“Well, they are camel hair.”
Bessie set the brush back in the box, and asked, “What do you think he got you?”
Mike paused and pondered this for a moment. “Knowing Rick, he probably got me something pretty and romantic.”
“Like a ring?”
“I hope not. I hate rings,” Mike replied. “And, uh, Bessie, could you help me wrap this? I can't get it to look nice.”
Bessie giggled, “Well, I’m twice as clumsy as you are.”
“Maybe we'll cancel each other out?” Mike asked, hopefully.
Mike stepped aside. Bessie cut a new sheet of wrapping paper, folded it around the box, then taped it up. It wasn't perfect but it was more neat than Mike had it.
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing.”
She grinned mischievously and leaned her head on her palms, “Now, what did you get me?”
“I’m not telling you! Wait a couple weeks. It won't hurt you.”
“Aw, that’s no fun.”
“What's not fun is telling you now and spoiling the surprise.”
“What did you get Abby?” she asked instead.
“I haven't gotten around,” Mike admitted. “What do you think she wants? You two are closer.”
“Hmm. She already has nice paint brushes. And she's well accessorized too.”
Mike laughed. “I guess in my head she’s hard to shop for.”
Bessie waved her hand, “No, she’s easy. If you make something, she'll love it.”
Mike’s eyes lit up. “I could always make a card.”
Bessie smiled, “See! Just make it artsy.”
“Thanks again Bessie.”
She nodded.
“Now we need some mistletoe.”
Mike blanched. “No, oh god.”
The pair fell into a fit of laughter.
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cows-writing · 3 months
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Was talking to a friend about G/T headcanons and thought of this:
"Do you know how hard it is to feel like you're not supposed to be born like that" She yelled at the top of her lungs, her voice echoes through the empty, grey place they were all in. Her eyes were already filled with tears but she wasn't about to give up. Not that easily
"I'm saying you were blessed. Being so tall. It's not a curse, it's a miracle. You should be proud" Mafuyu responded. She wasn't all visibly upset like Mizuki but she was definitely as shaken up inside as her.
The sekai felt especially lonely that day. Like the remaining colors that could be seen in the distance completely faded away. Kanade and Ena were stuck, observing the whole argument, not knowing if they should intervene. Everything was supposed to be good. They were supposed to live happily ever after but one tiny malfunction in Mizuki's remote made it all go crashing down. Though Kanade felt herself that it was just a long awaited explosion. They didn't talk about their sizes for a reason. Like she was sitting in front of a ticking bomb, patiently waiting for it to finally explode. And it did. Mafuyu snapped, Mizuki was crying and she was just sitting. And waiting. Again
"I don't need to know. I just said what I thought" Mafuyu responded, now completely facing away from Mizuki. She was saying all that confident claims but she wasn't even brave enough to look Mizuki in her eyes.
"You don't know... How you sound right now!" Mizuki was taking big breaks to not lose the air completely. She was constantly brushing her face with her long sleeves to wipe out the tears that didn't even get a chance to fall down her face. "You don't know anything!"
"I am a monster when I'm that big-!"
"You're not" Kanade cut her off. She wasn't that brave to stop them arguing but she would never let Mizuki say such things. Mizuki quickly looked at her and Kanade as quickly regretted speaking up. She just looked at the floor and took a step back, showing she's not going to interrupt further.
"You can do something. You can look down on people, you can intimidate, you have power!" Mafuyu's harsh but calm voice slowly turned into a yell. Her mask began to slip and they were finally matching in tone.
"I'm not more than a poser trying to pretend to be something I'm not"
The more they talked the more apparent it was that these two needed to get these things out of their chests. They needed to scream and cry and argue. Otherwise they would only keep it inside, slowly turning them into something far less human. Something devoid of emotions. Like a bomb that never exploded, but merely destroyed itself from the inside.
There were pictures in front of Ena's eyes. They were the pictures. She felt a little selfish for letting it get to that moment but where Kanade saw only grey, a world that lacks colors, she saw paintings. Mizuki was pink turning into red. The flowers around her weren't blooming, they were on fire. Mafuyu's purple hair was dragging all the way down, slowly turning into a sea. She was surrounded by large fishes, bug enough to eat her whole. But she was calm, like she was used to it. Ena's hand began subconsciously make small circles next to her leg, as to mimic the paint strokes she would do on the canvas if given a chance.
"You feel small because you can't stand up for yourself!" Mizuki yelled.
The straw that broke camel's back
"I am small! That's the point of this entire argument!" Mafuyu was finally facing Mizuki. She also had tears all over her face and an anger that was only rising "You go here talking about some assumptions or social expectations. But you forget one important thing..." She made her way to the other girl who flinched, scared of what's to come next
"Tide's about to wash off those flowers" Ena thought to herself
"You... Could crush me under your feet" Their faces were now millimeters away from each other. Mizuki could hear Mafuyu's fast breathing and feel how the other girl was shaking. Mafuyu could see Mizuki's eyes wandering just to not look directly at her.
"The second bomb is about to explode" Kanade told herself as she closed her eyes, fearing what might happen. They both held in their breaths.
Finally Mafuyu placed her head on Mizuki's shoulder and sighed. She let herself cry. Loudly and visibly. She wasn't tiny right now but she was as vulnerable as if she was. Mizuki gently hugged her. Like a fully loving hug both of them needed at the moment. The second that these two went silent Ena and Kanade joined in. Their hugs were far more desperate. Like they, even if they didn't take part in the argument, needed it also. With the same intensity.
In my G/T version, being a giant or tiny is a reflection of your deepest fears. These are my personal interpretations of characters, don't eat me.
Mizuki is a giant and hates it. She always felt like being so tall was considered masculine. It reflects how she hated her male body but felt like a traitor. Like not fully a "woman". She was helpless and her size wasn't helping at all.
Mafuyu is tiny and hates it as well. It reflects how tiny she feels compared to her mom. Like she is a helpless, scared little kid who can just pray that her mom has her wellbeing as a priority. She feels small and insignificant.
Kanade and Ena are yet to be thought of but I lean on Ena's inferiority complex making her tiny and Kanade's fears that her big passion and talent was what eventually only made things worse makes her a giant
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bits-and-babs · 1 year
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𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄 — 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄
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-> OCT. 21 : MASTURBATION
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. Period accurate vocabulary(ish), exhibitionism, light teasing, making of Victorian-era porn
WC: 1048
[Kinktober Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]
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Standing before the easel, you brush your fingers over the clean, crisp, textured material of the canvas you plan to work with. It’s set up just perfect, the top settled just below your nose so you can glance over it at your subject.
You take your time, setting out the paints you may need and squirting out the primary colours you needed onto your palette. Casting your eye over the scene you plan to transfer to the canvas, you mix these colours together carefully, wanting to capture its beauty and all its glory.
When all set up and comfortable, you nod to yourself, casting your eyes over the canvas and catching the poor man’s attention with a smile.
“You may begin,” you say, taking up your paintbrush and beginning to set about ‘sketching’ the basic shape of your lover's body thrown over the sofa. He’s naked, head balanced on the plush velvet of the armrest with his cock in his hand.
“You are filthy,” he muses, his hand slowly, delicately brushing up and down the length of his cock. He’s taking his time, giving you the time you need to establish the basis of your painting.
“I am not,” you insist calmly, eyes flitting between the canvas and your lover’s body, “I simply wish to be able to remember how handsome you look this way. It’s not to be shared with anyone.”
“Perhaps you should,” he murmurs, almost lazily as his thumb sweeps over the reddened tip of his swollen cock, “You think me not deserving enough of my place in the Louvre?”
“Of course I do,” you smirk to yourself, loving how Laurent shared your debauchery. It forever kept your relationship exciting, kept the two of you utterly besotted with each other “But I happen to not want to share. Some things are too beautiful not to have as wholly yours.”
Your fingers work deftly to establish a basic shape of the scene before you, carefree and not deliberate with the strokes of the camel-hair brush. The details and concentration would come later.
“You worry that women would become utterly besotted with me?” His voice hitches slightly as he slowly pushes his hips up into his palm.
“That’s less of a concern of mine than the worry they would chase us out of France, my love,” you muse, giving him a look over the top of the canvas. From where he sits, you know he can only see your eyes.
“My love, don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, words catching ever so slightly in his throat, the strain in his voice ever so slight, “You won’t have time to finish the sketch-“
“You’d be surprised, Laurent,” You admit, enjoying the slick, wet sound of his palm teasing his cock. You wanted to capture it, that need he felt for you. Immortalise it in a painting only for the two of you. It’s true, the both of you could be forced into exile for such a scandalous piece of art, but that was part of the fun, was it not?
The soft grunts of exhertion from Laurent trying so hard to maintain somewhat still in order for you to establish a sketch while also battling the need to fuck his hand incessantly made you hot under the collar of your dress. He looked so needy, eyes rolling back and teeth sinking into the soft plush of his lower lip as he teased himself just for you to capture.
“So handsome, Laurent,” you praise him, only for his hips to stutter slightly. He looks to you with a needy gaze, breath laboured now.
“Darling, you really are not helping me maintain-“
“I don’t need you to,” you admit, glancing over the easel to him once more with that heavy-lidded, siren-like gaze you know he adored, “I just need you to feel good.”
The confirmation of what you want from Laurent appear to ease his concern, as he begins to rub his cock in earnest. His fingers tight around the shaft, his back arches slightly as beads of precum slip down the length of him.
“Hnng… Fuck, darling you have no idea how you drive me mad,” he laughs weakly, the crown of his head pushing into the plush of the velvet sofa. His chest expands and deflates heavily now, dick twitching in his hand.
“In the best way, I should hope,” you tease him, listening to him laugh again only for it to devolve into a needy moan.
“Don’t make me come over there and fuck you,” he speaks crudely, knowing well that you enjoyed when he ran his mouth like this.
“Why, that would defeat the purpose of the painting, wouldn’t it?” You grin from ear to ear, listening to him moan out your name as he abandons all hope of staying still for you. His hips are jolting up into his fist, fucking his palm so needily now as if he had spent a lifetime without you. It’s desperate, heavy, crude.
You watch him, paintbrush and palette in hand momentarily forgotten as you witness him keen for you, the veins in his neck protruding and the sweat gathering on his temples and brow. He’s so beautiful, cheekbones and the bridge of his nose flushed with need as he struggles, eyelashes fluttering and lips shaping around a long, loud moan.
“Oh God-“ he choked out, his movements suddenly quickening. Laurent is desperate, his breaths so heavy now that his whole body shakes with each exhale as his cock twitches in his palm. “Oh-“
Ropes of cum paint his soft stomach as his body trembles, his fist still working his cock as he cums heavily. It’s more beautiful than anything ever captured in the Louvre, far too stunning for just anyone to see.
After a moment, the sound of Laurent’s heavy breaths ricocheting off the walls die down, his eyes closed as his body slumps into the pillows of the couch.
“I need you to do it again,” you whisper.
“I- Pardon?” Laurent looks over at you with wide eyes, hand still clutching his softening cock.
“I need you to do it again,” you repeat, the sly smile painted on your lips hidden only by the top of the canvas, “I missed it.”
“Oh, you sly dog-“
END
@in-for-a-pennyx @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @markywithissues @welcometostayingawake @inklore @foxilayde @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke
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mollywog · 8 months
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Something about this bit reminded me of a passage from Jane Eyre
The Blue Castle
…Of late years she had fallen into the habit of doing her hair with the shade of the window by the looking-glass pulled down. The lines on her face did not show so plainly then. But this morning she jerked the shade to the very top and looked at herself in the leprous mirror with a passionate determination to see herself as the world saw her.
The result was rather dreadful. Even a beauty would have found that harsh, unsoftened side-light trying. Valancy saw straight black hair, short and thin, always lustreless despite the fact that she gave it one hundred strokes of the brush, neither more nor less, every night of her life and faithfully rubbed Redfern’s Hair Vigor into the roots, more lustreless than ever in its morning roughness; fine, straight, black brows; a nose she had always felt was much too small even for her small, three-cornered, white face; a small, pale mouth that always fell open a trifle over little, pointed white teeth; a figure thin and flat-breasted, rather below the average height. She had somehow escaped the family high cheek-bones, and her dark-brown eyes, too soft and shadowy to be black, […]. Apart from her eyes she was neither pretty nor ugly—just insignificant-looking, she concluded bitterly. How plain the lines around her eyes and mouth were in that merciless light! And never had her narrow, white face looked so narrow and so white.
Fear—fear—fear—she could never escape from it. It bound her and enmeshed her like a spider’s web of steel. Only in her Blue Castle could she find temporary release. And this morning Valancy could not believe she had a Blue Castle. She would never be able to find it again. Twenty-nine, unmarried, undesired—what had she to do with the fairy-like chatelaine of the Blue Castle? She would cut such childish nonsense out of her life forever and face reality unflinchingly.
Jane Eyre
“You,” I said, “a favourite with Mr. Rochester?  You gifted with the power of pleasing him?  You of importance to him in any way?  Go! your folly sickens me.  And you have derived pleasure from occasional tokens of preference—equivocal tokens shown by a gentleman of family and a man of the world to a dependent and a novice.  How dared you?  Poor stupid dupe!—Could not even self-interest make you wiser? You repeated to yourself this morning the brief scene of last night?—Cover your face and be ashamed!  He said something in praise of your eyes, did he?  Blind puppy!  Open their bleared lids and look on your own accursed senselessness!  It does good to no woman to be flattered by her superior, who cannot possibly intend to marry her; and it is madness in all women to let a secret love kindle within them, which, if unreturned and unknown, must devour the life that feeds it; and, if discovered and responded to, must lead, ignis-fatus-like, into miry wilds whence there is no extrication.
“Listen, then, Jane Eyre, to your sentence: to-morrow, place the glass before you, and draw in chalk your own picture, faithfully, without softening one defect; omit no harsh line, smooth away no displeasing irregularity; write under it, ‘Portrait of a Governess, disconnected, poor, and plain.’
“Afterwards, take a piece of smooth ivory—you have one prepared in your drawing-box: take your palette, mix your freshest, finest, clearest tints; choose your most delicate camel-hair pencils; delineate carefully the loveliest face you can imagine; paint it in your softest shades and sweetest lines, according to the description given by Mrs. Fairfax of Blanche Ingram; remember the raven ringlets, the oriental eye;—What! you revert to Mr. Rochester as a model!  Order!  No snivel!—no sentiment!—no regret!  I will endure only sense and resolution.  Recall the august yet harmonious lineaments, the Grecian neck and bust; let the round and dazzling arm be visible, and the delicate hand; omit neither diamond ring nor gold bracelet; portray faithfully the attire, aërial lace and glistening satin, graceful scarf and golden rose; call it ‘Blanche, an accomplished lady of rank.’
“Whenever, in future, you should chance to fancy Mr. Rochester thinks well of you, take out these two pictures and compare them: say, ‘Mr. Rochester might probably win that noble lady’s love, if he chose to strive for it; is it likely he would waste a serious thought on this indigent and insignificant plebeian?’”
“I’ll do it,” I resolved: and having framed this determination, I grew calm, and fell asleep.
I kept my word.  An hour or two sufficed to sketch my own portrait in crayons; and in less than a fortnight I had completed an ivory miniature of an imaginary Blanche Ingram.  It looked a lovely face enough, and when compared with the real head in chalk, the contrast was as great as self-control could desire.  I derived benefit from the task: it had kept my head and hands employed, and had given force and fixedness to the new impressions I wished to stamp indelibly on my heart.
Ere long, I had reason to congratulate myself on the course of wholesome discipline to which I had thus forced my feelings to submit.  Thanks to it, I was able to meet subsequent occurrences with a decent calm, which, had they found me unprepared, I should probably have been unequal to maintain, even externally.
Also see made for labor not love by @sheet-metal-memories
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abhorrenttheorizer · 2 years
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I can't believe people still follow my antics somewhat on this platform. I hardly post anymore and when I do it's bullshit. Unfortunately, I am about to do it again 💔
A sincere apology to the people who followed me for anything other than bitching about Sky and Journey specbioposting. I've got a lot of personal issues with original designs and my refusal to accept that the Journey Tumblr fandom is effectively dead has made it so that I've unintentionally become a fandom account. Sorry for my obsessiveness, and hopefully I am able to overcome this art block and make something original for once.
With that being said, I am once again about to Journey 💔💔
CONTENT WARNING for naked birb cat creature with a fupa under the cut 💔💔💔
EXTRA CONTENT WARNING for bright image immediately under the cut. From one photosensitive lad to another, the following image is bright AF turn down your brightness pls
Also long post lol
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The feet and toes are a lot thicker than I would've liked. Their feet and legs are much more slender, and the actual foot itself should be longer and thinner (damn canvas space + brush size...) but because I'm a dolt I gave this guy chunky camel feet without meaning to.
This is an adult individual of a mildly pale complexion. To avoid making the image even brighter, there's one detail I have forgotten omitted to paint. The arms gradually become paler from the shoulder to the hand, and the hands themselves are typically lily white and glow very brightly regardless of skin tone. I know in-game Rythulians lack arms, however I do not care. Beefy paw arms = funny.
Also, I have only drawn one individual. Rythulians are simultaneous hermaphrodites, and as a result don't have separate sexes or sexual dimorphism, so this adult pictured here is the only "species representative" needed to be drawn.
Anyway, Rythulians as a species, unlike their ancestors are designed for desert life (no shit). Similarly to ostriches, their lower body and legs are free of hair to induce cooling, however unlike ostriches and most other land animals Rythulians also sweat through their skin, even the skin that is covered in fur. They are also a species that is heavily tied to magic (later post), so there is much to their biology that would not feasibly make sense through Earth's standards.
Generally speaking, they're a pretty tall race. Individuals are generally anywhere between 7 and 10 feet (2.13 to 3.25 metres) tall, with long dainty legs designed for bounding across sand. They're also incredibly lightweight, as "obese" individuals barely tip the scales at 32 lbs (14.5 kg). This is due to the many unique characteristics of their internal body, which I will demonstrate in a later post :,)
The fur they have is fluffy, and somewhat dense. The pure white fur coloration serves to insulate and protect the Rythulian's upper body, cooling the brain somewhat by reflecting sunlight. The only dark hairs they have are on their facial discs. The dark hair on the facial disc serves to reduce glare, especially for their unique glowing eyes.
The strange fleshy orifice at the center of a Rythulian's chest is it's wax gland. More will be explained about this later, but the wax gland is present and almost fully functional at birth, and one of its main purposes is to melt the body's fat deposits into "wax" which is then eaten by other Rythulians, especially babies, elders, sickly individuals, and young ones. Wax production is very similar to nursing, and is essentially a non-mammalian way of producing milk. The other purpose, reserved for adults, is to release a single zygote which will then develop into a baby (after it has been feeding off of dwarf stars for around 9 months, but that's a topic for a later time).
The skin itself is loose, stretchy, and squishy in many places, while it's a bit tigher in other areas, like the legs and feet. Rythulian skin feels a bit like very soft and stretchy plush cloth, a slight nod to their symbiotic relationship to their clothing. Under the arms, they have a short band of folded skin that expands outwards similarly to that of a flying squirrel. However, this band of skin stretches from the middle of the upper arm to the waist, rather than from the wrist to the ankle. I like to think that Rythulians co-evolved and have a symbiotic relationship with their cloaks, so this flap of skin was made to aid the act of flying, gliding and soaring as the loose skin catches the air current alongside the cloak itself, and reduces fatigue to the arm.
So... I know what you're thinking...
What the hell is with that unsightly FUPA???
Well, the fupa is actually a fat and skin deposit similar to the "primordial pouches" found in cats. They serve much of the same purpose too, enabling the Rythulian to jump higher, run faster and stretch more without ripping the skin. In fact, a Rythulian's "primordial pouch" is so efficient than they can be stretched up to 6x their height without being in pain or tearing in half (this is also due to Rythulians not having a spine or cervical bones or really any traditional skeleton either, but that's a post for another time). This pouch was co-evolved as a way for modern Rythulians to deal with Guardian attacks without extreme injury, as Guardians generally attack by crushing the Rythulian and then yanking them upwards as their scarves or cloaks are torn.
Speaking of running fast and jumping high: When Rythulians are not starving to death on pilgrimage, they move very swiftly in their mountain and sandy environments, often bounding across their arid mountain environments at upwards of 10x their height horizontally and 8x their height vertically. They run swiftly as well, up to 87mph (140kmh). Unfortunately, their endurance is poor, only being able to run at top speed for around 3 minutes before complete exhaustion. After which, about an hour of rest is needed before continuing to move.
As for their arms, depending on the circumstances, their arms can be quite powerful, able to punch with enough force to break bone. Pushing, pulling, carrying, and crushing can be done with relative ease, but certain environmental factors may seriously inhibit their stamina. A Rythulian's upper body is significantly stronger than it's lower body, since the muscles required for flight take a lot of energy, and Rythulians are a flying species (provided they have cloth to help them out, which this individual clearly does not).
The feet are covered almost entirely in dense, soft fur to keep the Rythulian from sinking into the sand and also keep sand out of their sheathes.
What do I mean by "sheathes"?
Well, a Rythulian's foot is anatomically somewhere between a camel and a cat. The foot paws function like those of a cat, except the claws sheathed within the paw are blunt hooks used to latch onto mountain rocks. In short, they have retractable "hooves", a reminant of their ancestral form.
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Excuse the crude animation, but here is how a "whole foot" flex works. Rythulians have 4 zygodactyl toes for climbing on steep cliffs, the front claw-hooves latching onto the rocks and the rear claw-hooves adding support by catching onto other divets within the mountains. Besides the whole foot flex, Rythulians can protract and retract each toe individually, providing a completely individualized support system based on the surface area of rocks they may stand on.
Another thing that I have mentioned in one of my earlier posts about Rythulian headcanon anatomy, is that their ears are not truly ears. Their real ears are on the sides of the head.
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Rythulians have 4 earholes designed for processing different sounds. They are positionally asymmetrical, however the ears themselves are relatively in the same place, like in mammals instead of owls (in which one ear is at the top of the skull, and the other is closer to the jaw bone).
On the left ear: Upper hole for lower frequencies from above, lower hole for higher frequencies from below
On the right ear: Upper hole for higher frequencies from above, lower hole for lower frequencies from below
Because of the earhole asymmetry, Rythulians are able to triangulate like owls do and pinpoint the exact location of a sound. Their hearing is exceptionally sensitive, which was mentioned in this earlier post
The catlike rhinophores atop their heads serve a completely different purpose:
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A Rythulian's actual nose is completely useless for smelling. What are their "ears" are actually their rhinophores, of which they use to detect airborne chemicals (poorly) as well as express emotion.
The rhinophores themselves have very coarse hair, much different than the normally soft, silky hair on the rest of their bodies (minus the facial whiskers). Each ear smells independently, however this is inefficient, as rhinophores are typically more effective underwater. To solve this problem, Rythulians will intertwine their rhinophores together, rubbing them vigorously in order to generate a stronger olfactory signal to the brain. This is generally not effective either, as smell is their weakest sense. An "A" for effort regardless.
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Here is a head sketch of a yawning individual as an example. The lips have an odd shape, but I will explain that in a later post.
Rythulians have 16 piranha-like teeth, and a small spiny radula in place of a "tongue" (will go into why they have a radula later, it's a doozy). While they will consume plants on the occasion, and they are capable of tasting and enjoy the sweet flavor, Rythulians are obligate carnivores. Their teeth are designed to tear off small chunks of meat, to which the radula rasps into smaller chunks of meat to be swallowed whole. Their preferred prey are aquatic (fish, mollusks, cetaceans, seals, etc), but due to the arid, often barren habitats they're native to, they are not picky and will often catch and eat most things that move. They are not cannibalistic and don't favor eating other humanoid things.
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Their second weakest sense is their sense of taste. They can taste all flavors that humans can, but on a much weaker intensity. The short and stubby radula is covered in small, villiform denticles that are used to shear away small chunks of meat. On the outer and rear edges of the radula are small, flatter denticle plates. These are used to shred out meat from shelled creatures such as crustaceans or mollusks. Between and sometimes around these denticles are taste receptors, of which a Rythulian has very few. However, Rythulians have a very sensitive mouth, and salty/spicy/acidic foods are generally not favored by them, as they can quickly become painful.
Denticles start off at the back of the radula, flat, before splitting and pointing upwards into "new" teeth. It's an unusual form of denticle replacements.
Anyway, that's pretty much it for this installment. Next installment, I will go over the hair texture, fur length, skin colors, and body language of my Rythulian headcanons.
Thanks for making it this far! I have no idea how to write or format things so please excuse the rambling and text walls.
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artist-sr · 2 years
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I used camel poster colors. I am gonna order new camel artist water colors and re paint the same thing with a proper animal hair brush of brustro. Using a student brand (kid) , you wont get the results as expected. I mean, you wont be able to spread the pigment with that ease so lets see. I will definitely reblog and tell you my experience with moderately ranged watercolors :)
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revcleo · 9 months
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I would like for people to stop using etymology as a reason why to not use a word in the modern day. It is fine to have other reasons. Using the history of a word to say why the modern usage is bad, is a very bad argument.
These words all have quite different beginnings to their current meanings (ty to the online etymological dictionary)
pencil (n.)
mid-14c., pencel, "an artist's small, fine brush of camel hair," used for painting, manuscript illustration, etc., from Old French pincel "artist's paintbrush" (13c., Modern French pinceau) and directly from Medieval Latin pincellus, from Latin penicillus "painter's brush, hair-pencil," literally "little tail," diminutive of peniculus "brush," itself a diminutive of penis "tail"
guy
"fellow," 1847, American English; earlier, in British English (1836) "grotesquely or poorly dressed person," originally (1806) "effigy of Guy Fawkes," leader of the Gunpowder Plot to blow up British king and Parliament (Nov. 5, 1605). The effigies were paraded through the streets by children on the anniversary of the conspiracy.
[aside: he was not the leader, Catesby was the leader, Guido was the gunpowder expert]
satire (n.)
c. 1500, "a literary work (originally in verse) intended to ridicule prevailing vice or folly by scornful or contemptuous expression," from French satire (14c.) and directly from Latin satira "satire; poetic medley," earlier satura, in lanx satura "mixed dish, dish filled with various kinds of fruit," literally "full dish," from fem. of satur "sated" (from PIE root *sa- "to satisfy").
book (n.)
Middle English bok, from Old English boc "book, writing, written document," generally referred (despite phonetic difficulties) to Proto-Germanic *bōk(ō)-, from *bokiz "beech" (source also of German Buch "book" Buche "beech;" see beech), the notion being of beechwood tablets on which runes were inscribed; but it may be from the tree itself (people still carve initials in them).
sugar (n.)
late 13c., sugre, from Old French sucre "sugar" (12c.), from Medieval Latin succarum, from Arabic sukkar, from Persian shakar, from Sanskrit sharkara "ground or candied sugar," originally "grit, gravel" (cognate with Greek kroke "pebble").
And that's not even counting otherwise innocuous words which have taken up slur meanings over time, i.e. Special, Coloured, Fairy
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I Will Look For You as the Sun Rises Higher
Thus Always to Tyrants - Dear Wormwood - The Oh Hellos
-
Chapter 5 of Cracking like a dry branch in a westward wind, in which Pearl, Gem, and Scar get mail. Two people are very happy about this.
Available on AO3 here.
-
Pearl could’ve believe her luck.
Twelve long years since making that pilgrimage to the Sunset Lands, a blushing llama girl in her veil and scarf, carrying her tiny scythe and Great Blackwood’s blessed bough.
Twelve long years since she had stepped on that strange outrigger, double-hulled and painted with fanciful Labyrinth scrollwork.
Twelve long years since that parrot had stood over her, saber glinting in the sun as she conceded their honor duel, stained with sweat and mud and blood.
And now Grian Sunset was here, raising towers from the sea and buying Great Blueskin’s grain.
“He couldn’t know who I am,” she muttered to herself, “I never told him my name. I didn’t! I couldn’t’ve!”
“Pardon, mother?”
Pearl flipped her head around in surprise, meeting the equally surprised eyes of a young acolyte. “Yes, Daughter Marianne?”
The girl flushed. “I apologize, but I overheard your words. Who couldn’t know who you are, mother?”
The High Priestess blinked, momentarily puzzled before she realized that she’d spoken aloud. Pearl waved a hand. “Oh, nothing, daughter. I was reminiscing about my past. You need not trouble yourself about me.”
Marianne bowed her head and dropped into a shallow curtsy. “Of course, mother.”
Pearl sighed after the acolyte had trotted off, hooves still echoing in the halls of Great Blackwood’s temple complex. That parrot was making her agitated. Her own hooves clacked as she made her way to the north courtyard, where a messenger from Impulse waited. The ocelot had arrived in the dead of night, astride a horse that had been ridden since sunset the previous day. The cat had fallen asleep in the arms of the night guard, and had only recently woken up, babbling that he needed to tell the High Priestess the news as soon as possible.
A sister greeted her at the courtyard’s entrance, eyes veiled and ears twitching with nervousness. Pearl nodded to her. “Sister Jeanne. May Great Blackwood shade you.”
The nun curtsied back. “May Great Blackwood shade you, elder sister. The ocelot rider is within, and another messenger has just arrived, from Sovereign Voidstars. They await you.”
Pearl nodded again, using the movement to mask her surprise. Cub rarely sent messengers; in fact, the rider bearing news of Grian’s arrival was the first in months. She strode into the sunny courtyard, letting her hooves clack loudly on the pavers alongside the tap of her scythe’s handle.
Two figures rushed up to meet her, dropping into one-kneed bows with raised heads. One is the ocelot, with baggy eyes and ragged fur, despite obvious attempts to brush it. The other, Pearl notes in surprise, is a camel hoof-folk, with the telltale hunchback and long eyelashes, dressed in dusty riding clothes.
“Rise, couriers,” Pearl told them, ”I know you have traveled far. Please, take a seat.”
-
Oseye worked to steady her leg and stop her hoof from clattering against the stone pavers. The High Priestess of Great Blackwood cut an intimidating figure: tall, long-haired, cool blue eyes, serene of face, and with a massive wheat-scythe that brushed the acacia branches above her head.
“Xiagong, I would like to hear your message first. I apologize, daughter, but Gong has traveled long and hard on behalf of my ally.”
Xia nodded, unfurling a scroll from within his coat and getting to his feet. “Of course, mother. My emperor has sent me to tell you that Sitter Grian has requested a meeting between himself and Emperor Impulse on Eversun Day. As per the terms of the alliance, Emperor Impulse formally invites you to join this meeting. My emperor also suspects that Sitter Grian intends to invite as many rulers as possible to this meeting, and to be prepared for such a scenario if you accept his invitation. That is all, mother.”
Xia sat down with a small huff of exhaustion, blushing as Pearl looked at him. “A-Apologies, mother. I am still very tired.”
The priestess smiled, a calm and guarded, yet warm, expression. “Do not worry, Xiagong. Please, retire to your room. Impulse won’t be happy if I send him an exhausted rider home.”
Xia, despite his exhaustion, immediately hopped to his feet with a “Thank you, mother!”, scurrying off with a click of boot heels and a swish of his tail. Pearl looked after him for a moment, shaking her head before turning to Oseye.
“Poor thing. Impulse would never let them ride that hard if he knew. Now then, daughter, Sister Jeanne has advised me that you bring a message from Sovereign Voidstars.”
Oseye stood up as quickly as she could, fumbling an envelope out of a pocket. “Yes, mother. Ahem, Sovereign Cub Fan Voidstars wishes to invite you to meet Sitter Grian Sunset on Eversun. The Sitter wishes to meet as many rulers as possible this Eversun Day, and wishes to host them in his recently completed Flare Tower. The Sitter extends this invitation through the Sovereign as his own messengers are unfamiliar with the terrain of Mainland, and hopes that you do not see this as an offence.”
The camel shakily handed the open envelope to Pearl, before adding, “I-If I may add, mother, I do personally suspect that the Emperor’s invitation would be to the same meeting that the Sitter’s message invites you to. B-But this is just my personal opinion, mother.”
-
Pearl hummed as she read Cub’s letter, nodding to the camel’s suspicions. “Yes, daughter, I do suspect that Impulse’s message and Cub’s refer to the same meeting. I doubt Sitter Grian would tell Impulse outright, seeing how close he and Cub have grown. The Sovereign’s a notorious gossip, after all. I’d even dare to say that he can be a bad influence. And it’s no insult that a parrot did not deliver this.”
She folded the letter and tucked it into a pocket somewhere within the folds of her dress. “Now then, daughter, would you like to rest a day before returning to Climbing Spires? We always have space under Great Blackwood’s shade.”
The courier jumped to her feet just as quickly as Xiagong did, bowing and stuttering her thanks. Pearl watched her leave, too. After her hoofbeats had faded, the priestess left the courtyard no more settled than she had been upon entering it. Pearl stayed the first brother she encountered.
“Brother Harold, may Great Blackwood shade you.”
“And may Great Blueskin feed you, mother.”
“Would you please direct Brothers Micheal and Reginald, and Sister Harmony, to the map hall? I will be traveling soon, and need their assistance.”
The brother dipped in a shallow bow. “Of course, mother.”
Pearl bowed back, and continued on to the map hall. Somehow, the echos of her hooves and scythe through the halls sounded more determined.
-
At the same time, a different pair of hooves were trotting down a different hallway, much more happily and muffled by a not inconsiderate number of petticoats. Queen Gemini was also humming a jaunty tune to herself and the letter she was carrying. It was thanks to the letter’s contents that she was in such a good mood.
“Dearest Queen Gemini,” she half-sang to herself from memory, “I do hope this letter finds you well.”
The fox-folk maids whispered behind their lady’s back, as they always did, but more excitedly than normal. Gem shot them a smile, warmer than usual. Which was saying something.
“This writer is Sitter Grian Sunset, and I am extending an invitation to you to visit the Sunset Coast on this year’s Eversun.”
Suddenly, the queen giggled and began running down the hall, her hooves beating a rhythm as fast as her heart rate. Gem nearly barreled over a maid with an armful of fresh flowers, and only barely cleared the toes of two footmen cleaning a large vase, laughing all the while. The servants just shook their head at their queen’s free spirit.
Gem burst into the Navigator’s Hall, causing the guards to jump to attention, and a couple cartographers to fumble their quills. The supervising map-lord immediately ran to his queen.
“Your Highness! I apologize, we were not expecting you!”
“Oh, don’t be so uptight, Pan! There’s no way you’d be expecting me, unless you were doing espionage, since I only got this message earlier in the day. Could you tell me the fastest route to Sunset Coast, by any and all means?”
The map-lord quickly bowed. “Yes, your Highness, of course.”
Pan effortlessly flicked his telescoping cane into a long pointer, and used it to gesture at the giant mosaic map inlaid on the floor. “As you can see, Evergreen is nearly exactly north of the Coast— oh, I do apologize that we haven’t updated the map yet, your Highness — and it is trivial to get there via water. However, it is currently whirlpool season, and thus sea travel is more dangerous than overland. I would recommend taking the rivers as far south as Livingstone, and then plying the ships close to shore.”
Gem nodded. “Alrighty then! Rivers-to-Livingstone then stick-to-the-coast! Would you like to come with me, Pan? You see, Sitter Sunset has invited me to his country for Eversun Day, and I have been dying to meet this bird! I’m sure having a map-lord would make the journey much easier than if we just had a navigator, and, judging from the rumors from Duchess Cleo, the Sitter could do with some good maps.”
The map-lord’s ears flicked in surprise, smacking into his antlers with a jingle of metal. “Oh, oh! I-I’d love to come along, your Highness! Thank you so much!”
Gem beamed at him. “Oh, thank you, Pan! We leave in a day! And don’t worry about packing. The ships will be stuffed full already!”
The queen turned on her hoof and leapt out of the hall with an even greater spring in her step.
-
“HEADS!”
Scar jumped at the sudden shout, leaping away with the assistance of his newly extant wings. As the duke landed panting and translucent, he heard hiss-tinged laughter behind him. Looking back, he saw the construction crew clutching their stomachs, doubled over with chortles and chuckles. Scar’s eyes widened as he caught sight of a camera.
“I’m very sorry, heeeehhehehe, sir Duke, it’s just that heehehehe we were going to drop this chunk—“ the foreman gestured at the crane “—but you were standing right heheheeeh there, and Jessie had his camera handy heehahee anyhow…”
Scar couldn’t help but start sniggering with them. “Oh, don’t worry boys! No harm in a bit of fun. Though, ah, could I see that photo when you’ve developed it? I’m keeping a tally of sorts, and I need evidence.”
“Hahhehhhah, of course, sir Duke. You in some sort of dare?”
Scar flushed a bit, opacity returning to his skin. “Well, y’see, me and an engineer got into a bit of an argument over how well magic can be seen in photos, and I’m out to prove that it’s really easy to see, while he’s determined that photos can’t capture magic at all. And since I just used my vex magic, and you just took a photo, I can finally prove that speared magic can be caught on film!”
“You mean spirit magic, right, Duke?”
With a shout, Scar flashed his wings again and jumped straight into the air in surprise. Only while he was hovering did he see who had spooked him.
“Engineer Jumbo! You should know better than to sneak up on me like that! And yes, spirit magic!”
The mustachioed man just shook his head at the duke, the plants hanging out from under his hard hat bouncing with the movement. “I’ll do what I want, thank you very much! And you couldn’t have caught you vex magic on that photo.”
“Oh? And what makes you so sure about that?”
“That camera wasn’t primed!”
Scar just about froze in midair, his wings halted in place. He began slowly drifting downwards, and reached around two feet off the ground when a messenger shouted from somewhere down Broadway, hooves echoing on the pavers.
“Duke of Colors!? Duke of Colors!?”
With a start, said duke shot straight upwards several feet, and stayed there as the messenger rubbernecked looking for him. Eventually, he landed and waved the camel over.
“Well hello there! I’m fairly sure that I’m the Duke of Colors. So, you’ve got a message for me?”
The camel straightened and saluted smartly before speaking. “Yes, sir! I bear a message from the Sitter of the Dusk Throne, Grian Sunset. Here you are, sir.”
Scar grinned as he received the envelope, and cracked the seal with a satisfying pop! “Might as well read it aloud, eh?“
He cleared his throat. “Dearest Duke Scar Goodtimes, I do hope this letter finds you well. This writer is Sitter Grian Sunset, and I am extending an invitation to you to visit the Sunset Coast this Eversun. If you are able, do come by sea or land or sky! There is plenty of space for however big a party you may bring. Worry not about provisions when you get here! Goodness! A man after my own heart, using so many exclamation points! I can’t not accept!”
Suddenly, and surprisingly, Scar’s smile somehow got larger. “Hey, Engineer Jumbo?”
The half-faerie flinched at the sudden call-out. “Y-Yes?”
“You heard the bit about how there’s plenty of space for the people I could bring, right? I was thinking that you should come!”
Mumbo blushed, the bright color obvious on his pale skin. “M-Me? Go with you? B-B-But why? Why would I go?”
“Well, why wouldn’t you?”
“I-I suppose there’s no harm in going…”
Scar, who had begun pouting at Mumbo’s hesitancy, grinned again and gave a whoop. “Let’s go! Make sure you have a real good time at this Sunset Coast, right, Engineer? It’s not like you get out much anyway.”
The duke giggled at Mumbo’s accusatory look. “Oh, don’t be such an oil-sport!”
“Spoil-sport.” The engineer corrected him.
“Oh right, spoil-sport! That’s what you are! C’mon, it’s gonna be fun!”
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astridzzz0612 · 1 year
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Visual reference from Len Lye
A Colour Box (1935), by Len Lye.
youtube
He boldly uses simple shapes to paint a colourful world. Experimenting with different types of paint, Lye uses camel hair brushes and fine-toothed combs to build up coloured textures on transparent film stock, rendering many complex and messy images. In addition, he associates specific shapes with popular Cuban music to create a sense of looseness. As I also wanted to present wave variations interestingly in my films, his work gave me a great reference.
Free Radicals (1958), by Len Lye.
youtube
Lye's experimental work by creating scratches on the black film has also influenced my visual design for my experimental film to some extent. I want to show the protagonist's state of mind and create a narrative atmosphere through the different wave marks. In addition, his use of overlapping scratches and references to traditional African music to set the film's pace creates an unusual audio-visual experience for the audience. These kinds of techniques help me to build the rhythm of my film. 
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emile-hides · 3 years
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Crybaby imagines
I can’t find any BNHA X Reader blogs with their requests open, so heck it. Make the content you want to see in the world.
MHA Blonde boys react to reader crying (for various reasons)
Characters: All Might, Present Mic, Fatgum, Aoyama, Ojiro, Kaminari, Bakugo, Honenuki, Monoma, Mirio
All Might
1-A is an amazing bunch
It sort of just all hit you like a truck, really
How much 1-A had grown, how much they’d overcame
You’re not even entirely sure what sparked the thought process
But once it stared, you couldn’t stop
You were just so?? Proud??? Amazed???
Suddenly you were crying at your desk in the teacher’s lounge
Quiet, heavy tears
Your co-workers took notice, but it was Toshinori who approched your first asking what was wrong
You hadn’t even noticed you were crying
When you get into the why he’s all ears
He sits next to you and is soon joining in on the kid’s progress
He talks mostly about Bakugo and Midoriya, you go on about Asui and Koda
It turns to laughing and quietly bullying the kids for a moment as you two enjoy some of the sillier memories
Soon Toshinori, too, has tears in his eyes
He sobs more than you did
He’s just so proud of these kids!!
You feel like an old married couple talking about their 30-something kids living far from home
Kind of silly considering they’re all 15 and currently in class right down the hall
You two have to go see them during lunch break
Present Mic
Crying in Solidarity
You stood with Hizashi in front of a grave of a kid you never knew on an overcast day
He’d normally make a comment about the weather matching the mood but...
Not now
His fists were clenched, and though his smile stood strong and his glasses hid his eyes
They couldn’t catch his tears
You held his hand in silence and pretended not to notice the falling of his facade 
It happens very seldom
He was shaking, you could hear his breath hitch hard despite his attempts to remain calm
You didn’t know this Shirokumo kid, you’d never met him, you couldn’t pick him out in a crowd if you had to
You didn’t even know who he was to Hizashi
But you knew it tore him up inside that he was buried here
You knew he kept his emotions well contained for everything else but him
You pulled Hizashi a bit closer, letting him lean onto you as tears began to run down your cheeks
The two of you stood in silence and cried on this, an overcast day
The weather really did match your mood.
Fatgum
Crying in relief
The hospital door opened with a loud slam
You didn’t really mean to slam it so hard but now wasn’t the time to go apologizing to inanimate objects for being a little rough
Your voice shrilled even louder than the door the name of the patient laying on the bed in the center of the room
Taishiro looked up with a face of ‘Oh shit’ which was the correct face to have
You were mad for all of the time it took to yell about how worried you were
FIRST OF ALL he didn’t even call to tell you he was in the hospital, you got that information from Tamaki
Second, you barely even know what HAPPENED to land him here
And THIRD,
Nope. Anger’s gone. Evaporated like a puddle in mid July.
Taishiro had sat up in his bed with a nervous smile, peppering in the nicknames and speaking in the gentle voice as he reached out to console you
Just seeing him sit up, his arms bandaged lightly around the wrist
It all just came crashing in
He was fine. 
Tears over flowed as you cried a bit louder than you had yelled previously
Hiccuping and gasping out how worried you were and how mad you still wanted to be
Taishiro just laughed an apology as he hugged you, thankful for your concern
He promised to call next time
You found yourself yelling at him to never do this again
Aoyama
Crying on command
Acting was something you had mastered
More or less anyway
You dove head first into a role and you were damn good at it
But everyone has weaknesses
You’d locked yourself in Aoyama’s room, going over lines and choreography for some little play in the park you two had signed up for
Now you sat on his floor as he painted your nails, glaring daggers into the script
You had to cry. 
It seemed so easy. Think of something sad and cry over it on stage. Simply.
and yet your eyes remained dry, your stage make-up perfect
Aoyama had been couching you, weeping all sorts of tears for your amusment
It wasn’t helping
You turned your glare to Aoyama, who was completely enthralled in drawing tiny art pieces into your nails
God he was bright
....bright.....
You looked directly up at the light on the ceiling and stared
Your eyes wide you forced yourself not to blink
It hurts
And it worked
You looked back to Aoyama with tears streaming down your face and searing pain in your retina
He applauded your dedication
Ojiro
It’s all just a lot
You weren’t really sure when it all became so much
But everything you’d been working at and training for suddenly weighed more than you could bare
You found yourself in the middle of the UA empty halls, flat on the ground on your stomach
Tripping was the breaking point
The straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say
You just started sobbing
When you heard footsteps coming you just kind of... wiggled out of the way
Pressing yourself to the wall you just continued to cry to yourself, curled in a ball, expecting the other person to just pass you by
Instead a soft white handkerchief gently pressed to your cheek, followed by a quiet “Are you okay?”
You were not okay.
Ojiro sat himself beside you as you wiped your face, continuing to sob
You didn’t offer an explanation, he didn’t ask for one
He sat in the hall quietly with you, his tail giving the occasional swish to brush your cheek of tears
The silence gave to time to catch your breath, and realize class probably started a long time ago
When you got up to be on your way, he joined you
He didn’t offer to walk you where you needed to go, he simply did
His quiet wave, his silent smile, his patient glances at you
It all made everything feel just a bit lighter
The next time you’d see Ojiro in the halls, he’d smile at you
And he’d be delighted if you could smile back
Kaminari
Crying from shock
It was just a little zap to the hip, a little bee sting
He’d been doing it to everyone in class, learned it from some stupid tiktok
When it was your turn to get stung, you let out the loudest yelp in the class
He laughed at first, proudly proclaiming how he’d gotten you
Until you whipped to him with fury in your eyes, along with tears
His panicked “Shit, wait, I’m sorry” fell on deaf ears as you quickly gave him a return jab in the hip
Without the actual shock part it probably wasn’t as painful
So you did it a few more times for good measure
Then he jabbed you again
And it was on
Jabs to the hip turned to jabs to the gut, armpit, neck, even right dead center in his chest
You were both in pain and sure to be covered in bruises when Iida finally separated you two
It was hard to see with the tears swelling in both your eyes
But when Denki made direct eye contact with you before giving a glance to Iida, you knew
You nodded, an evil smirk crossing your face
The two of you took your index and middle fingers, driving them quickly and roughly into the class rep’s hips simultaneously
His yelp had the entire class laughing
It then also had the entire class in study hall for the rest of break
Bakugo
He’s just kind of a dick
Standing outside of class 1-A you felt as though your heart was beating in your throat
When the door opened you jumped out of your skin as a green haired boy came out at full speed
He managed to stop on a dime before slamming into you though
You choked out the courage to ask him if Katsuki Bakugo was in class
The kid before you stared in shock before turning around and calling for a “Kacchan”, telling him someone was here to see him
You glanced in the door and watched as several people pried the man you wanted to see from his seat, shoving him forcefully to the door
They all then slammed the door behind him, keeping the green haired kid who seemed in a rush to leave trapped inside
He barked a what at you that made you reconsider all your choices
Still. You swallowed all your courage, and said what you came here to say.
You confessed your feelings to Bakugo, bravely. 
He stared at you with a face of utter confusion, and it managed to catch you a bit off guard
He looked like he didn’t know how to respond
Which he, of course, didn’t.
So he responded the only way he really knows how
Anger.
“WHO THE HELL EVEN ARE YOU?!”
He called you some background extra. What gave you even the slightest though he’d want to be with some nobody he didn’t even know the name of
Within seconds of his screaming the 1-A doors slammed open yet again
The group who’d peeled Bakugo from his seat before jumped from the room and began wrestling him into submission, berating him for his treatment of you
But you were inclined to agree with him
You told them it was fine. He was right, you were just some nobody
You couldn’t stop your voice from shaking, tears streaming from your eyes as you gripped tightly at your shirt
Not knowing really what else to do, you turned and ran away
It was well over a few hours later, and you were still crying alone in the court yard
You flinched at the sound of footsteps approaching you. You closed your eyes and planned to make a run for it somewhere else to avoid bothering anyone
“Hey, dumbass,” a hand placed on your forehead, pulling you back to lean on the person behind you, “You could do a lot better than an ass like me.”
You glanced at Bakugo, who was looking far into the distance, his ears red
You cried and apologized. He didn’t say much else, but his hand remained on you, keeping you in place
You found yourself invited out more, running around with Bakugo and his friends, being rowdy and dumb as teens should be
Your crush on Katsuki Bakugo soon became a distant memory as he grew to be one of your closest friends
Honenuki
Yawning
You flopped dramatically onto the common room couch and let out the loudest, most drawn out sigh you could muster
This act of pure drama drew the attention of Juzo Honenuki, who simply chuckled at your antics
You stretched like a cat across the couch, reaching for him lazily with one hand, you swatted at the book he’d been comfortably reading
He gave another chuckle and inquired what you were after
You answered with an equally dramatic and drawn out yawn, bringing tears to your eyes as you again stretched to him
You then closed your eyes and snuggled into a couch pillow
Honenuki’s hand stretched across the couches and found itself on your head, giving gentle pets back and forth
Once he found himself a good stopping point, Honenuki put his bookmark in place and snapped the book closed
He gave a stretch and a yawn before encouraging you to your feet
You lazily tangled your arms around one of his and draped yourself over him
The two of you walked to your separate dorm rooms arm in arm, occasionally letting out more and more exasperated yawns and sleepy giggles
Monoma
Crying from pain
This was... probably your fault?
You remembered running into Awase from class 1-B while going a bit too fast though the halls
Next thing you knew you were in front of him, on your ass, staring up at him upside down
It took a minute for the pain to register, but as soon as it did tears stung your eyes
You couldn’t even really say anything as Awase’s eyes filled with panic when he’d realized what he’d done, quickly dropping your arm and stepping back, probably planning to make a run for it
The is until his blond classmate came up behind him, pressuring him to apologize in a loud, negging tone
When Awase again avoided your eyes, opting to shove his hands in his pockets as he glared at the wall, Monoma dropped to his knees and offered you assistance
The question of “Do you need to go to the nurse?” was accompanied with a handkerchief dabbed at your eyes
Monoma helped you to your feet, apologizing for his classmate, assuring you you were fine and didn’t need to report this to a teacher because you were clearly fine look at you you’re fine
I mean you weren’t bleeding so... Yeah? You were fine.
He sounded like he’d be the one in trouble if you told someone about Awase self defense flipping you over his shoulder
When he offered again to walk you to the nurse, you declined
He was right, you were fine, just a bit sore
You wiped the tears from your eyes and thanked him for his concern as you walked passed him
You also apologized to Awase for bumping into him, though he just huffed a response
You didn’t get very far when you heard quick steps following close behind
Monoma was just checking in to make sure you for sure weren’t going to tell anyone class 1-B’s Awase threw you like a rag doll
He also just figured while he was here he’d ask if there was anything he could do to make up for this incident
Like... buy you lunch sometime.... Or take you out to a nice cafe he knows after school... maybe...?
He just. Didn’t want you to think class B does hit and runs like this on all the pretty students
Mirio
Crying from laughing
Your sides hurt
You gripped onto yourself as you leaned onto Mirio, cackling harder than you had in a while
He was retelling some jokes he’d gone over with Sir Nighteye at his internship today, regaling you, Tamaki, and Nejire with perfect one-liners and horrid puns
You all were laughing far too hard for this late at night
Tears pricked your eyes as you slapped at Mirio’s leg, gasping for breath you begged for a time out
You have the most contagious laugh, Mirio was positive his jokes only ever landed because you laughed at them so easily
When you finally caught your breath you sat up, rubbing giggly tears from your eyes
You gave a glance around the room and found Tamaki doing the same, though his tears were from the yawn he’d just given
All three of you watched Tamaki adorably shifts as he rubbed the tired from his eyes, something he flushed over when he’d finally noticed the attention
Nejire declared that meant bedtime and hopped from her seated position, pulling Tamaki along with her
In a matter of moments she was dragging the tired boy out of the room to their own dorms
You and Mirio chuckled at her antics before you too got up to get going
Mirio offered to walk you to your dorm, which wasn’t far down the hall, but he made such a show of it how could you say no?
Of course he spent the whole walk telling even more terrible jokes that continued to crack you up
By the time you’d gotten to your dorm you were so giggly you couldn’t see straight
Mirio waved as he turned and walked the 5 feet back to his own room
He then turned around and waved again, claiming he already misses you
You giggled at him and returned to your own room
He loved your laugh.
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blackcat9904 · 2 years
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I have a rather good geraskier fic idea but I'm too lazy-inexperienced to write it down. Any thoughts?
Well okay maybe I'm gonna write something...
"Where is he??" Geralt says as he threatens the man with his sword on his neck.
If only Jaskier had said that he's Dijkstra's benefactor, it would save him a lot of trouble! But unfortunately he can never say anything other than his usual nonsense!
_______________________
He storms into the locked room, kicking the door open, to find Jaskier unconscious, tied to a chair. He steps closer. Grab his face gently, like he might crash his precious face with his hand and he slaps him as slowly as he can. Calling his name repeatedly. He can feel his own heart beating in his chest.
Yennefer comes after him, Geralt thinks, just for one second that the witch is worried. She puts her finger on Jaskier's forehead and closes her eyes, then open them. "They've been trying to extract information from his brain. He has probably passed out. You know, the pain."
Geralt growls. Angrily. He feels blood rushing through his veins. He grittes his teeth before taking a deep breath to calm himself with the thought of ripping Dijkstra's throat apart. Him and his stupid owl-witch who dared to hurt his bard.
He picks Jaskier up. Bride-style. Convinces himself that it was just the most comfortable way to pick a sitting man up, while he clearly knows he just don't want to get his eyes off of his sleeping face, too calm and peaceful for a man who'd been tortured.
_______________________
"When is he going to wake up?" Geralt says. Hoping Yen wouldn't hear the childish worry in his voice.
"He's only sleeping. He seems fine. Just give him some fucking time Geralt."
"Hmph."
Jaskier does wake up. Just when Geralt is about to go ask Yennefer to check on him for the hundredth time.
"Jaskier!" He calls as he tries his best to hide the relief.
"Ahhh...Geralt! Oh, Hi!" Jaskier's face just lightens up, in a way Geralt haven't seen, not after their reunion, not after the mountain.
"My head feels like it's being chewed by a camel..." Jaskier says as he brushes his hair off his face. Then continues. "What happened anyway? I thought we were heading to Caingorn for the dragon thing?"
"Ah yes, forgot to mention." Yennefer says as she comes through the door step. "He might lose his memory for just a day or two. Nothing important. What's the last thing you remember?"
J: "I remember looking forward to crash your fucking weird neck, witch. What the hell are you doing here?"
She lifts her eyebrow up and looks at Geralt.
G: "Just before the mountain, that's the last thing he remembers."
"Terrible timing then." She says, as she gives a meaningful look to Geralt. Who closes his eyes and goes out. No words.
And he doesn't come back. Not untill he's entirely sure Jaskier's asleep for the night. He gently sits beside him. Looking at his closed eyes. He wants to see the sky blue of them but he's too afraid of the moment that that cursed memory comes crossing his mind and breaks him, again. And it's his fault. All his fault.
He whispers to Yennefer. "I don't want him to remember..."
"Of course that makes it so easy for you. I'm sorry, but he will" and then she steps out of the room. Leaving him with the soothing, familiar sound of Jaskier's breaths and heartbeat.
He pets his hair, his face, his arms, and then he holds his hand, softly. Creating pieces of art had surely turn his own hand into one.
____________________
Geralt's still awake when Jaskier wakes up. It happens so much faster than usual. His heartbeat racing and his eyes wide open. Slightly painted with tear. And he keeps panting.
Geralt tenderly holds Jaskier. It's just an old habit for when the bard has nightmares. None of them complains. Jaskier leans onto him.
"Geralt- oh God I just- had one of the- fuck I had THE worst nightmare in my whole life-"
He struggles to tell Geralt about the nightmare. But the sobbing he feels, waiting to come out of his throat, or the tears fighting desperately to come out of his eyes aren't really helping.
"You were, yelling, at me. Telling me that, that I was always a, burden on your hands. And then you- you just left me. On a- mountain...? Or a...hill...?" He manages to bring out a little chuckle out of his mouth "but of course you won't. You know I would just fall or slide the way down at the best case. And that's only if I don't get myself killed by all the mons-" He stops as he starts to remember the rest of his nightmare- his memory. All the pieces of his mind just come together and Geralt's petting hand on his back has stopped. None of them is moving. Not in the slightest. It's like the time isn't passing anymore.
Jaskier leans back. Slowly... His eyes shine with his tears and the perfect blue of the cloudless sky. And he stares at Geralt. Unbelievingly. Like he's staring at some stranger he has never known or heard of.
"You-you really-did say those things to me... Didn't you...?" He whispers, as the first drop falls off his eye.
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conradscrime · 3 years
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The Radium Girls
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April 26, 2021
Between 1917 and 1926 the US Radium Corporation was involved in the extraction and purification of radium, used to produce luminous paints which was helpful at the time for producing watches used in the military. Radium admitted a very beautiful glow like feature, which was perfect for them to create radio-luminescent watches. 
In Orange, New Jersey around 300 women were hired to work at this radium plant, their job was to paint the watch faces with radium. Because the watches were so small, the painting job needed to be precise, so many of the women would put the brushes in their mouths to create a very sharp tip, easy for painting small numbers on the watches and then proceed to dip their tiny paint brushes into the radium. The brushes were made of camel hair and needed to be kept sharp because after a few strokes they wouldn’t be. The women were encouraged to put the brushes in their mouths to prevent this from happening. The women were told that radium was completely safe and that putting the tiny amount of it in their mouths was totally harmless, in fact many of them thought radium was incredible as it would brighten their teeth and cheeks. Many women used radium as makeup. 
While the women were handling radium and even ingesting, the scientists and owners of the radium corporation and plant were aware that radium could be harmful so they always avoided direct exposure. 
U.S. Radium Corporation hired approximately 70 women to perform various tasks including handling radium, while the owners and the scientists familiar with the effects of radium carefully avoided any exposure to it themselves.
The women working at the radium plant began to get sick. The first people to notice that there was something wrong with these dial painters were their dentists. Radium was causing dental pain, loose teeth, lesions and ulcers. Other symptoms were anaemia, bone fractures and necrosis of the jaw, also known as “radium jaw.” The women were also experiencing no periods and sterility. 
It didn’t take long for people to notice the connection between the women getting sick and their jobs. When others began to look into this the US Radium corporation denied that the women were exposed to radium at their workplace. The radium companies were even asking dentists and doctors to not release their data and they complied for some time. 
The first “radium girl” to die was a woman named Amelia “Mollie” Maggia. She died a horrific death in September 1922 and had suffered from a haemorrhage from her mouth as well as weak joints which prevented her from moving. Her teeth began to fall out and her jaw ended up falling off of her skull. Yes you read that right. 
In January 1922, Mollie got a toothache. When she went to the dentist, she was told that her molar needed to come out. A few weeks later, she went back to have the another tooth pulled. Neither of the wounds healed, but they grew together and seeped blood and pus into Mollie’s mouth. The dentist took more of Mollie’s teeth out, to no avail. 
By May, Mollie’s dentist thought she would need surgery to remove a fast-growing abscess he’d found on her jaw. The dentist found her jaw bone ashy and a grey colour, so he gently prodded it with his finger. To his shock and horror, the whole bone crumbled under his fingers. The dentist dug Mollie’s entire left jaw out with just his fingers. This was due to the radium having stripped her bone cells of calcium.
The tumors she had had cut into her jugular vein and flooded her throat with blood, choking her to death in bed. She died 8 months after her first tooth ache. Radium could kill you in the most shocking and brutal way. 
In 1924, 50 women were sick and 12 had already died. A lot of these deaths were attributed to other causes besides radium poisoning. Lots of women were said to have been dying from syphilis which was damaging their reputation. One of the women’s vertebrae had completely collapsed. Essentially her spine did the exact same thing Mollie’s jaw did. Some of the other women suffered from skin and throat cancer, cataracts and lost their teeth and hair. 
Then in November 1928, something shocking happened. The inventor of radium dial paint died and became the 16th known victim of radium poisoning. The name of the inventor was Dr. Sabin A. Von Sochocky and he had died from getting radium on his hands. 
The women in New Jersey began to fight the company, and a trial had begun. A doctor named Harrison Martland had discovered that Mollie Maggia had not died from syphilis, that was not found in her body, but there was radium found. This got the ball rolling. 
 However, over in Ottawa, Illinois the Radium Dial Company was in full swing, with women there also ingesting the radium while painting clocks. The Radium Dial Company was established in 1922 and by 1926 and 1927 the women began showing signs of radium poisoning, unaware of the trial and deaths in Orange, New Jersey. 
When the women did discover what was happening in New Jersey from the newspapers, they were told that those women were not actually dying from radium poisoning, they were dying from viral infections. The employers were telling the women that the radium was indeed safe, despite knowing that tests determined the level of toxicity in the radium paint. The Radium Dial did end up switching from camel brushes to glass pens with a fine point; however the women said this method slowed them down and because they got paid for each clock they painted they switched back to the brushes.
The women in Illinois started asking for compensation for their medical and dental bills as they were extremely costly, but the company refused. It took a long time for a trial to start in Illinois, by the time the women found an attorney it was 1937, almost 10 years after the first women began showing symptoms of radium poisoning.
The women won their case in 1938, but it was then taken to the Supreme Court and the court decided not to hear the case, meaning the women won again. By the end of the legal battle, the women had won the case 8 times in total before the Radium Dial Company paid them. 
In New Jersey one of the women, Grace Fryer wanted to due, but it took a total of 2 years for her to find a lawyer to take on the case. When the women found a lawyer to take on the case the litigation process was slow. None of the women were well enough to stand trial, their first appearance in court was January 1928, but none of the women could even raise their arms to take an oath.
Five of the “radium girls” - Grace Fryer, Edna Hussman, Katherine Schaub and sisters Quinta McDonald and Albina Larice joined the suit. The case was settled in 1928 before it was deliberated by the jury and each of the “radium girls” recieved $10,000 and $600 per year annuity. They also recieved $12 a week for the rest of their lives and the company had to pay for all of their medical expenses. 
Some of the women of course were compensated for this horrific period in our history, but a lot of them were not. Most of the radium girls died horrible agonizing deaths long before justice was served. 
The Radium Girls lawsuit played a role in emerging the establishment of the  occupational disease labor law. Radium dial painters going forward were to use proper safety precautions and given protective gear when working with radium. Radium was still used to paint dials in the 1970′s. 
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bits-and-babs · 1 year
Text
𝐀 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 — 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄
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-> OCT. 09 : COCK WORSHIP
WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. Dirty talk, teasing, oral (m receiving) era appropriate vocabulary.
WC: 1001
[Kinktober Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]
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The sound of the brush strokes against the canvas that Laurent works on causes your hair to stand on end from your position on the chaise lounge. Your lover had insisted upon painting you, having wanted to since the moment you had met. Your persistent refusal had done little to discourage that desire, and a few days ago you had given up trying to deny his advances.
His blackened eyes peek over the frame of the canvas every few seconds, dragging down the length of your body. You swear you can almost feel his gaze, like he’s tracing across your side with the bristles of his beloved, worn paint brush. You had bought it for him on a trip to Bordeaux, months ago now, the handle made of ivory. He’d already had to change out the camel-hair bristles three times, taking it apart and putting it back together in a refusal to discard of it.
“Laurent,” you whisper softly, the tension between you too thick to ignore, like oil paints left far too long on a palette. His eyelids are heavy when his gaze moves to your visage, intense through his lashes.
“Yes?” He speaks, matching your volume. He knows what you’re like, knows your inclination to ease the atmosphere into that of an illicit nature. “What is it you need, my love?”
You can’t help but grin, knowing now that he’s willing to appease the need that had been building in you since he set his eyes on you from beyond the easel. You cast your eyes across him for a moment, considering how to approach this game of cat and mouse.
“Have you ever been the subject of a painting yourself?” You query, gently sinking your teeth into your lower lip. His head slowly rock sideways in a shake, a silent signal of no. “I believe you should, I feel it would be revolutionary.”
You can’t see the lower half of his face, but you see the outsides of his eyes crinkle in that telltale sign he’s grinning from ear to ear. “And why do you think that?” He asks you, and falls perfectly into your trap as he sets his palette down.
“Because you are beautiful,” you insist, “From your curls, to your nose. Your perfect lips…” He steps around the easel now, slowly approaching you with deliberate steps. The wooden floorboards creak beneath his shoes, and your heart leaps in anticipation.
“Perhaps it should be a nude piece,” you murmur, waiting until he’s stood just in front of you, “Then they could see how utterly perfect your cock is, Laurent.”
He laughs then, flashing white teeth. “Perfect? That’s certainly a choice word,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek in his hand. His gold signet ring is cold against your burning skin.
“It is perfect,” you insist, sitting up on the chaise lounge and using your fingers to slowly undo the strings holding his trousers together. His cock is standing at attention beneath the fabric already, and you can’t help but smile, “Perfect in that it always knows exactly when it’s needed. And it is so pretty.”
Laurent is silent as you work to push the material of his trousers from his hip, lips parted as he listens to you worship him, praise every inch of him. When his cock is exposed, you sigh softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the tip that has Laurent’s breath hitching slightly.
“You’re flushed so flawlessly, such a pretty pink colour,” you murmur, running your finger across the head of his dick as if to highlight exactly what you mean. It twitches slightly and you can’t help but grin, looking up at Laurent through your lashes.
“Such pretty veins too, darling. They’d look gorgeous in a painting, don’t you think?” He nods almost dumbly, taken in completely by your praise as you trace down the protruding veins in question. His jaw is slack, groaning weakly as you press a kiss to his frenulum, his knees almost buckling at the sensation.
“I think that it would be an even more compelling piece should you include how fetching it looks when you cum, and it slides down the length of you,” you whisper, Laurent’s fingers working their way into your hair for something to hold. His grip is tight, strained as you tease him. “I feel the contrast would be stunning in oil paint.”
“Hah-“ he exhaled heavily as your tongue traces him slowly, “Fuck, darling- you’re devilish tonight-“
“If devilish means praising you, my love, then I suppose I am,” you muse, and Laurent groans in response, tilting his head back. You hum softly, brushing your thumbs over his hip bones as you continue to tease him.
“I just feel you’re far too gorgeous not to share with the world, it would be utterly unjust and discriminatory,” your breath tickles his length and he moans out, grip tightening in your strands.
“But none of them looking at the painting will ever know just how good you make me feel, Laurent,” you think out loud, his eyes settling on your face again as his knuckles brush across your cheekbone.
“Is that right?” He murmurs, his voice throaty with his need.
“Mhmm-hmm,” you hum softly, resting the tip of his cock against your lips as you talk, “So I was considering the idea of a pair of paintings. One of your pretty, breathtaking cock, and another of me sat on it, face twisted in ecstasy and scratching scarlet lines down your abdomen to prove to everyone how much of an incredible lover you are, Laurent.”
He growls loudly now, having had enough of the teasing. He hooks his thumb into the front teeth of your lower jaw in order to open your mouth and slip his cock inside. You can taste precum already, and your eyes roll back.
“Let’s practice that ‘twisted expression of ecstasy’, shall we my love? That’s it, excellent start,” he murmurs huskily, slowly beginning to thrust into your throat.
END
@in-for-a-pennyx @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @markywithissues @welcometostayingawake @inklore @foxilayde @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke
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wasbangtanhome · 3 years
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late, late, late | KSJ
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banner made by bangtanhome! (me)
Summary: Is he late? Yes. Were you mad? Yes. Was it a special day? Yes, yes, yes! You had everything prepared and you just wanted your boyfriend to come home. Now.
Pairing: Office worker!Kim Seokjin x F(Reader) | also kind of dom!Jin
Warning: 18+. Smut in the form of: pwp, provocative dress, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it hehe), oral sex (M receiving), fingering, use of the word "slut", cumming inside, impact play (ass and pussy). also he used the L word.
Word Count: 4.4k
Author's note: Short and sweet to start off my journey here on tumblr!! I hope you enjoy it and to please please let me know about any improvements. I worked really hard on it! Also my first smut fic! Also, also, there are not a lot of pet names ever since I saw the post about what Namjoon, Jungkook, Jimin, and Jin would call their lover. I got super sappy.
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From the kitchen window, you have a clear view of the entrance leading to your apartment that you share with your boyfriend. The sun has set and it's well past dinner time but you have yet to see his face walking up the steps, blowing a kiss at your general direction.
You chew the inside of your cheek. He's late, you thought, peering out the window for the nth time while drying the dishes. You can't help but worry. Seokjin usually calls if he picked up an extra shift, but your phone has yet to move.
Today marks a year of the two of you living together. The year hasn't treated you kindly. A while back, your company had some budget cuts. Your department was abolished and unlike the lucky coworkers that were transferred, you were a part of the handful that received severance pay.
You figured going back to work would be easy, especially with your qualifications. However, you have yet to get a call from any of the places you applied to. With you unable to work, you spend your days maintaining the apartment. Your boyfriend, his smile ever present, told you he would just have to take more shifts.
‘You know, ______, housework is really hard to do,’ he remarked. ‘Besides, I make more than enough money to support us both.’
You smiled at your boyfriend then. It was true, there wasn’t really a need for you to go to work. You eased up on your stress over not finding work and dutifully cleaned the apartment.
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You trudged your way to the entrance of the apartment. Head resting on the front door before unlocking it with your key. Seokjin was drinking tea by the window sill, looking as ethereal as ever. He noticed you had entered the apartment, smiling lovingly at you.
Before he had a chance to say hello, you broke the news about what happened during work. Instantly, your boyfriend came towards you, his smile faltering as he saw the state you were in. The fatigue in your bones left you slumped on the ground.
Seokjin did not say a word, opted to close and lock the door behind you before sinking to his knees to meet you at eye level.
‘Hey,’ he murmured softly. ‘It’s going to be okay.’
He nudged your shoulder and you fell to his embrace. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You whimper softly as you seize his dress shirt, hot tears falling on his dress shirt, turning the color a shade darker than it was. Your knuckles turned white as your chest rose and fell rapidly, ragged breathing moaning the loss. And yet, your Seokjin rubbed circles on your back soothingly, hugging you tightly, not saying a word.
‘Sorry,’ you remembered mumbling as the coil in your stomach loosened.
‘Don’t be sorry, _____, there’s no reason for you too,’ he whispered back.
Silence fell before he piped up. ‘What do you call a bike that can’t stand on its own?’ he waggled his eyebrows when you looked at him, confused at what he’s saying. It took you a good moment to know that he was joking.
‘Two-tired!’ he exclaimed, laughing at his own joke. You smiled at your lover and before long, laughed along with him; his joy infecting your sadness.
He took out his handkerchief, wiping the streaks of tears away and giving it to you. At his gesture, you snickered before dissolving once more into tears. He had fretted then, worried that he had done something wrong.
‘I’m so lucky,’ you mumbled in tears. ‘Lucky to have you as my boyfriend, Kim Seokjin.’
He smiled softly at your comment, proceeded to pull you in his lap. ‘So, what do you want to do now?’
‘Easy,’ you sniffled, plastering a smile on your face. ‘We order fried chicken and drink!’
Seokjin had looked at you funny, surprised to hear you crave alcohol. Your smile was infectious and he ruffled your hair to agree. ‘That’s my girl!’ he exclaimed. ‘Let’s find you an even better paying job, okay?’
He was so enthusiastic, making the tragedy that happened to you that day seem so… trivial. You got drunk that night, your body not used to the alcohol.
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You smile softly at the memory that happened after, your boyfriend’s hair stuck to his face, panting heavily as you came all over him. You try to push the memory away, focusing instead on your task at hand, but the damage was done- you're wet.
You chew on your bottom lip, hands traveling lower, touching your folds.
I’ll just start without him.Something nagged at your brain, and as your fingers sought out your clit, you realize how unsatisfying it would be without your boyfriend coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you.
You moan, anticipation and desperation threatening to consume you. Distracting yourself, you went through your mental checklist again. Skimpy apron? Check. Food? It’s cold because it’s been in the fridge, but check. The line that you’ve been practicing for the past few months to win over your boyfriend? Check, check, and check.
You glance again and the parking lot was empty now, its residents taking space in their respective homes. No sign of Seokjin.
You huff, grabbing your phone and pressing the on power roughly, almost causing it to clatter on the ground. Almost. Your screen flickers on and you see an image of him smiling back at you. You stuck your tongue out at his face, and punched a string of numbers you know by heart.
The line rang for a long time. You were about to let it go to voicemail. At the last second, you hear a tired voice answer you.
“Darling?” Seokjin’s voice was gruff and sleepy. You can make a mental image of him running a hand through his hair. He sounded distracted, probably looking at his spreadsheets as the numbers start to blur together.
"Hi," you try cheerfully, clearing your throat, hoping he can’t hear the anticipation across the phone. You cradle the device between your ear and your shoulder before brushing lint from your apron. "Are you coming home soon?"
Seokjin looked at his watch, knowing something was clearly bothering you. Looking at the time, he scrambled to his feet: 19:32.
"Wh-Wha--?" came the stunned response. You hear Seokjin push his chair back and the familiar beep of his computer turning off. You laugh quietly as you hear doors slam and his voice echoing in the staircase.
"Oh, _____, I'm so sorry. I had no idea what time it was," he pants, high on adrenaline trying to get home as soon as possible.
"I'm so sorry, ______. I'll be home soon. You can start eating without me, okay?"
You feel a grin paint your face, relief that he was at work. "I'm okay! You must be hungry, love. Just glad you're finally coming home. I can't wait to see you. Drive safe!" you exclaim hurriedly, knowing he won’t want to call when he’s driving.
He murmured a confirmation and you ended the call. Seokjin may be late but there’s still cause for celebration. Settling the butterflies in your stomach, you open the fridge door to take out the food you had prepared earlier, heating them up.
You finally see a familiar figure run from his parking space. His dress shirt untucked and he stopped for only a moment to blow a kiss towards you. His hair clung to his scalp, his tie was loose, and his eyes shining with adoration. You waved back quickly before seeing him disappear into the building.
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Seokjin expected you to be angry, ready to apologize for coming home so late. At the very least, he expected a hug, you seemed happy enough, asking how his day was in the office. What he didn’t expect was you in an apron… wearing nothing else. His eyes roamed your body, stunned at the lack of clothes, briefcase dropping heavily on the floor.
"Are you going to close the door?" he heard you ask.
Never taking his eyes off of you, he closed and locked the door, sliding out of his work shoes. Like a deer caught in headlights, you can’t help but wonder what would happen if you approached him.
You hear him gasp as you get closer, his face incredulous. You pressed your chest towards his, relishing in his ears turning red.
"Now,” you smirk and grab a hold of his tie. “Would you like to start with dinner,"-- you croon as you fling it behind you.
"-a bath,” you say seductively as you open the first couple of buttons of his dress shirt. “-or me?" you finish, dress shirt completely unbuttoned as you watch his delicious figure.
You don't often see your boyfriend at a loss for words. But this... this was something else. Seokjin opened and closed his mouth, blinking rapidly. You hid your smile behind closed lips, enjoying the fact you’re making him squirm.
"What did you make for dinner?" he stammered, forcing a chuckle.
You waved at the table. "The works, japchae, fried chicken, corn, kimchi… You know, our favourites."
"Huh..." he managed, swallowing. Seokjin knew how hungry he was when he left the office, but he couldn't seem to focus on the steaming delicacies on the table. He turned his gaze back to you, slowly closing the distance between your lips.
"Good answer," you murmur.
"Didn't know it was a test," he whispered, dipping his head back down, claiming your soft lips once more.
You smiled into the kiss, content that he was finally home. His hands stopped trembling as it snaked lower. One hand circled your waist, the other trailing soft circles on your back. You shivered at his delicate touch, arching your back into his hand to feel more.
Seokjin seemed to understand your signal and lifted you up, making your way through the living room to reach your bed. Once you landed with a soft plop, he continued the kiss. Heat was rising to his cheeks as he fully shrugged his dress shirt off, returning shortly to connect his lips to yours.
"Jin, I can't see... it's too dark in here," you whined, feeling your skin burn where he touched your body.
You did not receive an immediate response from your beloved, only hearing the thud of a belt on the floor and you hoped his pants came off with it.
"I think it's the perfect amount of light to make you squirm," he whispers. You feel the mattress sink with his weight and the heated kiss resumes, your hands flying to tug at his hair with urgency. You start to feel feverish from the kiss, trying desperately to connect your hips to something so you can feel the first waves of pleasure. You’ve been waiting for such a long time.
He smiles at your impatience and starts tweaking your clothed nipple. "Off..." you whined, wanting the apron gone.
Seokjin slipped the shoulder straps down. You arch your back and he untied the ribbon holding everything together easily. He threw it over his shoulder and finally, his large palms directly touched your tits. He sucked on a nipple while his hands were busy, roaming every inch of your body. You moaned underneath him, thrusting your chest upwards to give him more access.
"Mmm..." you sigh as his hand travelled south and pressed onto your clit.
"You're so wet already," he released your nipple, chuckling darkly. "Have you been waiting all day? Did you want to be fucked that badly?"
You winced at his words. He continued circling your clit, waiting patiently for your answer. "Well?"
"Yes, darling," you pant out. "I have been waiting all day for you! Ah- and you were late," you whined pathetically.
He chuckled again, muttering apologies under his breath while he continues to play with your clit, your nipple back in his mouth. You knew you were going to get a real apology after you're done, but this was enough.
You felt his finger enter your pussy, testing out to see how tight you were. Your eyelids fluttered shut as he added another finger, eliciting a moan from you.
"Yeah? You like that?" came the breathy response.
Your head spun as he curled his fingers at the sensitive bundle of nerves. His thumb pressed and circled on your clit, his pace getting faster and his thrusts getting deeper.
"Jin, I'm close," you squeak out, squirming at his unrelenting force. Your high was right there, waiting for your undoing. But your boyfriend had other plans and his thrusts stopped completely before you came.
You whined, your hands tugging at his hair dangerously. Frustration swept overr your face as it turned even more crimson than his ears. "J-Jin..." you grumble weakly, catching your breath. Your cunt squeezed at nothing when he removed his fingers completely.
"Wanted to feel you cum on my dick," was his simple response.
In the fog of your pleasure, you weren't aware of his veiny cock rapidly growing harder, tip already leaking precum. You stared, dazed as he pumped his length. You also had other plans when you moved to the floor.
You licked a stripe down from the tip to the base, earning a hiss from your boyfriend. His eyes fluttering shut when you look up, his cock slowly disappearing into your mouth.
You suck lightly at first, taking care that your teeth don't make contact with his sensitive member and begin bobbing to a rhythm. He groaned as you stuffed your mouth with his cock, hands grabbing fistfuls of your hair.
"Ah- ________, ah-, can I move?" he huffed out, unable to form sentences without groans.
You moaned to signal your affirmation and he used your hair as leverage to pull you closer to the base. You struggled and gagged, feeling so fucking full. You whimper as he held you there, his head falling back with a groan.
Seokjin snapped his hips, thrusting deeper into your throat. The sensation made you moan, tears blurring your vision. He picked up the pace when he saw you, loves the view of you struggling with his cock in your mouth.
He loved to ruin you, would never admit that out loud, but seeing his lover whimper and sob because he was too big made him moan. Seokjin was holding your head in place, letting his hips do all the work. You groaned out, the vibrations on his cock almost sent him over the edge.
You knew he was close. In ragged breaths, he was saying how beautiful you were, how well you were taking his cock, how amazing you felt, and all the sweet nothings you often hear. However, when his thrusts turned messy, an indication that he was close, you shifted backwards and his beautiful cock fell out of your mouth.
"Fuck!" he cursed loudly, careening forward. He held your head in place for balance, not wanting to fall, worried he hurt you somehow. However, he was greeted with a teasing grin. "Payback, love," was all you said smugly.
You knew you shouldn’t have pushed his buttons that way. But you couldn't help it, knowing the wonderful outcome that awaits you.
He growled, anger flaring with every second that passed since you denied his release. "Bed. Now,” he muttered under his breath. You obliged at his command, though you did it slowly, never taking your eyes of him
This side of Seokjin rarely comes out to play. He was always worried he'd hurt you.
‘Yeah, that's the point,’ you snorted, recalling the memory of explaining what you wanted like he was 5.
Even still, this was a welcomed surprise. You made a mental note of how you pushed his buttons that day, hoping to recreate it in future events.
You were about to sit on the bed when you turned around, climbing on all fours instead, excited about what he would do to you.
“That’s not what I asked you to do, slut” he chuckled, waiting for you to get settled. You teased your ass, moving it closer towards his dick before pulling back.
You didn't anticipate the first slap, the sound of his palm hitting your skin filling the room. You moaned, wiggling your ass towards his face, eyes shining bright with lust.
"Ah- you like being spanked, huh?” Seokjin said, scratching his chin. “Who knew you'd this much of a slut."
You moaned at the word, loving when he said such mean things to you. Your knees buckled when the next smack wasn’t on your ass. He clicked his tongue as he watched your juices flow out from having your cunt smacked. Seokjin reached gingerly towards your clit, teasing it to ease the pain.
"Oh?" he said simply before smacking you again, this time back at your ass. He alternated between slapping your ass and your sopping cunt, the uncertainty of where the next pain would land causing you to see stars.
You whimpered and whined underneath him. Fully lying on your stomach, your ass no longer in the air. You held a pillow, moaning into it, praying the neighbors wouldn't complain about the noise. "J-Jin... please fuck me."
"Huh, I didn’t know this one could beg," he chuckled. The thought of him being with another slut left a twinge in your chest, but that jealousy subsided when he slapped you hard this time, snapping your mind from your thoughts. There was some shuffling behind you and you felt the tip of his cock on your entrance, Seokjin coating his erection with your juices.
"Shit- it's so slippery..." he said mockingly, "slipping" past your cunt. "I can't seem to get it in."
His teasing left you desperate, clinging so hard on to the pillow that your knuckles started to turn white. And just as you felt the anticipation was too much, Seokjin thrusted into you fully, his girth entering you all at once, not caring that you usually needed time to adjust to his cock.
Seokjin dragged you closer towards him, your legs off the bed. He held your neck down with his arm and thrusted hard into your cunt. Before long, you begged silently as your high approaches, hoping that this time your boyfriend would let you cum.
"Baby, I- I'm close."
"Are you now, sweetheart?" You nodded and whimpered at his question. Your voice was getting higher, moans filling your small bedroom.
And he stopped again.
You buried your face in the pillow to scream. You were so agonizingly close and he denied you just like that. Tears fall out of your eyes now, you hiccup and sob, glaring daggers at him.
Normal Seokjin would've scooped you into his arms, a myriad of apologies would spill from his mouth.
But not this time. Instead, he grabbed your hips with his muscular arms before flipping you over so you lay flat on the bed. His cock went back inside, thrusting slowly while he spun circles on your sensitive folds.
"Please-" You breathe in deep, trying to stabilize your hiccups.
"One more for me?" he asked. His voice low and husky.
You start shaking your head, pleading, no- you couldn’t do it again. You were begging him to let you cum. He continued his shallow thrusts and his attention on your clit. You sigh underneath him, overstimulated beyond belief.
"One more," he insisted and leaned close to your ear. "For one whole year of living together." He nibbled on the shell before moving down to your neck. "Please?" You moan when he sucked on the delicate flesh.
You melted into his embrace and nod. "One more."
Perhaps you should've considered longer. Perhaps it was your lust-addled brain that made you say yes. Perhaps you should not have fallen for his devilish charm. But it’s all too late now as he lay on the bed, and you climbed over him.
"Mmph..." you moan, throwing your head back while you grind your pussy on his cock. You snuck a glance below only to find seeing your boyfriend drowning in pleasure.
You leaned forward and bumped your forehead with his. Seokjin's eyes open gently. He pants quietly as he cups your face, gently stroking it with his thumb. An angelic smile spreads upon his face, love and affection in his eyes. You whined as you continue riding him, trying to chase your own high while helping him with his, picking up the pace.
You were still moving a bit too slowly for his liking so he thrusted his hips to match your movements. It sent shivers down your spine and you moan deliciously.
"Baby, I can't- ah- Jin..." you pant, bouncing and grinding on his cock, just then realizing how close you actually were. You expected the stop, but it didn't make it any easier. Your boyfriend stopped his movements and held your hips firm, causing your body to convulse.
Seokjin sat up quickly, hugging and kissing your face profusely. "You did such a good job, ______." he said, his apologies in the form of kisses. He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. "You were so pretty bouncing on my cock like that."
You sigh and smiled weakly at him, "Can I rest?" you asked meekly.
You hear him genuinely laugh. His friends always said that his laugh sounded like windshield wipers. But to you, it sounded like wind chimes dancing in the summer.
Seokjin grabbed you and laid you down on the bed gently. He turned to his side and stroked your hair. You faced him, a content smile on your face as you also stroke his cheek.
"I love you."
The sudden confession made you halt. You knew Seokjin meant it. However, he does not say I love you very often. He shows his love with physical touch and "have you eaten?" questions that make you feel so happy he cared. But hearing him say he loved you almost made you cry. Almost. You had enough tears for the day.
"I love you too, darling."
You scoot closer to kiss him, tongue asking permission to enter. He groans when they collide. Your spare hand moved down and stroked his softening cock gently but he sprung up instantly.
"I kinda blue-balled you, sorry," you broke the kiss sheepishly. Seokjin just chuckled and continued the kiss, moving on top of you.
“Are you okay for more?” he asked, back to his usual self.
You nodded enthusiastically.
His cock slid in effortlessly, your pussy already wet and stretched out enough to take him in without any discomfort. Pleasure caused your body to groan. You wanted so badly to come.
He held up both your legs and toyed with your clit. He was able to thrust easily into you. He started out slow, making sure that you were actually okay before it turned manic, his cock going in and out of you with such force.
You whined when his thumb pushed harder on your clit, feeling your walls clench at his huge dick.
His cock going deeper and deeper inside you combined with him touching your clit was all it took. You were suddenly right there, at the edge of pleasure before you snap. You yell his name, your voice getting increasingly higher. You look at him with desperate eyes.
"Cum on my cock, ____," he groaned, marveling at how tight you were getting.
He kept the pace and soon, you were moaning his name, your juices creaming his cock. You loved being filled. You were so full as your walls clenched around him.
A few more hard thrusts and he joined you in pleasure. "Ah- _____," he moaned out as your walls were painted white. You winced when you thought Seokjin was going to fall on top of you, though he caught himself at the last second.
He slid out of you with a hiss and ran to get a towel to clean you up. After he was done, the towel was placed in the laundry basket, along with all the clothes that were discarded from the floor. You roll your eyes, knowing how neat your boyfriend was.
He plopped right next to you and you cuddled closer, throwing an arm over his muscled abdomen.
"Hi," he sighed out in bliss, tucking another strand of hair behind your ear. "Happy one year anniversary of living together, my dear."
His head dipped towards your and you both nuzzle your nose at each other. "Happy one year, Jin."
"So," he started, clearing his throat. "I can tell you liked getting spanked. Push my buttons some more and maybe it'll happen more often," he laughed at his own comment., waggling his eyebrows at your direction.
This time, it was you who were at a loss for words. You shook your head, rolling your eyes before snuggling so close to him. You found the perfect spot on his chest, as always, pulling the blankets towards the both of you.
He removed himself from underneath you and stared seriously into your eyes. "I know I don't say it enough,"-- you smiled as you notice his ears turning red again-- "but I meant what I said. I do, love you, ____." He held your gaze and you found the strength to sit up slightly to kiss him.
"I know, Jin. This was enough. You are enough."
You've never seen him so giddy and he kissed your forehead again, finally settling down.
"Good night, Kim Seokjin. I’ll clean the food in the morning," you say drowsily.
"Don’t worry, let me get it. Good night, soon-to-be Kim _____," he whispered. You heard the comment but you were tired to ask what he meant. In the morning, you thought to yourself. I'll deal with that in the morning.
When you finally slept, soft snores filling the room, Seokjin got up, carefully detangling him from your arms. You protest slightly but rolled over, not waking up. He padded softly to the kitchen to put the food away. Washing his hands, he looked to the bedroom once more to make sure you were indeed asleep, before opening his briefcase.
Inside, there was a small blue box and Seokjin opened it gingerly, fearing the worst. He sighed in relief as the band reflected a light coming from outside, still intact even though he dropped it earlier. He closed the small box and placed it back in his briefcase.
Seokjin came back to the room to find you had gotten up, hands rubbing your eyes. “Where did you go?”
“Bathroom and grabbed a glass of water,” he lied casually, praying that you didn’t see anything, his heart hammering in his chest.
You mumbled something and he sighed in relief, putting on a pair of boxers before snuggling you close, kissing your forehead.
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All characters depicted in this fic are 18+ and fictional.
Any resemblance is just a work of fiction.
All rights © bangtanhome.tumblr.com
Posted on 04.13.2021 at 11:11am GMT+7.
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outofsstyles · 3 years
Text
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AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry
☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️
word count: 20.3k
warnings: language
//
Sweet tea in the summer
Cross your heart, won't tell no other
And though I can't recall your face
I still got love for you
- Seven, Taylor Swift
//
“Can you bend your arms one last time, please?” Harry quickly angles his arms, holding them at chest height to show Marcus what he’s referring to.
He stands in front of Harry, dressed in his full Gaston outfit for the last fitting before opening night. The atelier has gone hectic again now that everyone’s gotten back from their lunch breaks, a mess of fabrics and papers taking over every surface in the room. There’s a low mesh of voices blending with Moyra’s playlist playing on a speaker that’s probably lost somewhere by now. Someone rushes across the room in a speed walk and almost bumps into Harry, muttering a quick apology before disappearing behind the doors leading to storage. 
As the week approached, Harry was warned by pretty much every single one of his coworkers about the chaos that it would be. After all, it’s the last week of rehearsals, and the first time the actors would get in characters with their full costumes. All arrangements have to be done by Saturday morning, is what Lisa said with her stern voice the previous Friday, with no space for wardrobe malfunctions. She meant it as a warning, but Harry took it as motivation, knowing he works better under stressful situations — which is not the healthiest working ethic, he admits, but it gets the job done.
On top of it all, your unprompted visit has surprisingly given him the boost he needed to finish up most of his work with an entire day to spare. 
It’s only been two days since you appeared on his front door with a Brit statuette and a promise to make up for the years lost in each other’s lives. Your suggestion to go out for a coffee quickly showed itself to be a bit more complicated than both of you thought it would; as neither of you expected the conflict in your schedules when making those plans. This was a busy week for Harry and an even busier opening weekend. The only time he’ll actually be able to catch a breather is by Monday, which, coincidentally, is the same day you’re catching a flight back to America.
Still, none of you seemed to want to wait another week to meet again. So he proposed to meet after his Friday shift. Which is why he spent the entirety of Thursday inside the costume studio, being the last one to leave just so he could wrap everything a few hours early to meet you back at his flat — by your request.
Even with a day cut short, however, there’s been barely enough time for him to focus on anything other than measurements and fittings. It’s a good thing when it comes to his nerves; the tight schedule giving him no space to let any butterfly drift on his belly. Without the anxiousness on the way and work to keep himself busy, it’s as if the clock has gone with a leap. He sewed back details that had fallen off an extra’s costume while swallowing back the salad he’d brought for lunch, made sure Lumiere’s candleholders were fixed in place, and that no feathers from Plumette would sweep around the stage. Now, after having to make an adjustment to Gaston’s shirt - thanks to an unexpected problem with the stitching - he’s finally able to allow his shoulders to relax a bit.
Marcus mimics the movement shown to him, keeping his arms still as Harry takes a step to examine the character’s signature red shirt with his fingers fiddling with the tip of the measuring tape hanging around his shoulders.
“Does it still feel tight around your chest?” Harry asks, noting how the stitching on the sides is not stretching anymore. “Or under your arms?”
“Nope,” Marcus answers with a pop, relaxing his arms back down when Harry turns to write something down. “Fits like a glove, mate.”
He clicks his pen down on the table. “Then we’re all good.” 
“So, I’m free to go?” He jumps down from the platform, loosening the black leather belt that’s fastened around his waist.
“You’re free to go,” Harry confirms after a double-check at the file sitting on the table, making sure there’s no other change that’s needed on his costume. “Just put everything back in the bag and hang it on the rack.”
“Yes, sir.” Marcus shifts with the curtains of the changing room before disappearing inside of it.
“And make sure the label is still stuck to it!” Harry calls over his shoulder, listening to the mumbled response before turning back to the files on his hands. 
While he waits for Marcus to return, he gathers everything he needs to leave. A quick look at his phone that was left forgotten on top of a roll of blue-dyed camel tells him it’s around four, meaning he’s just in time. Checking the pages he’s been focusing on, Harry walks to the rack, selecting the two bags carrying the costumes he still needs to make adjustments on, placing them carefully over his work table before making his way to fetch his backpack.
As soon as Marcus is out, he gives a double check to see if the label is still stuck to the bag he just hanged - not entirely trusting the cast’s attention to those details - before collecting his belongings and heading for the door. He bids his goodbyes on his way out, catching the attention of Alice, who’s standing on a platform near the door while Moyra works on the skirt of her yellow dress with a few pins placed between her lips.
“Going already, H?” She asks, her eyes big as she looks down at him.
He stops in his tracks with a hand on the door handle gnawing on his inner cheek as he turns to face her. 
As soon as he meets her gaze, he notices the subtle tinge of pink painting over her cheekbones. It’s something that Harry’s gotten used to by now when speaking with Alice. 
He could tell she was shy from the moment he got to meet the entire cast, always standing quietly to the side reading her script, keeping her chats restricted to the same two people (which is funny enough of a contrast with her stage persona, considering she has the main role). But with Harry, she’s always been especially timid, and it didn’t take too long for him to learn from Moyra that the girl had taken a fancy on him — if the blushing wasn’t a big indicator.
It’s sweet, he reckons. She’s lovely enough, from the limited amount of conversations they had, and Harry finds it that maybe if she opened up a bit it would be nice to get to know her. Julia’s the one that always pesters him about it, though urging for Harry to make a move from the moment he told her about the girl’s crush on him. She says his romantic side gets especially annoying when he’s lonely, and he knows she’s right, but would never admit it to her face. So he just brushes it off, saying he’ll take the time to talk to Alice.
Except now. Harry knows he’s on the clock if he wants to make it in time to meet you. The last thing he wants is for you to have to stand on the street because he got caught up in her mutters. 
So he keeps his grip on the handle, hoping it’s enough of a hint for the conversation to be cut short, as he motions his arm that holds the clothes’ bags at the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, I- Lisa let me work on these at home.”
“So you’re not having a drink with us tonight?” Alice rushes out, eyes darting up at him, and her blush gets a shade stronger. When her lips part again, her voice comes out a bit lower,  “It’s the last one before opening night, and you haven’t gone in a while...”
“Harry’s too cool to hang out with us.” Moyra barges in the conversation, glancing teasingly at Harry from over her shoulder as she takes the last pin from between her lips.
“Shut up, Mo.” He rolls her eyes slightly, grip tightening on the door as he prepares to leave.
Before he can do so, Alice speaks up, her eyes falling again to her fingers that poke at her nails. “You know, bringing work home sometimes can cause stress… And stuff.” She peeks up at Harry, shrugging slightly. “I read about it somewhere, anyway.”
“I think I’ll be fine, really, but thanks.” Turning the knob, he cracks open the door.  “Just got something today.”
Moyra doesn’t waste a second before blurting, “A date.”
“Don’t.” He warns with a sigh. “I’m seeing an old friend.”
“That’s nice.” Alice nods.
“Yeah.” He takes a step out, being painfully aware of how he’s a second away from being late. “Uhm, I gotta get going then.”
The girl looks up at him fully then, giving a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, yeah, for sure.” He calls over his shoulder as he’s out the door.
The tube’s just starting to get filled again with people like Harry, who are likely on their journey back home. Shoulders tense and frowns scrunching their faces, they barely pay any mind to him as he finds a spot opposite to the exit doors — preferring to stay closer to them as to get off quicker. He leans against one of the many metal rails that outline the inside of the train car, his vans bouncing nervously as he adjusts the bags at the crook of his elbow, feeling as if today it’s traveling slower than usual. 
Picking up his phone to check the time once again, he’s met with a text. It’s not from you, as he’d hoped, but from Julia. A picture of her and Blake, faces squished together as they force a smile a bit too big for the camera, their hairs meshing together in a mix - Julia’s darker curls tangling with Blake’s shorter blonde locks - and Harry can just about make out the outline of a bright orange sofa from Blake’s living room behind them. The message that reads under it is short, yet playfully demanding.
Juls: impromptu movie night!!! bring chocolate!!!
He smiles down at the screen, but it quickly turns into a frown as he realizes that he won’t be able to make it. Biting down his bottom lip, his thumb hovers above the keyboard, not sure how to respond. There’s not a chance he can fully tell the truth to her, not over text. Even if he brushes over it, he knows his friend, and how nosy she can be sometimes — which has never bothered him before until he found himself in this position. He contemplates lying. A white one, there is. Just say he got caught up with work or something along those lies. Something he knows she’d understand. But the simple thought of it makes him feel guilty; as if he’s leaving her out.
So, he opts for the ladder, pushing the responsibility for his future self to deal with the interrogation afterwards when he sees her again. Maybe if he finishes the tv show she’s been nagging him to watch in time, it’ll be enough of a distraction so she won’t ask him many questions. His answer comes a bit slower than usual — not only due to his internal battle but also for finding it a bit tricky to type with one hand. By the time he clicks the send button, Julia has already sent enough interrogation points to cover half of the screen.
Can’t tonighttt got something...
Juls: what’s something
I’ll tell you later, send Blake a hug for me.
Juls: no :(
With a chuckle, he pockets his phone,  noticing he’s just a couple of steps away from his own. Once he’s out of the station, just a couple blocks away from his building, the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding all day sweeps in. They’re not overwhelming, they don’t make his chest tighten or his palms sweat, no. They’re the nerves that give him a spring to his step, that make him take deeper breaths, and that speed his heart just the tiniest bit.
It’s a strange feeling to be going home with the sky still shining a clear blue, instead of the purple-pink that comes just before the sun hugs the horizon. A cloudless day. Thanks to the previous streak of rainfalls that washed away the angry greys. The colors painting his surroundings seem somehow more vibrant, more welcoming. The greens of the trees greet him with a gentle breeze. The maroons of the bricked buildings warm under the sunlight. Even the yellow and the pink of his dirty vans feel a bit brighter as he strolls around the corner of his block.
It’s almost like it matches the way he feels. And Harry knows that from now on, with spring at its peak and summer becoming more present, the weather is bound to become even more pleasant. He hopes it’s some sort of sign. Maybe the universe is getting gentler with him. He’d like to think that.
Part of him still dwells on the feeling the slightest bit, finding a strange sort of uncertainty over how quickly you’ve got at the palm of your hand again. He barely got any sleep after you left his house just thinking about it, actually. There’s no denying that your presence again has brought back the fondest memories of his teenage years. Ones he tried too hard to bury as to ease the ache in his heart that came with them for a long time. But now, having you back, it’s as if they’ve taken almost a hopeful feeling. The reminders of how close you used to be came crashing into him like a wave, enveloping him. That was the first time he ever opened up so fully to someone, after all. And that comfort of having someone that knows him better than he knows himself is something he craves so deeply within himself that, as soon as even the slimmest possibility of having it once again presented itself, he grasped it so quickly that now he’s afraid he’s letting himself dive too deep.
He’s so inside of his head, thoughts rushing inside his mind, that he almost glances over you when he finally approaches his building. 
Paying little to no mind to your cream trousers as you kneel on the sidewalk, a paper bag propped under your arm and a disposable cup holder in your hand hugging two paper cups, you focus on a collie that’s enjoying your hand caressing the fur down its neck. A gold pendant from your necklace reflects the weak rays of sunlight, glowing in a contrast with the black of the short-sleeved turtleneck you’re wearing, tucked under your trousers. 
It’s only when he lets his eyes focus on the company you have that he immediately recognizes the pup, as well as the older lady holding the leash while smiling down at you interacting with her pet.  
Margaret is one of the oldest residents of the building, taking a permanent spot at the very first apartment on the first floor. She was the first neighbor he got to meet, bringing him homemade jelly tarts on his first weekend at his apartment. They chatted for an afternoon and, after admitting he’s not the best cook, she vowed to bring him some of her dishes every time she could. And true to her world, around twice a week she knocks on his door with a warm trail and a sweet smile. Harry likes to visit her as often as he can, knowing she lost her husband a few years before he moved, and has no children to keep her company — that is, apart from her collie, Duchess.
“Harry!” Margaret is the first to acknowledge him with a grin, her voice causing your head to snap up from where you kneel. “You’re early today, my love.”
“Actually, I’m a bit late.” He chuckles, glancing at where you’re standing up while sweeping your trousers. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh! No worries, I just got here.” You brush it off, finding a place next to him before gazing back at Margaret. The older lady attempts to look discreetly between the two of you, brows arched, and Harry knows from the look in her eyes he’ll probably have to face another interrogation later on. Though, in this case, he’s sure she’s oblivious of your public image. “And, thankfully, I bumped into these lovely ladies who kept me company.”
“Stop that! You’re a very lovely lady yourself, darling.” Margaret reaches for Harry’s wrist as she smiles at you, giving it a squeeze, and he quickly nods, agreeing with her. She looks up at him, lips tight in a grin that’s enough for him to realize her assumptions about why you’re here, and, from the way you’re holding back a laugh yourself, he’s sure you’ve noticed, too. He clears his throat, gazing down at his shoes, trying to cover up the warmth that creeps up his neck, and that seems to be enough for Margaret to take a hint, letting his wrist go with another gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you two be, Duchess and I still have to grab groceries before it gets dark.”
Harry scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “‘Ave a good day, Marg.”
“You too, Lovie.” She gives his hip a soft pinch before turning to you. “It was lovely meeting you.”
“Right back at you!” You answer excitedly, waving back as the older lady starts her stroll. “Have a nice walk! Bye, Duchess.”
For a second, you quietly watch the duo walk further away from where you stand. A faint hum of car engines can be heard, being cut only by the high-pitched voices of two children, seeming not much older than ten, as they appear at the other side of the street. The peek over your shoulder is quick before you turn your back to them, turning fully to Harry with a slight smile tugging at the side of your lips. 
He clears his throat again, adjusting the bags he’s still holding. “Hi.” 
“Hey.” You answer in a beat, nodding towards him. “Your hair is down.”
“It is, yeah.” His voice comes lower than he intended, the warmth still present on his cheeks, and he quickly motions towards the front door. While fiddling with the side pocket of his backpack in search of his keys, he picks up as you lean into the bricked wall next to the entrance.
“It looks great, really! Wasn’t expecting it to be this long.”
“Yea, I- Thanks.” He shoots you a look once he fetches the keys. “Have been growing it out for a few months now.”
You give him a knowing hum. “Any reason for it?”
The click of your boots against the wooden steps echoes around the narrow walls of the building’s staircase. Harry leads the way up, climbing the steps in a bit of an awkward position as he tries to look back at you.“Uh, not really, no.”  He shrugs. “Just having fun with it, I guess.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” You exclaim. “It really compliments you, I mean it.”
“Thank you.” He rubs his nose, coming to a stop as both of you reach his front door. “You- Uh, I- You look very nice, as well.”
“Oh!” You look down at your outfit with a chuckle. “I rarely go around this fancy, but I had a meeting today.” You brush it off. “Which is also not an excuse for me to dress up but I didn’t know most people there so I had to make a good impression, or whatever.”
A dimple pokes at his cheek as you ramble, a habit you seem to haven’t lost. He unlocks the door with ease, pushing it in and motioning for you to walk in. “‘S nice, very pretty, I- I mean, your trousers are very pretty.”
Your smile grows as you support yourself on the wall while toeing off your shoes. If you notice the blush on his cheeks, you don’t mention it. “Thank you! Means a lot coming from you, you know?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, you’re the fashion student, after all.” He’s not sure why your answer comes in a bit of a letdown, almost as if he was expecting you to say something else. “By the way, I got us some goodies on the way. Didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I just took a wild guess. Here, try it— If you don’t like it you can have mine, it’s a cappuccino, very sweet.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching for his reaction as he sips on the hot beverage. “So...?”
“It’s perfect.” He takes another small sip of the cup you handed to him, trying not to make a face at the slightly bitter taste that comes with it (he’s still not the biggest coffee fan, if he’s honest). He makes his way to lay the bags that now have slid down his elbow at the arm of the couch. Noticing you’re still standing awkwardly by the front door looking around, he points at the counter next to him, quickly sweeping his arm over it to brush the stack of papers to the side.  “You can set everything in here, please feel at home.”
This is the first time you properly get to have a look around his place, which is weird enough of a concept when you take into consideration it’s not the first time you’ve come here (and the flash memory of that night alone is enough for you to fight back a cringe). You recall the path to your right leading towards the bathroom where you spent an hour sitting inside his bathtub before having to answer a not-very-pleased Sonia calling your phone. The rest of the place, however, is a bit of a blur in your memory, so you take this moment to take in his home.
Surely, the space itself is quite modest, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to take in. From your position across from him, the island separating the two of you, you can still scan most of his living room. 
You like that it’s not completely tidy (those sorts of crystal clean homes always freak you out a bit). Upon a first glance, it’s clearly the residence of an undergrad. A couple textbooks pile on top of a center table. A shut laptop sitting next to the cushions on the navy blue couch. Even a few houseplants amongst picture frames spread on shelves and stands. It’s cute, you think, but you barely sweep your eyes over those details.
What calls your attention are the glimpses of the life you’ve missed on. It’s the magazines decorated with sticky notes. It’s the rolls of fabric peeking out from the couch arm. It’s a box of yarn tucked in the far corner, on top of other boxes that are shut closed. Those details seem to have replaced his canvases and paint sets. It makes you wonder if he still keeps them hidden somewhere. If there’s still anything left of the life he had the last time you saw him. 
Oddly enough, you smile at the thought. Somehow glad that he found his passion, even if you weren’t there to support him through it. And it brings you back to why you’re here in the first place. Make up for the lost time.
“Thank you for agreeing to do this here.” You speak up as you focus back on taking the sweets you so carefully picked out from inside the bag (you weren’t entirely sure of his dessert preferences now, which caused the slightest rise of panic as you tried to decide on what to pick from the vast array of options). “I know it’s weird to ask you to, like, have me at your house instead of just meeting at a cafe, but the one I usually go to is closed for renovations and I get a bit wary at, uh, public places.”
“It’s alright, I don’t mind having you here.” A small grin tugs at his lips, and it’s hard for you to ignore the warmth that comes to you with it. 
You clap your hands together, gazing around quickly before focusing back on him. “So! I finally get to properly see your place— sorry about that the other night, by the way, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He chuckles. “It’s really okay, like I said, don’t mind having you here.” He repeats, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, not that big but-”
“I love it, seems so cozy.” You interrupt before he can go on any further, hating the way he feels the need to apologize to you for something like the size of his home. “And it’s a perfect place to have just for yourself.”
“Actually, I-” His lips stay apart for half a second before he continues, blurting the next words out as if it’s a confession, “I have a flatmate.”
“Oh!” You blink in surprise, taking a second to process the information. 
Of course he does. Why did you even think otherwise? Most people share flats these days. Despite that, the possibility of him living with someone didn’t even cross your mind. It’s hard to ignore when it comes to you the riskiness of it. Whoever this flatmate is, you don’t know them, and the possibility of them spilling anything makes you a tad uneasy. It could easily ruin any possibility of a friendship with Harry before you can even get close to him again. 
There’s a wave of anxiety that hits you with the prospect of being the cause of his face printed on the cover of money-hungry tabloids, but, before you get deeper in your own nerves than you already have, you sum what’s left of composure within you to ask,  “Do they... Have you told them about-- well, me?”
He tears up a piece of banana bread, picking at it as he shakes his head, clearly unaware of your change in moods. “Not, really. She’s at her girlfriend’s for the week, so I haven’t been able to see her.”
You try to hide the way your eyes widen the slightest bit with the information that said flatmate is a she. “Is she a fashion student as well?”
“No, she’s a journalist. She works— well, interns for a music magazine, actually.”
Of course she’s a fucking journalist. When you think it couldn’t get any worse. “Anything that would ring a bell?”
“I don’t think so, they’re quite small.” He shrugs, sipping at his coffee.  “Don’t even have an office, they do most of the work online.”
“That’s interesting.” You nod, nails picking at a few crumbs dotted around the counter. Scrunching your lips, you try to consider how to word what you’re about to say. Knowing this conversation would have to be brought up eventually doesn’t make it any less awkward for you to have it. You peek up at him from under your lashes, only to find his oblivious state as he smiles back at you. “Harry… Can I ask you for a favour?” 
“Course.”
Inhaling deeply, you attempt not to let your voice come out as calculated as the words that roll out of your lips are. “Could you… Just for a bit, not mention anything about me to her?”
Harry’s expression falls to a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Just--” You pause, resting your cup down before turning to face him fully. “Just for a little while, I-- You have to understand that I would like to be a bit more private… About us?”
“Us?”
“Our friendship… I-” There it is again, the gust of panic. It makes you spit out the words before you can even process them,  “I wouldn’t want any headlines.” 
This only seems to worsen everything it seems, as Harry sits back on his stool, putting more space between you two. He shakes his head, “Julia would never do that.”
“I’m sure she wouldn't!” You rush, attempting to fix it. “It’s just… She could mention it to someone, and-- I don’t know, these things get out of hand really fast.” 
“So you want me to lie to her?”
“Not lie.” You chew at your bottom lip, sure that you’re a word away from getting kicked out. “Just, not to mention it… Just for a little while, it’s not like it can be a secret forever.”
“Right.” He slowly starts to nod, falling quiet for a beat too long. “Sure, yeah, okay.”
You exhale in relief, softening your expression. “Thank you.”
A silence falls between the two of you and, for the first time since your reconnection, it’s not much of a comfortable one. You have to swallow back the guilt that threatens to take over, knowing the awkwardness is mainly your fault for dealing with your request in such an awful way. Of course, you would have to have the privacy talk with Harry eventually, ideally being sooner rather than later. But asking him to lie and insinuating that his friend could use you to sell her magazine is most certainly the worst way you could’ve chosen to go about it. And there’s nothing to stop yourself from feeling completely stupid while picking at the brownie in front of you.
There’s a part of you, one that comes a bit louder now, that ponders if even bother continuing this in the first place; if it wouldn’t be better to spare him the burden that the simple association with you will bring into his life. You know it would be easier, better for him even, if you just collect your stuff now and walk out the door to never contact him again. If you excused this meeting as a lapse of rationality on your part. And just like that, you could let him go on with his regular life, having to come to terms with him painting a picture of you as another arrogant celebrity that just toyed with him for a bit before she got bored. It would hurt, sure, but this part of you tries to reason that it’s the best you could do for him.
Another part, though, a more selfish one that is, can’t bear the thought of standing up from your stool and just simply turn your back to this as if it never happened. No, you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not when meeting Harry again has brought you a sense of comfort you hadn’t even realized you’ve been lacking for months now. Not when he feels like the only person who doesn’t have an image of you shadowed by this big bright monster of fame — one that calls everyone’s attention before they can even take a proper look at you. You know he doesn’t need that, because of all the versions you present of yourself, he’s one of the few people that know which is the real one. 
This part of you makes you act thoughtlessly, letting your emotions speak louder than your brain. It makes you want to follow the immediate sense of relief that comes in knowing there’s no need to change anything to fit an imaginary narrative someone has made of you. There’s no need to do that with Harry. You’re so desperate to keep that ease that comes with being in his presence, that any thought of how it’ll eventually come crashing down on you is pushed to the back of your mind.
Worrying your lip between your teeth, you risk a glance up at him. To your relief, there’s not a crease between his brows like you expected. He doesn’t seem upset about your question anymore, his shoulders relaxed while he focuses on tearing a piece of the banana bread and shoving it into his mouth. The realization makes you straighten your posture, a sudden rush of determination flushing through your body. You’ve come here to get to know him again, and you’re not letting a poor start weigh you down. And, as your gaze falls to the costume bags lying across the couch arm behind him, an inquiry that has been floating through your mind comes back to you.
“So…” You clear your throat, leaning your elbow to rest on top of the counter as you rest your chin on your palm. Harry’s eyes shoot up at you, and you grin a bit as you point to the spot behind him. “Are you going to tell me a bit about that?”
His brows frown for a second as he looks back, finding the bags that called your attention from the moment you saw him on the sidewalk.  “What would you like to know?”
“Well, last time we spoke you were talking about working in a gallery.” You circle your cup in your hand, bringing it up to your lips but not yet taking a sip.  “And now, I have the information that you dropped out just a wee after; how did that happen?”
"It took a while for it to happen, actually.”  He crosses his arms on top of the counter, leaning in slightly. “Dunno if you remember but, uhm… This might be a bit awkward.”
Your brows raise towards your hairline, his words only enhancing your curiosity. “It’s okay, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”
“I don’t mind it, just- well, after we broke up,” He starts, clearing his throat as his gaze searches for yours, eyes flickering between your own in search of a reaction. He was right. This is awkward. You try to remain a calm expression, nodding in encouragement for him to continue — although you want nothing more than to flinch at the words. “I was, uh, well, sad.” He lets out a quick chuckle. “A friend of mine- James, dunno if you remember them- they recommended a knitting group class kinda thing that they were in every Wednesday, told me it was quite therapeutic and calming, and stuff.”
“That’s cute.” You comment, trying to brush off the way your chest tightens at the brief mention of his feelings post-breakup, knowing how hard it was for both of you.
He smiles at you before continuing, “Got the hang of it pretty fast, actually. James was right being therapeutic. After a bit, I started going twice a week.” He reaches to brush his fingers over a napkin. You watch as his fingertips slide gently along its edge. “The lady that taught it, Laura- you’d ‘ve loved her, used to bake us biscuits every week. She had graduated in fashion, actually owned a boutique for a good fifty years.”
“Holy shit,” Your lips part in awe. “Can you imagine doing something for that long?”
“‘S exactly what got me thinking.” He peeks up at you, lips twitching up. “Around that time I was so confused about what to do with an art degree, and I realized it wasn’t really something I saw myself doing for decades on end.” 
Understanding, you give him a warm smile, toying with the lid of your cup as to not reach for his hand. Even though you weren’t around anymore at the time the events he’s describing took place, you still remember how confused he was right from the start. Harry’s always had an artist in him, and that’s something that wasn’t hard for anyone to see, but it was clear then how he wasn’t completely satisfied with his path. Back then, before you two parted ways, you recall thinking he was still adjusting with uni, and that eventually, he’d find his passion within the arts. It never occurred to you he might not be in the field he loved, after all. 
Looking back at it now, it makes sense.
“Laura helped me a lot during that time. She was the one that even introduced fashion as a possibility for me, we would talk for hours.” It’s hard to miss the fond smile that tugs his lips at the memory. “She even started inviting me for a cuppa outside of class hours, answer all my questions- even the stupid ones, she was really patient. Was almost like a mentor of sorts.” 
“She sounds like an awesome human.” Your voice is gentle, admiring how the words come out of him with an admiration that makes you warm all over.
“She was.” His eyes fall to his hands. Your expression softens, suddenly noticing how he’s been using the past tense when talking about her. “She told me once that sometimes making a career out of a hobby is not always the way to go, you know? Takes away the fun of it if you feel obligated to do it. It was then when I decided to switch.”
“Were you scared?” 
“Terrified.” You two laugh. “I was choosing a path that I’d never even considered before. It was so new, I was so scared I wasn’t making the right decision. It scared me that maybe fashion wasn’t also my thing, you know? Cause if it wasn’t, then what?”
“I get that.” You risk resting your hand next to his, sticking your pinky out to brush against his. He quickly interlaced them, smiling down at the gesture. “I’m glad it worked out, and you found something you’re passionate about.”
“Me too.” He replies, mimicking your position as he brings the hand that’s not enlaced with yours to rest under his cheek.
You smile, and he smiles, too.  
//
“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”
The question leaves your lips in almost an annoyed huff. The third one in the last five minutes. Aya doesn’t spare you a glance this time, her eyes focusing solely on sweeping the white eyeliner over her eyelid as she finishes the last few touches of her makeup.
Her apartment is lit up with a golden glow, the lights having been lowered and the flame of a couple of green lavender candles helping set the relaxing energy of the room. It’s the primary reason you love staying at Aya’s; her place is always cozy, no matter which house of hers you’re in (even though you have a softer spot for her New York apartment). And it helps to have company, since your place has been uneasily empty lately. 
The original plan was simple: make dinner while catching up with the last Game of Thrones season. You’ve been looking forward to it all week. After days of hopping from long meetings to recording sessions, only to go home to your cold bed, reuniting with Aya was the one thing that kept you from catching the first flight back to London as soon as your errands were dealt with. So, it’s hard not to express your disappointment about having to attend some dinner party a good thirty minutes away from her warm apartment.
The thing is, the suggestion didn’t even come from Aya, but rather a surprise guest you weren’t even expecting to be here at the same time as you, Claire. 
And it’s not like you don’t like Claire, you do, well, you try to, which is the best you can do for now. She's been friends with Aya for a couple of months and, with Aya, it’s not that hard to become friends with her, if you’re honest. So you never really bother to keep track of the ones that come and go as quick as the pendulum of a clock. It’s something you’ve grown used to with the years of friendship. But unlike most of them, Claire seems to have stuck like an annoying piece of gum at the bottom of your boots.
In reality, you know it’s unfair to her to be annoyed when she’s really done nothing wrong. The sole reason for you two not mashing that well is more of a conflict in personalities than anything else. Usually, you manage to ignore that in order to keep at least somewhat of a friendly relationship with her during nights out -- more for Aya’s sake than yours. And sometimes you even enjoy her presence! When she’s not surrounded by big groups of people  (rare) and doesn’t feel the need to be obnoxiously loud for no reason, at those times when it’s just the three of you, she’s actually quite nice to talk to.
But now, you honestly wish you could glue her lips together and quite literally kick her out the front door. As she rushes around the place, - from the walk-in closet to the bathroom to the bedroom and so on - her voice so loud in attempts to speak over the playlist she put on just over two hours ago. The mesh of noises is so much you’d be sure no one heard your complaint if it wasn’t for Aya’s reply just a minute later.
“We stay in every day.” You watch as she bends over the sink, getting closer to the mirrored wall as she applies her lipstick carefully. With a smack of her lips, her eyes meet yours in the reflection. “I think it’d be good for you to go out.”
“Just two months ago you were complaining about how much I go out, and now you complain that I don’t go out enough?” You arch your brows, fully aware of how whiny you sound.
“Well, not my fault you don’t know how to balance your social life.” She focuses back on herself, opening a product you can’t make out what it is and tapping it against her cheekbones. “It’s either going out every single day to the point of no sleep or becoming a hermit inside your house.”
You pout. “I’m working, you know tha-”
“It’s cause she only goes out with her LA friends now, Meme.” Claire blurts out as she appears from inside the closet, holding one of Aya’s transparent coats. You keep a straight face as you turn to look at her, trying not to cringe with her nickname for Aya. She seems oblivious of your annoyance, though, making her way to lean on the archway leading to where Aya’s finishing getting ready. “Now it’s all about Dora and - what’s his name?”
Aya interrupts before you have the chance to bite back, “It’s not even that, C, think she’s found something more interesting keeping her in London.” 
The smirk she shoots you from over her shoulder makes you avert your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck, warming all the way to the tip of your ears. The knowing look on her face could almost make you entirely flustered, as if she knows exactly the reason you’ve been so comfortable staying in London by yourself — especially now that the sole thought of being alone sends a tight grip to your chest. But you know there’s no reason for you to be nervous about it. You haven’t told a single person about your reconnection with Harry yet, somehow feeling an odd sort of protectiveness over it. And you’re not sure why this new flame of happiness still feels so fragile to you, so delicate, that a simple, outspoken word to the wrong person could take it away from you. 
And oh, how scared you are of it being taken away as quickly as it came to you.
So you’ve kept it within your grasp for as long as you can. Away from prying eyes and greedy hands. It’s the one thing that you have now that feels just yours, the one part of you that no one else knows about. That’s the sole reason you even asked him to keep it a secret in the first place.
Still, that doesn’t mean that people around haven’t noticed the sudden change in you — as small as you thought it was, it surely didn’t go unnoticed by those that know you so well. Sonia was the first to mention it. When you couldn’t keep yourself from checking your phone every five minutes during a studio session, she had teased you about it. You brushed it off, and she made no more comments about it, thankfully. But you didn’t miss the looks she gave you every time you excused yourself to make a phone call.
With Aya, though, you know it won’t be as easy to get her to disregard your behavior. You hoped she hadn’t caught on when earlier in the afternoon she nudged you about being all smiley while reading a text (Harry had just sent you a picture of Duchess wearing a knitted vest he’d made for her and you had it open when Aya peeked from over your shoulder to see what you were looking at, so you just said it was a message from your sister before quickly locking the screen). 
However, after her comment, you’re sure she’s clearly aware that something’s up. And, knowing Aya, you’re aware she won’t drop this subject until you tell her exactly what it is that’s keeping you in London. Before she has the chance to poke further, you’re saved by none other than Claire, who did not pick up on Aya’s grin shot towards you. Barely registering the meaning behind her words at all, actually, as she makes her way to sit at the foot of the bed. “Well, whatever it is, I think I might have something to keep you here with us.”
Thankfully, Aya drops the subject, only widening her eyes slightly at you, almost in a warning at what’s coming. “Here it comes.”
You frown, glancing from your friend that stands opposite you to the girl that’s scooping closer to where your legs rest. “What do you mean?”
“I know you’re still having a hard time after Noah.” The words spill from her lips and you almost choke on your own saliva at her bluntness. There was a sort of silent agreement between you and Aya about not mentioning your ex by name. So hearing it being outspoken without expecting it surely comes in a bit of a shock. But Claire still seems oblivious of it, only reaching to grip right under your knee in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, you guess. “But it’s been so long now! Maybe you need a little push with, like, getting over him.”
“A push.” It’s hard to keep the affronting expression that tugs down your lips.
“Someone.” A squeeze to your knee. You want to push it off. “There’s this guy-”
That’s it. You close your eyes with a deep breath. “Claire-”
“Before you say no, listen to me!” She holds out her hands, in a habit of gesturing her words when she explains herself. “There’s this guy, okay? He works with my brother at NYT and I met him a couple of times, and- Just listen! The whole time we were talking, I could only think of you! I was like ‘oh my god, she’s gonna love him’ cause he’s totally your type!”
You scoff, glancing over at Aya who’s clearly trying to keep herself occupied. “Is this why you’re dragging me out tonight?”
Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes meet yours in the reflection. “Hey, I have nothing to do with Mr. Perfect here. As I said, I just think it’d be good for you to go out.”
“Just meet him, okay? You don’t have to go out on a date or anything just-” Claire brings your attention back to herself. “Just talk for a bit, see if you click. I think it’ll be good.” Her voice gets softer, shoulder dropping. “I’m just trying to help.”
There’s not an ounce of you that wants to engage in any sort of small-talk filled conversation, having close to no patience in getting to know someone new at this moment of your life. The prospect of having to sit and pretend whatever this man is going to tell you about himself interests you for god knows how long is enough to make you want to swim all the way back to England in your stilettos. But it’s clear that Claire’s intentions with this are far from malicious in any way, and you can’t help but feel bad for lashing out at her. So you just sigh, letting the words fall from your lips before you think about it enough to regret them,  “Okay.”
Her face lights up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”
She squeals. “You’ll love him! I’m telling you-”
“Claire,” You interrupt before she can get ahead of herself. “You sound like you’re envisioning a wedding already. I agreed to chat. That's it.”
“Chat. Okay, it’s a start.” She nods, a smile too big for her face before squealing again, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Right, Meme? Don’t you think it’ll be good for her?”
“Please, I’m just the audience in this conversation.” She calls back, turning to face you after a second to motion to the coat sitting on Claire’s lap. “Is this the coat you chose?”
Claire jumps from her spot in the bed at the mention of it. “Yes! What do you think? Wait- I’ll try it on, see if you can still notice the pink details on my dress.”
The girl bolts towards the walk-in closet where there are larger mirrors she can see herself better on and, just as she turns her back, Aya shoots you a wink before following her. 
You relax back into the arrangement of pillows, another sigh leaving your lips as it comes to you what you’ve just agreed on. Sometimes you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded by a pair of puppy eyes, knowing the consequences of it almost always have to do with you doing something you’re not too comfortable with. Your eyes shut close and you have to refrain from rubbing your face as not to ruin the makeup Aya applied so carefully. The night has barely started and you already feel exhausted mentally. Not wanting to dwell on it further, you make a mental note to yourself: learn how to say no.
Turning your face, you pick up the phone that was left forgotten next to you during the chat with Claire. To your surprise, the screen lights up showing a text from Harry received just about five minutes ago. You try not to sit up too suddenly, as not to call attention to yourself, while you swipe your thumb over the screen to open the message. 
A smile tugs on your lips before you can even read what it says, simply reacting to the picture attached to it. The first thing you notice is his hair, poking out of his head in a messy mesh resembling somewhat of a mane. You bite back a giggle at the thought. His face is lit up, mouth parted in an open smile as he gives a thumb up to the camera. You take a moment too long looking at his face until you realize what the picture is meant to show. You. Next to him, on the screen of his telly, grinning with the blue sunglasses you wore to the music video shoot.
The text under it is short, but it causes the most beautiful flowers to bloom under your chest.
H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy
H: Looks familiar? ;)
//
“That’s definitely too much.”
You glanced back at Harry as your eyebrows shot towards your hairline, challenging. His own face mimicked your expression, peeking down at the cup of flour in your hands before meeting your eyes again. With his locks being pulled up with your hair tie, it’s hard to take him seriously after you’d teased him about resembling a sprout when he first walked into the kitchen, ignoring his protests to playfully sweep the tiny bouquet of curls with your finger.
“How many times do I have to tell you, this is the exact amount?” You replied, trying to keep a straight face.
“How do you know? You’re not even measuring it!”
“It’s a muffin, Harry, how difficult can it be?” You rolled your eyes in feign annoyance, turning the cup into the mixing bowl before he could protest it. “I can do it by eye just fine.”
“This is chaotic.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disbelief at the cloud of flour that floated through the air at how abruptly you threw it. “Making a bloody mess, you are.”
“Yeah, yeah, now tell me what’s next.”
He exhaled a chuckle, secretly enjoying your antics, before turning to check the open recipe book that sat on the counter. His finger followed the words written in instructions, and you observed with amusement the crease forming on his face as he attempted to decipher your nan’s handwriting. It took him a second before he clicked his tongue, “We should’ve mixed the wet ingredients first.”
“Does it make a difference?” You bit back a smile, knowing your words would get a reaction out of him.
And, as you predicted, Harry’s face turned into an appalled expression. “Does it make a difference?” He repeated your question, astounded. “Of course it makes a difference!”
You giggled, reaching for the milk carton. “I’m sure the muffins will be fine if I put in the milk after the flour, they won’t even notice.”
“Christ,” He shook his head again, a few curls falling loose against his forehead with the motion. “Baking with you is going to make me go gray by the time I reach my twenties.”
This time you let out a full laugh, mouth falling open in fake offense. “You’re so dramatic!”
Harry smiled, then, both dimples poking deeply into his cheeks as he reached to take the carton from your hands. You two finished mixing the batter, taking a bit too long to get it inside the oven as you enjoyed pestering Harry in the process a bit too much. Every so often someone walked into the kitchen to pick up some drinks or leave dirty dishes by the sink, checking in on the both of you with that smile adults always give you when you’re with Harry (usually followed by some corny joke about young love that made you roll your eyes).
It was the day of one of the barbecue parties your parents always threw at the beginning of summer break. They would invite their closest circle of friends to spend the day in your back garden, usually followed by a ‘luau’ (as your dad called it, even though it was definitely not a luau) once your parents got tipsy enough to bring out the guitars and light up a fire. 
When everyone was a tad lethargic from lunch, relaxing back into their chairs as the sun felt hotter as it shone proudly on the cloudless sky, you had the idea of baking your nan’s recipe of blueberry muffins.
Usually, the tradition of baking a dessert to be freshly served in the afternoon was left to your mum and sister -- who was almost passing the age in which she wanted to have a hand in everything to call attention to herself. But you were faster this time, volunteering to do the task, and dragging Harry with you, as you were eager to have some time alone with him without having someone interrupting to ask him yet another football question that left you bored out of your mind.
So, you take advantage of having the kitchen to yourselves, bumping your hips against his as you two swept the counter quietly, cleaning the mess you’d made earlier. Your aunt had just left the kitchen after making one of those comments regarding marriage that are meant solely to embarrass both of you, and a faint blush was still visible on his cheeks. It made you want nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to them, only to feel the spot of his dimple deepening with a smile.
The air was smelling sweeter when you threw the dirty cloth inside the sink, leaning back into the island as you watched Harry crouch to peek inside the oven. You couldn’t help the grin as you noticed the muffins spilling out of their cases as expected. 
“Told you it would work out.”
“I don’t know how you do it.” He stood, resting a hand on the counter next to you, leaning into it. “Do absolutely everything wrong but still manage to make it work.”
“Hey!” You giggled, pushing him softly with your hand as you dragged out the word. “I did absolutely everything right just… In my own way.”
“Yeah?” His finger twirled on the hook of your jeans, pulling at it as he moved to stand in front of you, keeping a hand resting on the counter next to your waist. “The world bends its rules for you, it seems.” Pressing a peck at the corner of your mouth, he mumbled, lips close enough that you could feel every word caressing your skin, “Don’t blame it, though.”
You chuckled. “Oh? Do you bend your rules for me too?”
“Of course,” His nose tickled the apple of your cheek, causing you to shrug your shoulder slightly. You felt his warm breath as he exhaled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Would never let anyone else butcher a batch of muffins in my presence like you just did.”
“Harry!” You cried out, shoving him off playfully. “I’m never baking for you ever again, you can starve during lunch from now on, see if I care.”
He laughed again, leaning down to bite the tip of your nose before you quickly tried to push him away. “Stop, baby, you know I’m just joking.”
“Too late now, you already lost your dessert privilege.”
“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.
Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.
“What do you want, Ly?”
Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”
“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.
“I did promise that.”
“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.
“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,
“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.
“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.
You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds. 
It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one. 
This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.
Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings. 
On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.
That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.
It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it. 
“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.
Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”
“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”
“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”
“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”
You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.
Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”
Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.
“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”
“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.
“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house. 
Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand. 
This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.
Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”
“Hello.” You shoot her a look.
Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”
“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.
Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.
He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”
Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…” 
“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.
“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”
“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”
"That's okay.” You tell her.
“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”
With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”
“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”
“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”
He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”
You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”
“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.
You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.” 
Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”
“Gotcha.”
Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen. 
You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”
You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”
“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”
“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”
“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”
You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”
“That was a pause.”
“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”
“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”
Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”
“You’ve told me about him before.”
“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”
She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”
“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”
“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”
“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”
“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”
You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”
“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity. 
“Almost four years.”
“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”
“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”
“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”
You chuckle. “Same.” 
“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”
“Yup.” 
“Was it because of distance and stuff?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”
"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”
Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”
“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”
You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”
“Fate.”
“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.
“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”
“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”
“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.”
You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”
“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”
Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”
//
The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.
Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves). 
Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.
“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”
“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”
He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”
Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.
The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”
Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”
He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in. 
Because they were, after all, a bit tacky. 
Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.
That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them. 
But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.
“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”
“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”
“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”
Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.
Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.
"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.
Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.
“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”
“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”
“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.
Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach. 
For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house. 
It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion. 
Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.
The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”
He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”
“Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”
He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”
Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”
Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”
Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”
“So?”
“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground.  “There’s… Someone, and-”
A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”
“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.
“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”
“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”
Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”
“Jul-”
She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”
“Julia, please.”
“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”
“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”
Blake gasps. “Harry!”
“I can’t believe you!” 
He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.” 
“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”
“Please, don’t.”
“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”
Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”
“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.
Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”
Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”
He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead,  “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.
“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.
Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”
“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”
Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”
“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.
Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”
Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”
The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert. 
Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.
//
Harry loves Sundays.
This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.
He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.
So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.
Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to. 
The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.
Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one. 
And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it. 
But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.
Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.”  You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”
“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”
Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”
Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.
“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”
“They look lovely.” 
“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”
“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”
“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”
Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”
“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”
Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.
You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.
“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.
“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”
“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”
“Still embarrassing.”
“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”
He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.
There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You���re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.
Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him. 
So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.
The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.
Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.
It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”
Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”
“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”
“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”
“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”
“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”
“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.” 
Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.
“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.
“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”
“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”
“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”
“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”
The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.
“That was sweet.” 
You sigh, “That was unexpected.”
“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”
“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”
You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.
He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”
“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”
He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”
“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.
“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”
“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.” 
Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.” 
The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.
Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.
“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.” 
It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile.  “Stop it.”
“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”
Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”
“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”
“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”
“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”
Him? “Me?”
“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”
It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.
All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.
There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.
Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”
“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”
“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”
“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”
“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?” 
“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.
“Love-”
You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.
“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.
“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.
You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.” 
“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”
You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”
“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from. 
The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.
 “Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.
“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”
Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.” 
You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”
//
“You should probably get that.”
Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.
You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.
So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.
Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.
“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.
When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.
NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!
//
AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!! 
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