#girls who are realising maybe they’re not fantastic at letting go and letting other people do stuff

[linguenuvolose]

You don’t realise how good you are at your job before someone else tries to do it

[frozen-fountain]

Whenever you have time, I’d love some dvd style commentary on Spiced Black Tea.

What struck me about it when I read it way back, was the atmosphere. Having done a lot of hiking to small shelters and bothies myself, it was instantly familiar. Thought you captured the cosiness of such places really well, and how they invite confessions/intimacy. Maybe because they’re temporary, liminal spaces, with a certain kind of magic— the things that happen there have a different weight. (Or so I think anyway lol).

Maybe not a snippet exactly, but it was hard to choose a specific section!

Thank you for sending this, my dear! That is absolutely the atmosphere I was trying to go for, and since I don't actually have experience of a hike that takes more than one day yet, I'm really glad I was able to recreate that for Elena and Yuffie on vibe alone.

I ended up just sort of running with this where it took me, and I'm cutting it because it features discussion of attempted sexual assault, the sexualisation of underage girls, and the experience of being on the receiving end of a predatory gaze in general. Nothing graphic but be careful of your limits.

You've very much right that what transpired in that cabin was facilitated by the liminality of the space – temporary passing-through places, the small hours of the morning, the internet, all these ways you can end up feeling a little removed from reality and the allowance this grants for vulnerability that might never express itself in daylight. I think Yuffie and Elena would've gotten there eventually, but the snow definitely helped expedite the process a bit.

What I hadn't quite realised until I received this ask was that the fic was kind of a liminal space for me as well. Sexual violence isn't a topic I handle unless canon necessitates it, simply because I feel like I have very little of import or distinction to say on the matter. But if I was going to write these characters, I needed to address the whole of their stories, and I'm pretty proud of the fact that I managed to turn one of my least favourite scenes in the game into an opportunity to deepen both characters and talk about some real stuff.

Partway through the quest, the FFVII adventuring party is sidelined when Yuffie (who's sixteen) and Elena (who doesn't have a canon age but reads to me as around the same) are kidnapped and threatened with sexual slavery. It's played for laughs and never brought up again afterwards. On the one hand, it's clear in context that neither of them are at any point in any real danger, but on the other... there's more than could have been done here if it had to be included at all. The scene as a whole redeems itself somewhat and works as a fantastic “Hands across the aisle” moments for the protagonists and a squad of secondary antagonists, hinting at a lot of interesting characterisation for the latter – but almost none of that is extended to the girls who are suffering here, and I wasn't about to let that slide. They're both young people with a staunch, black and white view of the world and the conflict they find themselves on opposite sides of – I would've loved to see both of them reconsidering a few things in light of having a terrible experience in common with one of the enemy. In addition, they both hold themselves to very high standards, and very masculine standards at that; it's all about winning, dominating, besting, might making right. There's no way both of them aren't acutely aware that this never would've happened to them if they were boys, and no way it wouldn't haunt them in deep, self-image-shattering ways afterwards.

There's a lot of my experience in there, too, as a queer woman terrified of externalising and perpetuating a gaze that's predatory and invasive, no matter how unfounded that fear might be. I was twelve the first time I noticed an adult man taking notice of me; horrifying enough on its own, but as I grew older and heard more and more harrowing experiences from other women, I learned just how lucky I was to receive nothing more than a look, and to reach such a relatively high age when I did. The idea of having to consider myself fortunate for this is a black mark of shame across the whole world, and on a personal level, it made admitting and embracing my own attraction to women carry a lot of shame and guilt. Again, not as bad as many people from more actively homophobic backgrounds would have it, but enough to weigh on me. Of all the responses I've gotten to my writing over the years, I'm really proud of and touched by the comments from people with some similar personal histories to me and to the girls that said they felt comfortable reading, in the presence of and in a story concerning other women who understand. That's a badge of honour I'll take to the grave.

Somewhat relatedly, but another layer of the fic is its exploration of the hole Yuffie's barely remembered late mother left in her life, and the difficulty she has interfacing with other women because of it. If I recall correctly it's not something any comment I've received has really remarked on but I think I did a good job of weaving that aspect into the subtext, informing the main plot quietly. She's a character who isn't taken seriously or delved into by the fandom at large, at least in my experience, so I like to think I did my small part to contribute to that.

I'll take this opportunity to recommend the fic Scratching the Itch, which is the only one I've found to cover some similar territory. It's not romantic (though it is briefly gay) and it doesn't end with any sort of release or resolution, but it does a remarkable amount with a little.

[sunrisefairy]

Annoying

Paring: Remus Lupin x fem!reader Warning: NSFW! MDNI 18+ unprotected sex, swearing, mentions of oral sex. If I’ve forgotten anything let me know! Summary: Remus finds the reader so annoyingly distracting.  A/N: for the anon that wanted a mix of enemies to lovers and Remus losing control near the full moon. I hope I did it justice.  Requests are open!

tag list: if your name is crossed out i couldn’t tag you :( @theweasleyslut @anxiousblanketqueen @midnightgremlin @babyjordy @widowdays @inglourious-imagines @garbdump @star-sunshine-sage @weelittleweasley @starlightkell @omghufflepuff @weasleysprincess @harrysboo28 @j-amespotter @woodxweasley @gryffindorgirl @siriusbarnesslut @joytce397 @thegirllostinthelibrary @layaaaa @nuttytani @horrormoviebitch @j-weasley-lupin  @sunflowerdarlingx @touchdeprivedwh0re​ @melonoptimist @iamnibbsi  @thebiggestsimponearth​ @impulse-anchor​ @lilytheally​ @familydisappointed @alinor-padfoot

To be added to the tag list click here

Remus Lupin isn’t one to hate people, sure there is only a select few people that he actually likes spending time with and considers his good friends but that doesn’t mean that he dislikes everyone else, he just doesn’t have time for a lot of people, especially annoying people. And some people are just more annoying than others and most times those people don’t even realise they’re acting as such. Except for the girl who is basically in every one of his classes, you. Remus is certain you know how infuriating you are, especially when you shoot your hand up to beat Remus to answering a question or how a smile will stretch across your pretty lips when you finds out you scored higher than Remus on a test or how you always seems to giggle a little louder when you knows Remus is nearby. Remus finds it irritating how you seems to know exactly how to get on his nerves, you know precisely how to make his cheeks heat up in anger and make his blood boil and his cock hard, okay maybe you don’t realise you’re doing the last one but still. But the thing that annoys Remus the most is you don’t seem to care.

Being friends with James Potter and Sirius Black, Remus has learnt to obtain the patience of a saint. He finds no trouble in zoning out their constant chatter and ignoring their mindless bickering. However, as it gets closer to a full moon, Remus’ tolerance wears thin and the marauders quickly learnt to simmer down and be wary of Remus around a full moon, unless either one of them wanted a smack to the back of the head. As it gets closer to his transformations Remus’ senses are heightened tenfold, it’s as if he can hear every sound, smell every scent and everything he tastes is 10 times more intense.

His joints were aching more than usual last night so that combined with Peters constant snoring ensured minimal sleep which resulted in Remus being extra irritable today which would have been manageable if he didn’t have a class first thing with you. Beautiful, cute, annoying you.

Remus thought if he could just spend the lesson concentrating hard enough on the professors dull voice that you sitting in the same room as him wouldn’t be an issue, it wasn’t like he sat next to you anyway, James or Sirius always occupied the desk next to him eager to ‘share’ his notes. Expect this day was different, because Remus got little sleep last night he slept through his alarm and somehow even slept through the booming voices of the Marauders when they were getting ready this morning. Remus started off the day jumping out of bed and rushing to get ready, having no time for breakfast (which added to his already foul mood) and practically falling through the classroom door only to find his usual seat was pre-occupied by some girl Sirius was trying to woo and James was sitting next to Pete.

“Ah, Mr. Lupin. How fantastic to see you have finally decided to join us. Please find a seat so I can continue on with my lesson,” the Professor states before continuing his lifeless lesson.

Remus quickly scans the room for a free chair to rush to, he spots one in the far corner of the room but falters in his step when he notices who is seated next to the free space, you. Remus groans when he realises this was the only free chair and very obviously drags his feet before plopping down beside you, he can only hope you decided to not be annoyingly distracting today.

“How scandalous that Mr. prefect is late to class,” you whisper, chuckling when you see Remus roll his eyes, a usual reaction of his.

Remus comes to the conclusion that the best point of action is to just pretend you don’t exist, which goes according to plan until 3 quarters of the way through the lesson. The thing is, Remus hasn’t sat in such close proximity to you this close to a full moon before and he’s struggling to keep his focus on the jumble of words in front of him and not on the way you’re obnoxiously twirling your hair between your fingers. Whatever perfume you sprayed on yourself is suffocating Remus’ nostrils and he can’t get enough. Within no time Remus thoughts are straying away from his textbook to more filthy thoughts surrounding you. The main image that is burning a hole in his brain is the thought of burying his face in your neck and inhaling your scent and sinking his teeth into your perfect skin, he has to bite his lip to stop himself from groaning.

Remus manages to write 2 more messy sentences down before glancing in your direction and noticing the way your lip is pulled between your teeth and he can’t help but fantasise about biting your annoyingly pretty lips himself.

“Stop doing that,” Remus grits through his teeth as he speaks.

You meet his gaze confused, “stop doing what?”

“That!” Remus whisper yells, pointing at your lips as you once again pull your bottom lip in between your lip. “It’s distracting.”

You mumble an apology and go back to writing your notes. You’re so engrossed in reading the selected chapter you don’t even notice you’re bouncing your leg up and down rapidly until a rough hand stills your movements. You’re expecting Remus to remove his large hand once your movements stop, however to your surprise he keeps his hand resting firmly against your bare knee. Mouth agape and staring down at where Remus is touching you, the way his thumb is stroking at your skin seems innocent enough, so why is your stomach in knots?

Remus leans dangerously close to your ear, which thankfully goes unnoticed by the rest of the class given the fact the two of you are seated at the back of the room. “You are being very distracting right now bunny, it’s making me angry.”

A visible shudder runs through your body, feeling Remus’ hot breath fanning the side of your face makes your mouth dry. Remus’ low teasing voice makes you whimper immediately a heat rushes up your cheeks because even though your whimper was quiet Remus is so very close to you right now, you know he heard.

“Come with me,” Remus squeezes your knee and moves to rise from his seat.

You halt his movements by grabbing onto his bicep, “we can’t just leave, we’re in the middle of class.” Your eyes dart to the front of the room to see if your professor has witnessed Remus’ half standing and planning his escape.

“What’s life without a bit of risk bunny, now c’mon.” his tone demanding and firm. Without even a second glance Remus walks out of class, making you wonder if he’s done this before. The odds are high, given that he’s one fourth of the infamous marauders clan.

You look away from the door Remus just so carelessly walked out of and to the front of the class at your professor, he’s sitting at his desk reading over papers and very obviously trying to stay awake. The chances of him catching you are slim but that isn’t what you’re nervous about. You’re nervous about what will happen if you do make it out of the classroom unnoticed, you’re nervous about what Remus will do to you. The endless possibilities are both thrilling and exciting. There’s no way you could stay seated not when there’s a wetness pooling in your panties just from Remus’ hand on your knee.

Carefully you slip out from your seat and rush to the door, breathing a sigh of relief when you successfully make it out into the corridor. Looking around you notice the corridor is empty and there’s no sign of Remus, you begin walking down the hallway in search of the boy.

“Remus?” you’re met with nothing but silence. Just as you’re about to turn and head back to class you feel a strong arm grip yours and tug your harshly into a tiny room.

“Ooft,” your body slamming into someone’s hard chest; if only there was a light source in this closet? yes it’s definitely a closet, if only it wasn’t so dark in here you would be able to figure out who decided it a good idea to scare the shit out of you by pulling you in here with them.

“Took your fucking time,” the other person grunts, Remus you thought, you knew that voice.

“Remus, what the hell? Care to explain why your dragged me out of class and into this dark broom closet?” Although there is no light in the tiny closet you can vaguely see Remus’ outline towering over you, you gulp realising how close the both of you are standing to each other. Remus’ hot breath fans your face and you’re very aware that if you were to angle your head further upwards and stand on your tiptoes you could connects your lips. The thought itself has you shuddering.

“Couldn’t wait.” Remus replies, stepping closer, invading your personal space even more, not that you minded.

“Couldn’t wait for what?”

“Merlin you’re dumber than I thought if you don’t know.”

You scoff defensively, “I am not dumb, do I have to remind you I bet you on the last Charms essay? and on the transfigurations one so-”

The words die in your throat, Remus cutting you off by connecting your lips in a needy and desperate kiss. Immediately you wrap your arms around his neck and tug him closer by the hair. Remus rests his hands on your waist pulling your hips flush against his, you whimper feeling his hard cock pressing against your stomach.

Remus breaks away from your mouth and starts sucking and licking down your jaw and neck while his hands move to grope at your breasts over the top of your school shirt. “We don’t have much time before class ends.” Remus mumbles into your skin, his mouth is salivating when he breathes in deep, his nostrils filling with the sweet scent of you, it’s so intoxicating and immediately images of you are accompanying his mind, some more sinful than others. Remus wastes no time in sinking his teeth into the fleshy part of your shoulder, his cock twitching at the sound you make.

“Then you better hurry up and fuck me Remus,” you smirk, loving the way Remus groans and narrows his eyes at you. His pupils have seemingly expanded and darkened, his eyes are scanning over every inch of your face leaving you feeling vulnerable.

Your pussy has been throbbing since Remus firmly rested his hand on your leg back in the classroom and you know your panties are soaked by now with the way Remus is rutting his hips against yours but it’s not enough. It won’t be enough, not until you know what it’s like to have Remus’ skin against yours and his cock inside you but even then, you think you will always be wanting more of him.

Your hands are fumbling at Remus’ pants trying to get them unbuckled as quickly as possible, Remus understands the rush and helps you, skilfully undoing his pants and pushing them along with his boxers down his legs with only one hand, the other creeps under your shirt and rests delicately on the small of your back. Just the feeling of Remus’ skin on your back makes you melt further into him, your desire to have him fuck you hard and fast is becoming unbearable. Remus’ cock is sitting hard and angrily between your bodies, desperate for any sort of attention and Remus wishes you had more time because he would love to push you down to your knees and finally force you to shut up by pushing his cock into your sweet mouth and make you gag and choke around his length until you’re crying. But time isn’t on his side right now so instead Remus wraps his strong arms around your arse, silently signally you to jump which you do with no hesitation and lock your legs around his waist.

Remus reaches his hand down to flip your skirt up, he be damned if he couldn’t see the cunt he’s spent way to much time thinking about. Remus pull your panties to the side groaning when his fingers graze your wet dripping core, another thing he wishes he could do is to taste you. He just knows you taste sugary and sweet just like the sounds you’re making as he teases your entrance. He wants to bury his face deep in your cunt inhaling your scent while he licks and sucks until you’re screaming his name, maybe another time.

“You gotta be quiet for me kay bunny? Think you can do that?” Remus’ voice is thick with lust and a condescending tone is laced throughout it.

“You think that highly of yourself?” you retort trying to rile Remus up like you normally do, it seems to be working judging by the way Remus pinches the flesh of your arse.

Without breaking eye contact Remus lines up his cock and drags your hips down until he’s deep inside you, his balls pressed flush against your skin.

Remus isn’t sure if it’s because it’s close to the full moon but he hasn’t even started moving yet and the way the soft velvet walls of your cunt is gripping and hugging at his cock feels so intense and heavenly, he thinks he might cum right there.

Along with a lack of patience around this time of the month Remus also struggles to control himself and his urges. It takes every ounce of self-discipline in him to hold you against the rough wall of the broom closet and slowly rock his hips into yours, feeling the need to control the situation. Remus is very conscious of not gripping your hips too hard and not slamming his hips up into yours too roughly, he doesn’t want to let go mentally and hurt you.

You can tell Remus is holding back, the authoritative tone used in the classroom is vastly different to his actions right now. He’s supposed to be fucking you hard and fast and making you scream, not this.

Although the pleasure from Remus’ rocking into your cunt is great you know he can do better, can fuck you better. “Remus,” you whine, pulling his face away from your neck, forcing him to look you in the eyes. There’s clearly an internal struggle behind his eyes. “Remus, I need you to fuck me properly. I can take it, you won’t break me, promise.”

Remus does pick up the speed slightly, but you can clearly tell there’s still some hesitance on his behalf and you asking nicely didn’t seem break that. You’re desperate for Remus to let go. A smirk breaks out onto your face, an idea forming. Based on your previous interactions you know exactly how to get under Remus’ skin, what to say and do that would have him clenching his jaw in annoyance, after all it was a hobby of yours, annoying Remus Lupin. “Guess we don’t have to worry about me being quiet if you fuck like this. Pity, was kinda hoping you’d have me screaming.”

Something deep and primal in him snaps, blame it on the full moon or how you’re silently challenging him, he doesn’t care, all he cares about right now is proving you wrong, and he wasn’t going to stop until he had you trembling and shaking.

His grip on your hips tighten, nails threatening to break skin as Remus pushes your further into the wall behind you so hard for a second you think you might go tumbling right through it. You’re grateful for the material of your school top slightly soften the rough texture of the wall behind you. With no warning Remus starts slamming his hips harder and faster into yours, clearly set on making you squirm against him. Each thrust is harder than the last and his cock is poking your g-spot repeatedly. The sounds you were making were positively indecent and only fuelled Remus on. Neither of you cared that anyone walking by the broom closet could possibly hear the sound of skin slapping together or yours and Remus’ moans. None of that mattered, not when the two of you felt this good.

The vigour of Remus’ pace was unmatched and all you could do was hold on tight to Remus’ shoulders and take every powerful thrust. You were hypnotised with the feeling of Remus’ cock inside of you, you couldn’t help but wonder what other parts of his body like his fingers or tongue, would feel like when fucking you.

“Fuck Remus, so good. I-I” you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say, all your thoughts were jumbled and bouncing around in your brain, all you knew is you never wanted Remus to stop.

“You feel amazing,” Remus’ body was on fire, every inch of him alight and burning, his annoyance of how his day started was far from his mind. All he could think of was you and how you were clenching around him. He chokes out a strained sob when he hears you chanting his name in time with each rough snap of his hips, you sound both angelic and sinful at the same time, Remus’ wishes he had one of those muggle voice recording devices so he could record your whines and listen to them when he’s alone in his dorm room.

Using his free hand Remus reaches down to rub tight circles on your clit edging you closer and closer to your release. Your orgasm is fast approaching much like a freight train heading straight for you, sirens blaring but you can’t move, the pleasure is too intense and too powerful to do anything except take it.

Remus’ face is pressed back against your neck and he quickly decides it’s his favourite place to be, if someone offered him 1,000 Galleons to never bury his face in your neck, he wouldn’t take it. Remus can hear the squelching sounds of your soppy cunt as it helplessly takes his fat cock. He’s leaving sloppy kisses and hickeys wherever he can get his mouth. It’s right when Remus’ digs his teeth into your neck and bites down hard do you fall apart, your pussy clenching and spasming around him, right in this moment you’re thankful for Remus holding you up against the wall, your legs are shaking and tensing and you know if you were standing the intensity of the orgasm would have brought you to your knees. Remus’ name is the only word you seem capable of saying as the coil inside your stomach snaps and rapidly unravels as you come undone.

“Remus, Remus, Remus!”

You connect your lips with Remus’ in a lame attempt to shut yourself up, the kiss is rushed and your teeth clash together but you don’t give a fuck. Remus’ name is still spilling from your lips and into Remus’ mouth as your body begins to come down from the high.

The boy holding you up hasn’t faltered in his movements at all, determined to fuck you through your orgasm. There’s beads of sweat dripping from Remus’ forehead, his mind is whirling and thoughts of you are spiralling around his brain, he thinks he might pass out and he’s certain he does for a second when you whisper and bite his earlobe.

“Want you to cum inside me Remus, fill me up,” half a thrust later and Remus’ hips stutter and he’s spilling into your cunt groaning your name as he does so. His vision blurs around the edges before he closes his eyes and he lets out a moan so deep, primal and loud. Remus continues to rock his hips milking his own orgasm until the last drop is squeezed from his soften cock. He stills his movements but doesn’t dare pull out just yet, relishing in the warmth of your pussy and the way your hand is brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead. You rest your forehead against Remus’ sweaty one, pecking his lips, once, twice then three times.

“That was…” you drift off unable to find the right words to describe what just happened.

“Intense?” Remus offers breathlessly.

You nod, “in the best way.”

It wasn’t until you hear the sounds of students outside signalling the end of class do either of you move, Remus helping you clean yourself up. And it wasn’t until the two of you were certain the coast was clear did you exit the closet with the promise of doing that again very soon.

[sunsetcurvecuddles]

Alex + Julie "You didn't deserve that... You deserve so much better."

you sent me this prompt a million years ago i'm sorry it took me so long to answer it. warning for friendship breakup angst. there's no carrie redemption arc in this fic but there IS alexjulie friendship.

with love on their throats | g | 1.7k | alex&julie, past julie&carrie

ao3 link in reblogs!

--

Julie doesn’t mean to ignore the boys all afternoon, but Carrie’s birthday was hard last year and so far, this year doesn’t seem to be getting any easier.

She has the foresight to turn her phone off, at least, this year. She can’t handle the social media posts from everyone else at their school. They’re probably in Carrie’s pool, in her kitchen, in her living room. Probably throwing around the throw cushions that Julie’s mom taught her and Carrie to sew covers for when they were ten. Maybe even smashing the glasses Julie used to drink Trevor’s homemade iced tea out of when she would come to visit before Carrie got home from sport in the evenings. The idea of seeing these familiar spaces still just… out there, existing, rather than stuck in the past along with her and Carrie’s friendship, makes Julie nauseous.

Plus, there’s the added bonus of not being able to text Carrie something reckless she might regret.

So her phone’s switched off. Her dad knows not to bother her today anyway, since he had a front-row seat to whole Carrie mess when it happened. He just shot her a sympathetic glance over breakfast and hasn’t spoken to her at all. Carlos is at a friend’s house, and wouldn’t bother her even if he were home.

It’s just the ghosts Julie is avoiding, locked her bedroom door, perched on her window seat with her headphones on, watching YouTube on her laptop.

Which means it scares her half to death when Alex waves a hand in front of her face.

She yanks her headphones off and curses, sharp and a little louder than she means to, and Alex jumps back like he’s been burned. “Julie! Uh, hi, hey. Sorry to scare you.”

“Why didn’t you knock?!” she demands, still breathless. “It’s you, you know better! Boundaries!”

At least Alex has the decency to look shamefaced. “I know, listen, it’s just -- we were worried about you! And we did knock, a lot, actually, but I don’t think you could hear us? So I said we should give you space but Luke and Reg started psyching each other out, and Luke’s never been able to handle space the same way since the Caleb Covington Kidnapping Incident--”

Which, okay, yeah, that’s fair enough. Julie still shudders at the memory of the Caleb Covington Kidnapping Incident.

“-- so then I got nominated because, well, Reg worried you might be getting changed or something, and that makes me the obvious choice, not that I wanted to be the obvious choice, just that -- okay, I’m doing a bad job, what I mean is --”

Finally, she decides to put him out of his misery. “Alex, stop. It’s fine.”

Relieved, he lets out a breath and leans on his knees, looking up at her with pretty, apologetic eyes. “Still. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to frighten you, we just… got worried. And wanted to see if you were okay. You’ve been in here all day.”

Julie nods and looks back at her laptop, where the YouTube video is still playing, and pauses it.

She hasn't looked back over at Alex when he says, cautious, "Are you okay?"

When she replies, “Yeah,” it isn’t because she wants to lie to him, necessarily. It’s more because she doesn’t know how to untangle her feelings enough to lay them out in front of him. More because it’s hard to explain why she still misses someone who she knows hurt her, who she knows should have known better.

It’s hard to explain why she feels guilt, and grief, over something she chose to let go.

The window seat dips when he sits down next to her, fingers twisted together in his lap, shoulders rolled forward. He’s offering her the tiniest, encouraging smile in the form of a little quirk at the corner of his mouth. Julie loves him so much that it softens the heartache, just for a moment.

But then it returns. Just as strong. Just as unreasonable. Just as painful.

“It’s Carrie’s birthday,” she tells him, without even knowing why she says it.

“Oh,” he replies, which seems fair. She doesn’t know what she’d say in his position. He chews his lip, a crease forming in his brow. “You guys used to be friends, right?”

God, can she talk about this out loud? It’s easier to joke with Flynn, to make fun of the situation, because Flynn saw it all play out, held Julie when she cried, stopped being friends with Carrie in solidarity. Explaining the situation from start to finish, to someone new, just feels impossible.

So instead she says, “Do you ever miss someone you know you can’t have back? Or not that you can’t. But you know you shouldn’t. You know that you can’t get them back, or you’d have to give up too much for it and it wouldn’t be worth it.”

Because sure, if Julie was really committed, she’s sure she could grovel her way back into Carrie’s inner circle. But as much as she misses her, she’s not prepared to do it.

Alex nods, understanding. “Yeah,” he says plainly. “Yeah, I do. Tons of people.”

Julie’s surprised, but she supposes she shouldn’t be. The boys talk about Alex’s family the way Julie’s mom used to talk about ghosts -- never directly, otherwise they’d hear her and be summoned -- and after the whole thing with Trevor, well. It makes sense.

“Can I get it to stop?” Julie asks. “I had to turn off my phone before I did something stupid like text her. What would I even say? Why would I want to say anything?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. He leans over so their shoulders bump together, and she leans her head on him. “It’s okay to miss her, you know. You guys had good things in your friendship -- I mean, I guess, right? That’s why you miss it?”

Julie nods, closing her eyes. There are so many good memories she doesn’t even know where to start. Running in the park. Sitting at the piano together. Fashion shows for their dads and Julie’s mom in the living room of the Wilsons’ huge house. Sleepovers with Flynn full of bickering and giggling and pillow fights. Birthday parties, their whole lives.

“But that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a good reason for stepping away,” Alex says.

That’s true, too. Julie’s pretty sure they didn’t have that good stuff for a while before their friendship ended, in reality. Carrie was becoming… snappish. Self-absorbed. All she wanted to do was boss the other girls in dance class around, and she didn’t ask to hear Julie’s songs anymore. Julie knew that being a good friend meant weathering the good with the bad, but she gave Carrie what felt like a million chances, and she wasn’t getting anything back. When she’d tried to bring it up to Carrie, things had… exploded.

She explains as much to Alex, in fits and spurts, and finishes with, “She just… blew up at me, she told me she’d been sick of me for ages and asked why I hadn’t noticed. Like I was just supposed to realise that we weren’t friends anymore without her telling me.” Sucking in a shaky breath, she manages, “And then my mom…”

“Oh, Julie,” Alex murmurs softly into her hair. She’s trying not to cry, she really is, but it feels all bubbly at the surface of her chest, and the way he puts an arm around her and squeezes tight shows that he can tell.

“I know it’s silly,” she chokes, “but it feels like we broke up, or something, even though we were just friends. It hurts so much just thinking about her.”

“It’s not silly,” he assures her, and wraps his other arm around her, too, so he’s hugging her close to him with her head against his chest. “There’s nothing less important about friends, and a friendship ending can really suck. Especially how she did it.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, and doesn’t draw attention to the few tears making their way down her cheeks. They sit like that for a moment, then Alex says quietly, “You’re a wonderful friend. You didn’t deserve that. You deserve so much better.”

Sniffling, Julie rubs her sleeve across her eyes, wiping away the tears. The thought dawns on her like the sunrise after a long, sleepless night. “I have so much better,” she realises out loud. “I have Flynn. And Dad and Carlos. And you and Luke and Reggie.”

“We are pretty fantastic,” Alex agrees, faux-smug, but his eyes are still cautious, and affectionate. “But it’s okay to be upset anyway.”

“I know,” she says. And she does. “But I think I’m almost done being upset. For now, at least. Maybe we could run through a few songs?”

“I’m sure the boys would love that,” Alex tells her, smiling, and he goes to stand up but she holds on tighter, so he won’t leave the hug.

He just feels so steady, and comforting, and she’ll never really get over being able to actually hold them. “Can we just. Stay here for a moment, first?”

Easing himself back down, Alex grins and pulls her closer, tucking her head under his chin. “Of course,” Alex says. “We can take as long as you need. Just us, or the others, too?”

She pauses. “The others, too.”

Alex closes his eyes, and Julie knows he’s reaching out to the others, through their one leftover remnant of their time in the afterlife, tugging at their leads until they come to find him. A moment later, Reggie and Luke both pop into presence in the middle of her room, puppy-eyed with worry and hope.

“Julie?” asks Reggie quietly, fiddling with his fingers.

“You good?” Luke asks, on the balls of his feet.

“Yeah,” she tells them. “Just needed a hug.”

Within moments, they’re all around her and Alex, Reggie’s arm around her waist, Luke’s leg somehow, inexplicably, over her lap. Alex makes an insulted noise, but he’s so relaxed, Julie knows he must not mean it. When she presses her ear to his collarbone, Julie can hear his heartbeat, solid and alive, miraculous. Her friend’s heartbeat. Her friends, all around her.

Things are still bittersweet, and it’s still Carrie’s birthday, but Julie is still surrounded by love, enveloped in it, living in it. She can be sad for what’s gone, and be grateful for what she has, at the same time.

[gayfrenchtoast]

Okay fine we're doing this. I havent read the books and I'm probably not going to I've only seen the movies so I'm sorry if anything I say is contradictory or has already been stated.

So! Descendants 3 was kinda shit and I dont like it but especially because of the ending because everybody was like "oh yeah island is open and we're all happy with no worries or implications about free villains or people being spiteful about being imprisoned for years!" In fact if anything they joked about those things.

The island is basically its own culture, I can't say how long it's been around, long enough for some almost adult kids to be about and to develop a kind of community.

The Isle is a place of poverty, people are dirty and on the street, eveyone steals from each other and most people don't put much effort into appearance upkeep (personal or of the sourounding area) not because of laziness or being "evil" but because they clearly don't have time or luxury to do such things or possibly even the clean water. Does the Isle have clean water?? How to they get electricity??? Someone tell me!

Another thing that I've noticed is easy to see but is not much explicitly said is the unique style of those on the Isle. As previously stated they don't have much but those who have the most "power" and such on the Isle are the best example of this As they have the most colourful outfits. However these outfits are often made out of patches and ripped things put together, even salvaged things like nets and chains as we can see on thing like Uma and Harry's outfits in D3 they make the best of what they've got and they do fantastic because their outfits are intricate and detailed and just tell you everything you need to know about them. Which is why it's a damn s h a m e when the original VK's ajust their style to be more like Auradon's. That's not an improvement! Be proud of where you came from!! It's like they forgot what it was like being on the Isle in D3!

Moving on, here's something that was touched on in D2 but not enough. Equality. On the Isle there is basically equal opportunity as in saying everything is shit and nome cares what gender and presumably what sexuality you are as long as you can work. Sexism is shown to be almost casual in aurodon from the looks of it, Chad makes sexist comments and litterally none else says anything or seems to see anything wrong with it except Jay who caves to pressure from peers and expectations. He does redeem himself because he's from the isle and he knows you shouldn't give a shit about anyone's gender or anything. If they can do something and ask to be included you give them that opportunity. The sexism is also implied in the way that the rule book has men written specifically in the first place and that it has taken until then for anyone but boys to be allowed on any kind of sports team. We never see it! It seems to be the hetronormative veiw where the boys do sport and girls do cheerleeding and other genders? What other genders? Never heard of that? BAD AURADON!! I bet there's so many trans folk on the island just living their lives, thinking Aurodon is the better place and not knowing that it's a cis het filled nightmare.

Okay no I'm headcannoning now, if their are now a bunch of Isle kids at auradon prep they find it fucking aweful the way all these preppy royals are treating them and make the first LGBT club in Auradon. There is lots of pushback and they get bullied a fuck ton for making themselves the most prominent queer folk in the school until a fight breaks out and the club demand that they should be treated better, taking all the evidence to fairy godmother who is very hesitant because COME ON she's never been that great she is biased to Auradon kids and if putting away those in the Isle is brought up she is all on it, she is jelly spined about doing anything against the royal kids. So the kids are like "Fine, if you won't help us we'll take this to the King himself!" Well mainly the queer mom's of the group (you know the ones I'm talking about) who lead the others and protect the anxious queers as they storm to Ben at his fucking locker and demand an audience because they are being harassed and bullied and none is doing anything. Ben had no idea there was even a LGBT club (too busy ig) and is gassed there is one for a moment before he's like "wait people are harassing you?" So Bisexual King Ben gets his lovely Bi wife and they start coming to club meetings and investing in the pins and stuff the club makes. Most club members are pleased but the queer mom's are apprehensive that this will help until some assholes come to the club to do their usual bullying only to find King and Queen Beast themselves siting there with rainbow bracelets and bi pins and all trying to have a nice old time eating their fucking cupcakes what the fuck are yall doing? The bullying dies down quick once they realise it ain't gonna fly, the other OG VK's that hear about this become members and very protective over their queer children. Did I mention Dizzy and Ceila are a part of the club? They're girlfriend's. Celia is one of the queer moms. Harry becomes one of the biggest protectors over the group as the pan dad. He's been going around snogging everyone and anyone wholl snog him everyone already knew he was queer they just didn't have the balls to try and bully him over it as much as they bullied the lil club members. But now Harry can often be seen in jackets and shit with pan and general queer patches and pins and running around with his gay children yelling "MOVE WE'RE GAY!!" He totally calls them his queer crew. Anyway as a result lots of queer royals start coming out of the woodwork, obvs Lonnie is one of them, and the club eventually serves to bring members of Auradon and the Isle close together.

Where was I? Yada yada auradon expects girls to be pretty princesses and boys to be brave knights or dashing princes. It's shit and should stop being portrayed as good. Moving on!

Food! One of the things we'll established in all movies is that the food of the Isle is shit compared to food of Auradon. The Isle has no fresh fruit which likely means its almost impossible for things to grow there which is fair because again there doesn't seem to be much fresh water and there are always clouds overhead so no sun. Maybe there is some people trying really hard to grow stuff but the general attitude of the Isle seems to be "there is no time for that" and fruits are forgotten so much that the VK's litterally don't knownwhat they are when they come across them. That and anything containing sugar. Actually it's mention by Dizzy and Celia that they enjoy the fact that the cake dosent have dirt or flies so basically food there is terrible. We don't see much food on the Isle but what we do see seems to be beans, eggs, chips and shellfish. Basically protine and carbs that can be easily stored and produced. To be fair beans are kidna good for you but they're likely a sign that if they get any imports from the mainland it is canned stuff. Prison food. There's probably some chef villain that is trying their best to make good food out of the shit but honestly the Isle dwellers should be angry that they've been deprived of good food for so long not happy they're finally been given decency.

Moving on, music! Auradon dosent have nearly as many musical numbers it seems, the Isle songs have a distinct style, to them, the villains that basically "founded" the place were masters of the dramatic songs (with backup or solo) so banging music is basically ingrained in the music's culture, even for battle as we see with the fight between Mal and Uma in D3. Meanwhile Auradon seems to have mainly romance and "I want" songs. Even Audrey's villain song is basically an I want song.

Okay let's talk about the Villains. We've established that the VK's are not inherently bad. However not all of them can be totally good and there are legit OG Villains just kinda chillin on the Isle. They've obviously lost quite a bit of their power, motivation and sanity (isolation will do that to ya as they lost everything and the VKs know no different) but deadass? They were bad guys. You can try to rehabilitate them sure but you've basically just let them free roam, they could make a runner and you wouldn't get the chance. They were also shitty patents which is brushed over/joked about in the interaction between Carlos and...man I feel bad I forgot her name deadass their relationship seemed to come out of nowhere in the second film she didn't seem interested in them at all and friendzoned them multiple times I'm pretty sure Disney did that becaue queer kids were relating to Carlos and headcanoning them as queer (which they deffinatly are) but deadass their mom is an attempted animal murderer and has hurt her child as we can see from how they're afraid of her and her rhetoric and yet it's "haha I'm afraid to meet your ma!" "Me too cus im a dog! Lol!" Fuuuuck offfffff

I think I'm running out of thoughts so here's a last one for now; with the magical barrier down a bunch of magical Villains kids should be coming out for the woodwork. We know Mal has magic basically stored in her so it's is possible, she technically doesn't need the spellbook to do magic it is just inherent to her. So with the diverse range of people from the isle there are deffinatly magic folk in there. Actually if we're following Disney movie law I saw something mentioning Jay being half Genie and yeah! He should be half Genie! Jafar got turned into a Genie he's probably only human because of the barrier! Oh also Ben should be able to go beast on command as long as he had a better beast form than he did in the movies. And give him back the beard and fangs like fuck you he looked so much better

Okay I'm done for now

[beautifulletdownfics]

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles​ for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

++

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

++

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

++

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

++

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

++

Chat to me here

[meichenxi]

*rant commencing*

ok guys let’s sit down and have a think about the way we talk to kids, particularly neurodivergent ones, and the weight it carries

the other day, I opened up to a friend about something really hurtful my best (and only) friend said to me when I was fifteen. It was a moment of emotional intimacy and the first time I had brought it up seven years later and, once again, I got laughed at and told I was too fucking sensitive

and ok maybe yeah I was a ridiculous child. I’m a ridiculous adult, that shouldn’t be surprising. But this hurt and hurt and hurt and I was trying to think about why this in particular and not anything else was so painful

so here’s the situation. at fifteen, like many smart kids, everyone thought the world was open to me. Ok I had no social skills to speak of and was ostracised by teachers and students and family, but I was an optimistic kid, and in a disaster of a home situation (involving kidnappings and court cases and running away and being out of school for a year and a brother starting drugs at 12 and living in a shelter and basically just a LOT) I was always the smiley helpful one. and apart from being defeated by very simple mechanisms like idk drawers or biscuit packets, I picked things up quickly. I took GCSEs early and extra and tutored others; I was a regional competitive swimmer in breaststroke and open water; I taught myself the flute and got into an international touring youth orchestra without lessons; I won a poetry competition for adults in primary school; I played competitive netball and was a long distance runner; I drew and sold my art; I wrote shitty novels and started making conlangs and was interviewed on bbc world about it; I loved performing and was invited to join a theatre company when I left school; and my biggest passion in the entire world apart from Tolkien was martial arts. And the best thing was for my parents - one of whom was disabled and didn’t work and the other who was a cleaner - is that I worked two paper rounds and tutored younger children and earned all of the money for it myself. blah blah blah. I was your mum’s friend’s kid. 

well, I’m a disaster adult, so you can probably guess that none of that lasted for very long. and there are gazillions of people here with exactly the same story. 

the point in question, though, was when I was fifteen and thinking about sixth form (the last two years of school in the UK) it was becoming clear alarmingly fast that you weren’t allowed to just keep doing everything you loved. at some point you had to make a choice. 

but how could I give up swimming for music? Or music for languages? Or languages for athletics? Or athletics for theatre? or, actually, all of them but one???? how did people just know what they had to do with their lives? how did they choose? 

the problem was, I said to my friend, I know I could do well at any of them, so how was I supposed to choose? (tactless and a stupid thing to say and also just not true but I was fifteen and simultaneously disgustingly cocky and cripplingly insecure) And he laughed and said, well, fuck you then. 

oh noooo. poor meeeeeee. I’m so fucking good at things what do I dooooo

I haven’t stopped thinking about that comment for seven years. Every single time I think about wasting my potential, every time I can’t sleep because I’m terrified that I’m not being productive or useful and hating myself because I’m upset that I can’t do something right away and I know it’s a stupid thing to be upset about - I think about that comment. I’m lucky. It’s alright for some. 

because, actually, being expected to know what to do with your life aged 15 is a fucking terrifying thing. we were kids at fifteen being told to make decisions as if we had all the facts, as if we weren’t also being blindfolded and spun around in circles until we couldn’t stand. Do you do what your parents say? what you think you want to do? what your teachers say? do you just stay in education even though it’s not for you because your dream is stupid, or because you don’t have a dream like everyone else seems to? are you supposed to have a dream?

*it’s NOT a stupid thing to worry about*

particularly when? well, when your entire self worth equates to the things that you output, the things that you do. so just for a moment, put yourself in the shoes of all of these wonderful, dazzling, damaged, crazy kids with big dreams and big hearts, kids that are struggling right now and kids that are our future, and imagine that you’ve been told since you were old enough to read or speak or walk that you’re just so very clever

isn’t it just wonderful how clever you are? isn’t it just great how we never need to worry about you? you’re such an easy child, it’s a blessing. always so considerate, so thoughtful, never making a fuss! isn’t it just fantastic how well you do in school? I can’t imagine what it must be like to have a child who went to all of those nasty parties. you’re so dedicated

raise your hand if you were only ever told you were good. raise your hand if you were never told you were kind. 

so, what happens? you take a child, and you tell them for its entire childhood that they’re clever. You don’t tell them that they’re creative, or hard-working, or dedicated, or driven, or helpful. You let them know that it’s ok that they’re weird, because they’re going to be successful. what do you think parents say to their kid who’s crying because she has no friends and she doesn’t understand what the other children are thinking and why they would hurt each other like that? even good parents, the very best of them, say things like: you’re just more mature than they are. it doesn’t matter. keep your head down - you’ll show them. 

your child, in the best case scenario, has access to her hyperfixation that makes the world big and bright and beautiful. she’s a bit weird, but it’s kind of cute. anyway, she’s good at it. and as long as she succeeds, conventionally, and you get to brag, then it’s ok that she’s a little bit unconventional.

and then things to break, just a little. and then, aged eleven, your child is having an asthma attack in the classroom because she got so anxious she couldn’t answer a maths question she couldn’t breathe. it’s ok, her parents tell her the next day. you’re just not good at maths - that’s alright. you don’t have to be good at everything

your child, because she’s perceptive, begins to realise that things don’t get better as you get older. people are just as cruel at 12 as they are at 7, and they’ll be just as cruel at 15. and then one day, as a bad joke because she doesn’t really understand humour, she writes a fake text to her dad from someone’s phone in legalese that actually has a secret code hidden it in that she knows her dad will crack right away because he’s brilliant. she thinks it’s hilarious. her father thinks he is being threatened, and spends the next week in meltdown, bedridden and burnt-out. and when she owns up, he turns and snaps at her, and says as if you could write something like that. an ADULT wrote this, not a fucking child

and suddenly, that cleverness they kept talking about? they don’t even understand that. 

suddenly, no one sees her at all. 

she needs to learn to be like the other kids. to be like a fucking child. and while she’s learning, she doesn’t speak for a year

that happened to me, but take your pick - I’m sure you don’t have to look far to find examples of your own. 

My point is this: if you tell a child for their entire life that the only thing that is worthy of being loved is what they achieve, if every time they do something they love you tell them oh, you could be a famous writer! you’re so talented! rather than saying that you loved listening to their story, if you only praise them when they’re good and quiet and convenient and tell them that as long as they succeed, it doesn’t matter if they don’t have friends or if they’re miserable, and THEN you tell them to choose ONE THING and drop 90% of everything that makes them who they are - 

what the hell did you THINK was going to happen??

because here’s the first thing. for many kids, whether that’s because of neurodivergence or age maturity or whatever, hyper fixations and hobbies aren’t just things they like to do. THEY ARE LIFELINES. they’re the things these kids go to when they’re hurt, angry, upset, because they make sense. for many kids, especially but not always girls, they are able to camouflage themselves and mask tendencies of neurodivergence because they’re ‘good students’. at a family gathering once, my mum, so frustrated at my inability and lack of desire to talk to any members of my extended family, snatched my German grammar book and locked it in the boot of the car. knowing that I escape and read it in the toilet was the only thing keeping me going, exhausted and stressed and overwhelmed. I vomited on the grass.

and here’s the second thing. you tell us from an early age that they only way we’ll ever be acceptable to the rest of society is if we succeed. autistic kids are fine, as long as they’re international maths olympiad champions. adhd kids are fine, as long as they’re famous athletes. if you’re obsessed with musicals that’s ok, as long as that obsession leads to a well-paying job as a successful writer on Broadway. 

and then you tell us that we only have one chance at that success? and this decision determines the rest of our lives? and that we had so much potential when we were kids, and we better not waste it now? that not everyone is so lucky to be able to choose between so many things?? 

because being asked to choose between these things isn’t being asked to choose a hobby. when the only way anyone else defines you positively is by your success in one area, that becomes your entire identity. 

so no, we’re not being too sensitive when you ask us to pick and choose what career, or what hobby to take forward. you’re not asking about hobbies. you’re asking us to choose what kind of person we want to be. you’re asking us to choose the most impactful way we can give back to the world, because we can’t waste those god-given talents. you’re asking us to figure out, still a child and hopelessly lost, what our purpose on this planet is. and you’re looking at us as if the ways that we survived all of these years, the things we clung to for comfort, are things we can just cast aside without further thought

ask me now, and I’ll tell you that’s not the way things work. we have second chances and third ones and tenth ones, we can be different things to different people and we can do different things at different parts in our lives, and be successful in different areas. life isn’t a fucking flowchart. and I’m still trying to come to terms with all the things I could have been, and my freak-outs about ‘wasted potential’ are so clockwork I could plan my calendar around them, but I’m beginning to understand that life doesn’t end when you’re twenty, or when you haven’t written a best-seller by eighteen. you have time.   

but at fifteen? at fifteen, that question broke me. 

do you know what you can do instead? you can show a little thoughtfulness. you can be kinder, and lead by example, and praise your kids when they’re kind too. when your son runs to you and shows you what you think is a better picture than you - a stick figure artisan, if you say so yourself - could ever create, you can actually just say you really like it. you can ask him if that’s him and daddy and the dog on a cloud. describe the picture back to him, and engage with this thing he’s made from his imagination - tell him the clouds he’s drawn are so big and fluffy and white, and ask if there are giant spiders living there. you know how to shut a child up? tell them yes dear, it’s wonderful. don’t be that person. promote your kid’s creativity - ask questions, have fun, play with this thing they’ve made - and not destroy it

when your daughter comes to you and shows you a song she’s written, don’t tell her she’s so talented or that she could be a musician one day. just sing along. ask her why she wrote it, and what she was thinking of when she did. ask her if she could make it different for two people singing it at the same time. 

and if your child just really, really loves maths? let them do maths. it’s ok if their interests are stereotypical - as long as they love it and it’s fun, supporting them is wonderful. the best present my father ever got me was five hours of tutoring - an introduction to linguistics!! - when I turned twelve, starting on my birthday at 8am. I had never felt so understood and so loved. 

as much as these simple things can destroy someone’s life, can stop them talking for a year, you have the chance to be that one voice of kindness that is a friend where a young person needs it most. 

for me, this was the Bus Lady. I never knew her first name because I forgot immediately and was too embarrassed to ask again, but we got the bus together for two years right before I applied to university - she was a trainee teacher at my school. she saw that I missed tutor group and sat in the corridor every morning writing, and that I ran laps for an hour every lunchtime instead of sitting alone. but she came and sat with me one morning and asked what I was doing; I was developing a new shorthand and told her so warily. 

she didn’t raise her eyebrows or say wow, that’s...that’s amazing. instead she frowned and looked at me skeptically and said ‘But why would you do that? There are plenty of functional shorthands out there - what does your shorthand have that they don’t? Tell me about it.’

I had no idea what to say

this was the first time anyone had actually ENGAGED in any capacity with what I was doing. and just like that, just by treating me seriously and asking valid questions and pointing out inconsistencies, I was a person who happened to have an idea that was in some serious need of questioning, and not a freak

there’s no way she remembers that interaction; she’s been a teacher now for year and probably doesn’t even remember who I am. But I had been this close to not going to university, to not bothering, and she made me stop, and wait a moment

she will never know the difference that that conversation and two months of kindness on the bus from a stranger made in my life. 

so let’s be kind to each other, please. let’s be forgiving. let’s challenge each other and let’s engage with kids with special interests and listen to them talk. and so to any educators or teachers or parents or even other kids, I want to say - let’s treat our words seriously and with respect, like we treat our children, because they have immense capacity to hurt, because they can be used for good. 

to any other fifteen year olds in a similar position, I just want to say: none of us here on tumblr have properly sorted our lives out, but I promise you it does get so much better.

you’re not too sensitive. you’re not a freak. you’re not only acceptable because you succeed. I know if you’re masking you feel you have to and it’s for survival, and I’m sorry, because you shouldn’t have to. and you should never, never have to think that you ‘have it good’ or that you’re lucky and are not allowed to hurt. there’s always some one who has it worse, and you can’t stop beat yourself up about that. fuck anyone who tells you otherwise. if you have gone through trauma, if you have unhealthy coping mechanisms, if you are depressed or anxious or otherwise mentally ill and some of it stems from this, I am so very very sorry. but you will be ok, even if you can’t write for a couple of years, or even if things change. you’ll get there. speaking as someone who is now writing for the first time in six years, drawing for the first time in longer, it’s scary and new and weird, but you will come out the other side. 

and you do work hard. and you are creative. and you are loved. and you are so very, very kind.

*rant over*

[wandering-child-rp]

For the mini fic: what about number 7 things you said while driving for E/C 💖💖

“Thanks for the lift. You didn’t have to. I could have gotten the bus.” Christine forced a smile onto her nervous face as Erik gripped the steering wheel a little harder. It was painful for him but he didn’t like the idea of Christine alone on public transport late at night.

The lights of the highway would bathe the saloon car into bright light every so often and gave them both some shadows to hide in. Christine put the lead in her stomach down to nerves.

“I don’t mind driving you. I know you’d do the same for me if I needed a favour.”

“Except I don’t have a car and I cannot drive.” Christine laughed, it was a one-sided friendship. It was strange really. He didn’t seem to have many friends and it was always Christine chasing him. Unless it was after a lesson because then Erik always had a fantastic dinner for her, a great bottle of wine and he was good company. There had been a while when Christine had developed a crush on him but it was never reciprocated. She’d given him a thousand opportunities and lingering a little longer than needed at the door waiting for a kiss that never came.

Her hands stretched over her thighs with a huff of air.

“Nervous?” Erik asked but desperately he didn’t want to hear Christine pour out her feelings about her new boyfriend. He hated the constant buzzing of her phone when they sat together or the way she’d smile and laugh at whatever was on that stupid screen.

“Yeah... a little. I wish he could have come back instead of me flying out to him.” Erik’s large hand landed onto Christine’s with a comforting squeeze.

“I know. It’s sad your missing the season opener.” In his heart of hearts, he wanted Christine to be sat next to him in the box. He wanted to twist the playbill in his hands over and over trying to pluck up the courage to slide his hand into hers. Exactly like it was now. His hazel eyes went wide and he whipped away the warmth all too suddenly leaving Christine confused again and feeling like an imposition.

It would have been nice to go with Erik. He was a gentleman truly. Yes, he was a little older than her but he was sweet and respectful. Meg kept saying it was just a crush on an older man who had that mysterious thing but Christine wasn’t so sure. She laughed at his clever jokes and dumb ones and could listen for hours to him play or dissect a film scene by scene. He lent her books that he thought she needed to read and empowered her beyond belief. Only when she needed it though did he interfere.

</i>

“Your favourite book is ‘Pride and prejudice? Did Mr Darcy like Elizabeth more because she was outspoken and her own woman?” Christine only nodded. “Then stop pandering to these idiots. Yes, take their direction but not when it cuts you down. If it doesn’t stop I’ll bloody tell them.”

“They’re bossy; not romantic though.” She said trying to lighten the atmosphere and stop feeling like such a silly little girl. Erik only raised his eyebrows and bit his tongue trying to keep his attention solely on the tv in front of them. “No one has ever declared their undying love for me.”

“Maybe if you followed the advice.” </i>

Erik remembered that night. The air hung thick as Christine ran her finger around the rim of her glass and the silence rang. He knew he loved her then. It was sudden and all at once; like drowning. He fought it but couldn’t swim to the surface again. It was fine when it was just lessons and direction but then they met up. She didn’t look at the mask but at Erik’s eye. He held his temper and the time it was ragged, she simply laid her hand on his shoulder and then it took all his power not to declare his feelings. Erik wasn’t stupid; she was young, beautiful and smart. Out of his league. Then, she suddenly had a boyfriend on the scene after a connection with an old friend. It was dreadful to watch them. Erik was waiting at the stage door with flowers but they ended up in the trash can when he realised he’d been beaten to the punch.

The pair came to the airport all too quickly. Christine methodically checked off her list for the hundredth time.

“Passport? Yes. Money? Yes. Ticket? Yes. Phone? Yes. Makeup bag? Yep. So, I’m all set.” Christine looked beautiful in her thick sweater, the mass of curls blow dried out by the hairstylist this morning and her body bouncing nervous energy as she smiled widely at Erik with the harsh light reflecting off his mask. “Vienna, here I come! City of opera dreams and I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

Erik knew she wouldn’t come back. She had nothing in Paris anymore and her father was back in Sweden. He knew the allure of a new city and a new start but he’d miss her too much to admit. She was tense and clearly something was distracting her, as always, she just blurted it out after only a stern look from her mentor.

“He’s nice, right? He’s not texted much but now a driver is going to pick me up? That’s okay, isn’t it?” Erik wouldn’t dream of it. He would even let her take public transport alone and insisted she stayed in his guest room when he caved and shared a bottle of wine with her.

“Yes.” He replied monosyllabically before adding some care when he saw Christine's face drop a little. “Let me know when you get to his house at least. Goodbye, angel.”

‘Angel’ Christine melted just like when he’d coined the term back for her. She had not known his name when the first note had come or the loud shout across the stage from a fast-moving figure. Erik had told her to start an octave higher and, it had worked perfectly, she had hit the last note despite not knowing. Jokingly, she’d referred to him since as her ‘Angel of music’. It had become truthful as her broken heart had begun to mend itself.

“I can still call you, can’t I?” Erik noted she was picking at the handle of her bag and delaying for time. Nodding, Erik was about to splurge out everything but as he opened his mouth, some jackass behind him started to honk for the drop off space.

“Of course. Good luck with the audition. I’ll come to see you perform, I’m sure.”

He watched her walk away with the backpack that was his before, handbag and battered suitcase decorated with a floral print. It wasn’t medically possible but he was quite sure he could physically feel his heartbreaking. The tears clouded his vision so Erik gave up trying and pulled in for a drive-through coffee he’d normally baulk at. Red and white lights flashed overhead as planes carrying people off to their dreams, vacations and loved ones. The pain came in another crashing wave as he saw the coffee Christine got flash on the menu board; double-shot caramel latte. How was it possible for a coffee to cause a thousand stabs of ice to a heart. Erik reconciled himself to just wait out the hour and a half to watch her plane take off into the night sky. Then he’d go home and drink his body weight in liquor.

The whole plane groaned as the captain announced the delay. They’d sat on the tarmac for half an hour but it felt so much longer for someone as nervous as she was. Christine swore under her breath as she wrestled the backpack from the compartment. Why wasn’t Erik here? He never had to stand on his tiptoes to reach anything.

1 Voice Note from ‘Angel of Music 🎶 (ERIK DESTLER). 20 minutes ago. Christine held the phone to her ear as she jostled her way through disgruntled people and his velvet tones spilled into her ears.

‘So, I’m just at Starbucks and I can’t not say this anymore. I’m so sorry to do this, Christine, and like this. Look, just don’t listen past this but let me do it. We can pretend it never happened. I really want you to be happy and I don’t care if that’s not with me but... fuck... I don’t even know why I’m doing this but... here goes. I love you. A lot. Always have and always will. You can’t blame me because look at you and look at me. I know you won’t feel the same but I care for you so much, Christine. My wretched heart will always belong to you. The one who saw through the bullshit. Don’t think nothing or no one is missing you in Paris because I will be. Don’t dwell on it though. Go be happy... If you want to come home or something goes wrong, I’ll buy your ticket home and be waiting to collect you. Anytime, any day, just call me. You can always call me. No questions asked.’ There was a noise of a steering wheel being slapped and Erik squeezing his nose and clearing his throat before a new note started. ‘Anyway, just call me if you need and, best of luck. I know you’ll be perfect and don’t take any shit from anyone. I’ll get over all of this and I’m sorry. Unless you didn’t listen to that message in which case, erm, send me a postcard kid.’

Christine felt like the world had fallen out from under her and anything she thought was true wasn’t anymore. Throwing her handbag onto the seat, she paced around and listened to the message again. Surely she’d misheard him.

Erik perched himself on the wing of his car. His third cup of coffee in one hand a cigarette in the other as he blew smoke into the sky and watched a plane take off. Her flight was seven minutes late but he saw the green tail knew it was her flight as the flight app hadn’t updated with the last-minute delay.

“Fucking hell, Erik...” he mumbled to himself and threw the butt of the cigarette away after only taking three drags. “Stupid bastard...”

Never before had he felt so deflated but with freedom now. It was out into the world regardless of his regrets or lack of. The words where just like the smoke; impossible to catch or recall in the night sky. It was what it was, Erik thought as he sat back in the driver's seat and drummed the leather wheel defeated. He sat there spinning his phone on his thigh whilst the radio played the weather forecast monotonously. He had muted Christine and unmuted her twice just in case she needed him suddenly yet he hadn’t looked to see if she heard the message before boarding. The timing was meant to be that she’d already have shut off her phone before getting on the plane. It was nearly an hour ago since he’d practically bled the words out of his mouth and tonight, he’d go home and get very drunk before sleeping in tomorrow and he’d remain drunk until the opening night of the opera in four days. Then, he’d force himself back together and to face the world.

“Erik?” That voice. His head whipped around quickly and pulled a muscle. “My- my flight got delayed.”

His face visibly dropped but Christine held up her phone with the screen illuminating the picture of the artwork in Erik’s corridor that she adored. It was a perfect metaphor. Even when it wasn’t about him, Erik was never far from her thoughts.

“I got your message.” The young woman was nervous and simply flying on instinct as the moments turned into seconds and she was closing the gap between them and then her body hit his and their lips met in a breathless kiss full of fire and longing. Christine’s smile was large and her eyes crinkled when Erik looked shocked and confused. Slowly, his long arms wrapped around her waist and one knee shook weakly. She was here, in his arms and smiling at the thought of him. “I wish you’d told me before.”

“I didn’t want to cloud our friendship.”

“Friendship? Erik, it was never just a friendship with us. It doesn’t take me five minutes to unlock my door and say goodbye in the car and I wanted you. I thought you could see that-“

In response, his lips met hers again as one palm cradled her cheek. The mask was unforgiving but Christine knew what was underneath already from coming over early months ago. He’d freaked out and was embarrassed but she handled it without a moment of thought.

“Are you staying?” Erik whispered with a voice dripping with dark honey and his nose rubbed against hers as Christine cuddled him close in the chilly night with her arms around his neck.

Several hours later and Erik was kissing Christine’s nude shoulder as he cuddled behind her still unable to sleep despite their activities. Christine hummed in happily nuzzled softly in a bed that smelt of his cologne. She couldn’t stop thanking delayed flights and voice notes of deep thoughts in cars. She could have missed out on her love so easily but as Erik’s chest pressed against her back in his bed, Christine knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

@sloanedestler

[bulkyphrase]

Villain(ish) Steve Fic Rec List

@cupsofdream's posts earlier this week about Steve Rogers as a Child of Thanos rekindled my love for brainwashed/reluctant villain Steve Rogers, so here's a list of some of my favorite stories with that premise. We've got everything from Winter Soldiers and Captains Hydra to mercenaries and cyborgs (and yes, a Child of Thanos too).

These are not stories where Steve is an evil person - they're about his good nature and heroic qualities being twisted into something wrong, and they generally end with him being rescued and/or redeemed.

Recommendations

Falling Backwards (Till it Turns Me Inside Out) by Aeraneth (Steve/Tony | Teen | 5706 words) tumblr: @aeranethwrites

Note: I love this story. It is absolutely criminal that it has so few kudos.

Summary: It’s Nomad against the Avengers, a Hydra patch on his shoulder, a gun pointed at Iron Man’s head, and a doomsday machine running down the clock behind him. He’s the only one standing in the way of them saving the world.

Steve doesn’t know how he got here.

these veins of mine are some sort of fuse (series) by mambo (Steve/Bucky | Teen-Explicit | 13103 words) tumblr:@whtaft

Summary: Thanos pulls Steve Rogers from the ice and erases him. Seventy years later, meeting the Winter Soldier pulls him back. (Steve Rogers as a Child of Thanos.)

More below the cut!

This Thing of Darkness by MassiveSpaceWren, Mizzy (Steve/Tony | Teen | 18525 words)

Summary: X-Factor #231 AU.

It's been five years since it happened, but Deathlok has spent every day since M-Day wishing he was less human, so going undercover as a human in order to find more humans to slaughter…? It's tough, but Deathlok agrees to do it. The target is Pandora, a base that Deathlok thought was just a rumor, the biggest undercover human resistance camp in the world.

The mission turns out to be tougher than Deathlok expects, though, because the leader of the ragtag resistance camp is Tony Stark. Tony, who always has more than one ace up his sleeve. Tony, who Deathlok used to know. Tony, who refuses to call him anything but by his disgusting human name: Steve.

Order Through Pain by Captain_Panda (Steve/Tony | Mature | 21447 words)

Summary: February 11, 1945. Hydra captures and brainwashes Captain America.

For the next seventy years, Steve Rogers goes on to become one of the most hated men in history, the symbol of an underworld.

Now, alongside top-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence, part-time consultant Tony Stark is camped out in the Serbian desert, prepared to take down Captain Hydra and free the world of the monster who has terrorized them for nearly four score.

Only problem: he remembers the man Captain Hydra used to be. And he doesn't want to be the person to bury Captain America.

Don't Give it a Hand, Offer it a Soul by TooManyBattles (Skarabrae_stone) (Steve/Bucky | Mature | 30734 words) tumblr: @captaintoomanybattles

Summary: An Avengers training mission gone wrong, a HYDRA plot in the midst of SHIELD, and a mysterious prisoner in the basement of an abandoned bank-- and that's just the start of Bucky's day. While the Avengers rush to prevent HYDRA's plans for world domination, Bucky finds himself drawing closer to the stranger he rescued... a man who is almost certainly an agent of HYDRA.

Round in Circles We Go by starbunny, WitchyLurker (Steve/Bucky | Teen | 32829 words) tumblr: @bunnycombed, @witchylurker

Summary: Ever since Steve could remember, he always wanted to do what was right. So orphaned young and alone, Hydra offered him a chance to be part of something more, to help free the world, to save it.

Steve took it without question.

Years later, he found himself at war with the Americans and the notorious Soldier, slowly coming to the realisation that things were not what they seemed to be at all. But time had never been kind – least of all to Steve – and it was way too late for regrets.

(Or the AU where Steve was Hydra but somehow ended up becoming a hero anyway, because some things were just inevitable)

Nothing Fades Like the Light by buckybleeds (Steve/Bucky, Hydra Trash Party | Explicit | 44,889+ words (WIP)) tumblr: @buckybleeds

Note: I know that darkfic/hydra trash party isn’t everybody’s thing, but if it's your thing, this is a fantastic example of the genre. Read the tags, because it gets very rough.

Summary: The "what if HYDRA programmed Steve right out of the ice" fic that nobody asked for.

One More Troubled Soul (series) by sara_holmes (Bucky/Nat, Steve/Tony | Teen-Mature | 61415 words) tumblr: @captn-sara-holmes

Note: Steve doesn’t show up until part 2, but part 1 is fantastic. One of my favorite Bucky as Captain America stories.

Summary: Part 1: How Bucky Barnes made a shitty speech when aliens were invading, saved the day, got the girl and ended up feeling like he was actually Captain America and not a two-dollar knock off.

Part 2: And Tony realizes that working out who the Winter Soldier used to be and who he is now are two entirely different things.

Part 3: Steve Rogers is the Winter Soldier. He has his missions, he had his orders, he has his place in the world. If people would just stop reminding him about that time he was Captain America, it would be a lot easier to stay in that damn place.

Preserved by Domenika Marzione (domarzione) (Steve/Peggy | Not Rated | 72158 words) tumblr: @laporcupina

Summary: After the rescue of the 107th, Steve Rogers cashes in all of his favors and makes what deals he can to get Bucky a medical discharge from the Army, sending him home to Brooklyn and far from enemies and curious scientists both. But Steve's war goes on until it ends badly, in an exploding plane over the Black Sea. Captain America is presumed dead, his shield recovered and returned to a grieving America while his body remains undiscovered.

Seven years later, a new danger is threatening to unbalance the already-roiling Cold War: a Soviet assassin let loose from behind the Iron Curtain. Peggy Carter isn't sure she wants to believe that the assassin is a super-soldier because of what it could mean, but she does know that whoever it is, she'll have to break her promise to keep Bucky Barnes far from danger.

Honorary Mention

As an added treat, here's a fantastic story where Thor is the one who becomes a Child of Thanos:

Reparation by AzureTiger (Steve/Thor | Mature | 192957 words) tumblr: @azuretiger

Summary: It's Thor who falls from the rainbow bridge instead of Loki, and it's Thor tasked with bringing the Chitauri invasion about. He arrives to Earth a very different man, a more skilled warrior than he was, but wrong. Broken and made into something stronger.

What will it take to stop him? What will it take to set him free?

--

Steve struggles to find his place in the 21st century, and to find himself. The Avengers seems to be a good starting point, though there are some things Fury can never give him. What Steve needs is someone who's had time stolen from them, too. And in helping each other, maybe they can help themselves in-turn.

[fyeahsharonrooney]

'Finding Alice' star Sharon Rooney on silencing the social media bullies and why her granny was her greatest inspiration (Sunday Post, 17.1.21)

'...Fire up social media on your phone and within moments you’re free to interact with a world full of people. Holiday photos from your cousin in New Zealand? Click like!

Your pal’s video of a Yorkshire terrier that sounds like Brian Blessed? Hit retweet! Don’t like the way someone looks? Tell them to lose some weight!

Hang on, that last one is probably a bit rude. You wouldn’t wander up to a stranger in the street and casually advise them to give the sweeties a miss, not unless you were desperately craving a sore face.

Yet that kindly advice is precisely what someone like Sharon Rooney is offered when she logs into sites such as Instagram.

Sharon, who starred in Disney’s recent live action Dumbo remake, E4’s My Mad Fat Diary and hit sitcom Two Doors Down has endured her fair share of trolling.

“It’s the unsolicited medical advice I enjoy,” she laughed. “Telling me not to eat jellybeans. Thanks!

“I learned quite quickly people will pick apart anything. They will find something. Even if I was five sizes smaller, someone will tell me I looked better before. You’ll never please everyone.

“There’s a lovely mute button now. If someone writes something rude I just quietly say ‘Shhh’ to them.

“With My Mad Fat Diary I’m already saying, ‘Hello, I am fat human’. What can they say?

“I have eyes, I know what I look like and I’m fine with that. Sorry if you’re not. I’m doing OK, so please don’t worry about me.”

(© Carlo Paloni/BAFTA/Shutterstock)

Sharon, 32, is doing more than OK though, which you’ll see if you tune into new ITV drama Finding Alice tonight.

She stars opposite Keeley Hawes and it’s a role that saw Sharon cross the Bodyguard star’s name off a special list.

“I’ll let you into a secret. Every actor has a dream list of people they’d love to work with and Keeley was on mine,” she said.

“I told Keeley. She just rolled her eyes and told me to shut up.

“Why would you not want to work with her? She’s fantastic in everything she does.

“Keeley’s everything I thought she would be. Whe’s one of a kind. A special human being. Look, Keeley’s not paying me to say this! Maybe she should…?”

Praising a colleague is, of course, second nature to an actor. There’s a reason they call them luvvies; plus you don’t want to end up working with someone you’ve bad-mouthed on a project in a year’s time, do you?

This isn’t merely empty platitudes for a thespian pal. Sharon’s praise is warm, generous and genuine. It’s how she herself comes across, along with a dash of wry humour.

Perhaps it’s the influence of her late granny, who Sharon describes as her soulmate.

“This sounds so cheesy but she truly was,” she added. “You know you get one human who you just chime with? I just loved her. We were two old souls.

“She taught me so much. I think grannies have that magic where they teach you to deal with life after they’re gone. I just enjoyed every minute I had with her.”

The pain and sadness we’ve all experienced over the past year, along with the forced holiday she’s had to take with being locked down, has let Sharon think about the grief she felt when her gran died.

“Even if you’re preparing for a death I don’t think it’s any easier than if it’s unexpected,” she said.

“When it is unexpected, like the way Harry dies in Finding Alice, you’re left reeling from it for so long before you can take in what’s happened.

“With Nicola, the character I play, the initial shock has happened. Her big brother has died. So how do you move forward? Grief itself is such a complicated thing. There’s no guide book. When you feel sad, you feel sad.

“Grief sneaks up on you. You think you’re fine then it appears with a ‘Hiya!’

“I still get it. I’ll think I can’t wait to show my gran something before going, ‘Oh yeah’.

“My gran spoke about it before she died. We were talking about how thinking of someone after they’ve died is like ringing a bell for them.

“She said, ‘Don’t think of me too much, hen – I’ll get no rest.’”

(Sharon Rooney as Miss Atlantis with co-star DeObia Oparei in Tim Burton’s Dumbo)

Happily, Sharon brought her sardonic and garrulous Glaswegian spirit to the set of Dumbo, in which Sharon appeared alongside Hollywood legend Danny DeVito.

“You forget they’re still humans, which is easy to do when you’re standing in front of Danny DeVito. All I could think was that this was Danny DeVito. Has anyone told him?

“You just talk on set. Gab, gab, gab. That’s all we did. I was shouting over to Tim to ask for two minutes so Danny could finish his story.

“That’s Tim Burton, by the way. Listen to me, I just call him Tim now.”

Casting for a Disney blockbuster like Dumbo was straightforward, although it did come with an ironclad ban from telling her friends about the project until it was announced.

My Mad Fat Diary focused on the plus-sized character Sharon played but, since then, the roles she’s taken don’t normally specify anything about her character’s weight.

“A lot of parts I go for don’t say the character must be plus-size or look a certain way,” she said.

“I’ve only been doing this for eight years or so but for me it’s never been an issue but I know for some it has been.

“It’s about owning who you are. I realise that’s difficult because of social media. What I try to do is take jobs with people who are authentic characters.

“If it does specify a plus-size actor then my response is to ask why. Let’s investigate this.

“These days – well, before the pandemic – I would go to auditions and the room would be filled with so many different people, which I love. The room isn’t filled with girls who all look the same.

“And I love seeing a role that I didn’t get go to someone completely different to me. Well, I don’t love it because then I’ve not got the role, but it’s still nice to see.”

(The cast of Finding Alice © Joss Barratt)

A closeness with her other granny (the pair are bubbled up) has developed during the lockdowns of the past year, from which Sharon has taken heart.

Other than that she’s been enjoying her break ahead of Finding Alice’s release, as well as browsing social media.

Although these days she’s a lot wiser in how she does it; retaining the enjoyment with the help of that handy mute button.

“I used to follow every celebrity and every celebrity magazine,” added Sharon. “But it just made me doubt myself. I’d go to post a video then I’d wonder if I should put more make-up on first.

“I’ve stopped doing that. On Twitter these days I post videos where I’ve just woken up.

“I mean if you do post a video where you look great and have all your make-up on, then great, but I don’t know how you do it! I look forward to my no-make-up days.

“Oh you should see the state of me. I live in loungewear now. I put on jeans the other day. What are these things? What is this material we wear? These are awful!”

Finally, some feedback with which we can all agree...' X

[sunsetinmyvein]

You Pick a Fight - P3

I have long since forgotten what prompts from the prompt list that we used for this, but as requested by @imagine-that-100​, the third and final part of You Pick a Fight. Enjoy!

True to his word, Matty absolutely did give me hell for everything I had said and done while in hospital. Word spread pretty fast in our circle of friends about how soft I had remarked his hair was, much to my dismay. But my thumb survived, and that was the main concern. I could tolerate the berating for the sake of still having all of my digits. And to be fair, Matty was very helpful in hospital that day, as much as he didn’t tell anyone else about that half of the story. A part of my anaesthesia haze ramblings stayed with me even past that hectic evening. I suddenly felt like I gave that man too much grief throughout our friendship, maybe a few of my pranks were edging on too mean. Not that I was going to give up entirely on that side of our friendship, but I definitely had a feeling that it was time to pull back from how intense they had been becoming.  When every interaction between us wasn’t laced with sarcasm and spent looking over your shoulder for what could be coming next, spending time with Matty was actually… fairly pleasant? I found myself actually wanting to be around him.

“Mattyyyy.” I spoke into my phone as I propped it up between my shoulder and my ear.

“Yes?” His voice crackled back down the line.

“I need to ask you a favour.” I started. At this point, Matty was no stranger to my random phone calls for help. I mean, come on, he was rolling in it and had connections everywhere, I wasn’t just going to let that go to waste.

“Mm?”

“My high school reunion is coming up…” I stared at the invitation stuck to my fridge.

“And?” He prompted.

“And it would feel extremely vindicating to have a nice date to rub in everyone’s faces.” I finally suggested. Making this call wasn’t easy, I didn’t like the connotations that came with asking this. But, I did really like the connotations that came with rocking up with Matthew Healy in tow. And if I had to go, I wanted to have some fun with it.

  There was a pause, and I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me at first. “Ooo, I’m not sure.” He eventually said, sounding like he was thinking on it. “But I can see why you’d ask.” He added.

“What?” I frowned in confusion, not that he could see my expression anyway.

“I mean, why wouldn’t you want to be seen with someone as drop dead gorgeous as me?” He said. I gave a snort of laughter in response, but he didn’t continue any further.

I let out a deep sigh, then said the thing I knew would get him to go, “There’s an open bar.”

“I’ll be there.” He replied instantly.

“Great. Thanks.” I nodded.

“My pleasure.” I could just see his shit eating grin through the phone. Hopefully this idea didn’t backfire on me.

  * * *

  After a few weeks, the fateful evening rolled around. As promised, Matty drove round to my place, dressed very smartly in a nice button down. Which, after the crocs getup I’d seen him in literally the day prior, this was a vast improvement. But I couldn’t help but notice the bags under his eyes, and the way his eyelids drooped.

“Are… are you feeling okay?” I asked apprehensively as I let him in.

“Huh?” He seemed pretty out of it.

“How long has it been since you’ve sleep?” I asked with a short laugh.

“A week?” He answered, seeming entirely serious about his answer.

“Jesus, Matty. Why? What’s keeping you up?” I asked in concern, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Erm… Album stuff, you know.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Are you sure you’re good to go to this thing?” He looked in no state to be on a night out. But as soon as I questioned his ability to attend, he perked up.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He nodded quickly, running a hand through his messy curls. As much as he’d dressed up, it seemed that there was no controlling that hair of his. “C’mon, let’s go.” He said as he gestured back to the door.

  We ordered an Uber, neither of us wanting to commit to being the designated driver and passing up on the free booze. Once we had clambered inside, I laid down a few ground rules about what to tell people if they asked. All the stuff about how we met, why we got together, the things that we had to make sure to agree on to get our story straight and seem believable.

“All right, so I’d appreciate if you tried to be a bit more tactful than usual.” I ended my spiel, giving him a serious look.

“Be as embarrassing as possible, got it.” He said with a firm nod.

“Can you please just listen to me for once?” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“Or-” He said, pointing a finger at me for emphasis, “I could not listen to you, and we could pull many fantastic pranks at this stuffy party.” He suggested.

I thought on this for a moment. “What did you have in mind?” I asked with an eyebrow raised.

“We can raise hell together - spike the punch, spread rumours, heckle the speeches, that sort of thing.” He elaborated with a devious smile.

The offer was tempting, but then I remembered that I was meant to be making a good impression. “No, no. I just… would rather be quietly impressive instead of causing a scene like we usually do.” I said, tearing my gaze away from him and looking back out the window.

“Whatever you say.”

  When we rocked up at my old high school, it probably shouldn’t have surprised me that everything looked exactly the same as what it did when I was a student. The buildings were a slight bit more run down, the signs were starting to wear away, it was nostalgic in a very uncomfortable way. We followed the small arrows staked in the ground, making our way through the school to where the reunion was being held. As we approached the doors, Matty stopped me, looping his arm with mine with a smile before walking in. The gesture instantly reminded me of why I had been worried about asking him to come as my faux date. Other than him getting the wrong idea, I didn’t want to dredge up any repressed feelings since that day in the hospital a few months ago. This thought was quickly squashed once we stepped into the room and had the tacky decorations shoved right into our faces. I had no idea what theme they were trying to achieve, but if it was ‘awkward high school disco’ they had successfully done it. However, I was pretty chuffed with the stares that we were getting as we walked through the room. By the look of the whispers that I saw being passed around, clearly Matty was recognised. Most of the people I had spotted I didn’t overly want to talk to, so I was glad to have brought a plus one that I could hang out with to avoid stifled pleasantries with people I’d not seen in over a decade.

  “Why is there a deer in the room?” Matty whispered in my ear as he gestured to the large buck that was sectioned off in the corner.

“School mascot.” I answered.

“What?” He asked with a frown.

“The football team, they’re called the bucks or something.” I explained, pointing out a banner on the wall with the cartoon version of the animal.

“So… they have a deer? A real live deer?” He continued with an incredulous laugh.

“Yep.” I nodded.

“Let’s go tie shit on its antlers.” He said eagerly, attempting to drag me towards the animal.

“No.” I quickly hissed, pulling him back towards the bar. “Let’s go get a drink.” I offered instead.

  With a drink in hand, Matty was much easier to keep under control. We drifted around to a few conversations, dropping stories of accomplishments and various other brag worthy things. After about half an hour, though, he started to get restless.

“Hey, where’s the woodshop?” He asked quietly as his eyes darted around the room.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked back, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

“No reason.” He said with a shrug. “What about the art room?” He questioned with a smile playing on his lips.

“What are you scheming?” I accused.

“Nothing!” He threw his hands up in defence. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and then get another drink. You want one?” He asked.

I stared at him for a moment, trying to work out what idea was turning over in that head of his. “Sure.” I conceded, watching as he strolled off.

  I was apprehensive about letting him wander off alone, what with his track record. But I had no reason to stop him. Once left to my own devices, I had to begrudgingly start conversations with my old classmates alone. I didn’t realise how much I missed having Matty to bounce off of in conversation until he wasn’t there. The time ticked by, and he still hadn’t returned. When I finally felt the need to go looking for Matty in case he got lost, I spotted him on the other side of the room sparking up conversation with a group of people. He looked very animated in whatever story he was telling, and then I saw him gesture to his thumb. Oh, no.

“Whatever he’s saying, he’s lying!” I called out, interrupting the person who had been speaking to me. Matty, clearly hearing my voice, looked up and waved with a smirk.

“Why did you even come with him if you were worried about his behaviour?” The guy I was speaking to huffed.

“I’m starting to forget.” I muttered, making my way through the crowd to work out what on earth he was saying. When I made my way to the small crowd that had formed around him, he was indeed telling the story about how I’d nearly cut off my thumb. However, he was telling it in a way I hadn’t heard before. He was embellishing the details about how helpful he was, about how happy I’d been to see him when I woke up, instead of his usual speech about how embarrassing it was for me. It felt pretty heart-warming to actually hear him acknowledge the other side of that night.

“That’s so sweet of you!” One of the girls from my English class cooed.

“She’s worth it.” Matty replied as he planted a kiss on my cheek. I instantly felt myself burning up, before plastering a smile on my face to try and keep up the charade I had concocted.

  When I finally pried him away from his crowd, we went to go get another drink. What was the point of an open bar if you didn’t take advantage of it?

“You really think I’d throw you under the bus in front of your own classmates?” He asked as he nudged me in the ribs playfully.

“I just never know with you sometimes.” I chuckled as I grabbed a bottle of cider. “Are you feeling better, then?” I added, noting his much more jovial appearance than when I first saw him today.

“Hm?” He questioned as he took a swig from his drink.

“You looked pretty sleep deprived when you rocked up at mine earlier today.” I clarified.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Much better.” He nodded, glancing down at his dress shoes.

“What’s been keeping you up?” I asked in curiosity, starting to walk back over to the centre of the room.

“Well, if I’m honest-”

“All right everyone, take your seats.” A voice interrupted over the loud speakers.

  Right, the speeches. People who had been notable in high school had been asked if they wanted to stand up and tell people all about where they were at now. Thank fuck I hadn’t been picked for that. We began shuffling over to the lined-up seats at the front of the room near the stage, Matty and I happily taking a spot near the back. As the speakers went to sit down in their chairs on the stage, all of the legs collapsed beneath them, sending the six people up there sprawling onto the wooden floor. A few quiet laughs came from the crowd. But I recognised that handiwork.

“Did you do that?” I asked, turning to Matty.

“I have no idea why you’d suspect me.” He answered, clearly trying (and failing) not to smile.

“Is that why you were asking about the woodshop?” I realised, my voice growing in volume slightly as it clicked in my head. Someone shushed me from the row behind us.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak dumbass.” He shrugged.

“Real mature.” I mumbled, turning back to the stage to see them bringing new chairs over. He just wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side.

  After that, the speeches continued without a hitch. I had to admit, at least Matty’s antics had brought some fun to the dull event. Because besides the chairs collapsing, the hour-long spectacle nearly put me to sleep. Once they’d finished up, they began playing the music a bit louder than what they had been and packed the chairs in front of the stage away, encouraging people to use it as a dancefloor.

“Do you have any idea on how frustrating you can really be?” I frowned as we made our way over to the corner of the room to speak without people overhearing us. “You could’ve hurt someone.”

“Come ooooon.” He said, rolling his eyes. “You know you want to make this place a bit livelier. You’re never gonna see these people again, right?” He continued, leaning against a rail.

“Right.” I agreed.

“So, let’s have some fun.” He grinned. “You know we make a good team.”

I thought about it for a moment, and he had a point. This event was pretty boring, and we were a good team. Matty had been going out of his way tonight to do what I had asked of him, the least I could do was let him get some enjoyment too. “Fine.” I agreed. Watching as the large buck began chewing on Matty’s arm. “You might wanna keep an eye on your jacket, though.” I said as I gestured to the animal.

“Huh? Oh, wha- Hey!” He shouted as he yanked his sleeve out of the deer’s mouth.

  Once he had been given permission, Matty kicked into full prank mode. Shoelaces were tired together under tables, lettering on signs were rearranged, jackets and hats mysteriously changed tables. Most of what he wanted to do was harmless fun, and it was entertaining to watch him dart around the room and work his magic. Tonight was actually turning out to be pretty fun. I had thought that maybe Matty might feel awkward about it, or maybe I’d feel awkward about it, but things were going really well. It was nice to get the chance to have an evening with just him. Normally it was a group of us and I always felt mildly attention seeking for taking up his time. To have his undivided attention for the whole night left me with a warm feeling. Matty eventually wore himself out, and guests were beginning to get suspicious of the guy who seemed to constantly be in the background of every minor inconvenience. When he seemed satiated prank wise, he managed to con me into getting onto the dancefloor with him. Normally I’d be pretty intimidated about dancing in front of such a judging crowd, but between the good company and the many drinks I’d had, I didn’t really care.

  Suddenly, a bunch of glitter starting spewing out through the vents onto the dance floor. The music stopped, drawing everyone’s attention up to the sparkly downfall. To be honest, this looked far better than any theming the school had done themselves. But I knew this was not something that they had planned.

“I admit, this is pretty impressive.” I said quietly to Matty, who just had a very proud smile.

“See? I told you that we should raise hell.” He laughed loudly.

“I guess it was pretty fun.” I confessed.

“You should really listen to me more.” He said softly, taking my hand in his. I watched the glitter fall for a moment, before looking back down to see him still staring at me. I frowned at him, waiting for him to say something. “You have the cutest smile I’ve ever seen right now.”

“You’re looking pretty starry-eyed yourself there, mister.” I shot back, figuring that he was joking.

“Well, it’s hard not to be when you’ve got the best date in the room.” He added, tugging on my hand, pulling me closer to him.

“Wasn’t that meant to be my plan?” I said with a chuckle.

“After speaking to your classmates, I’m pretty sure you got it backwards.” He answered as I placed a hand on his shoulder.

  A moment or two passed before Matty took in a deep breath. “I was up all week because I was worried about ruining this for you.” He blurted out. “I didn’t want to be a disappointment.”

“You’d never disappoint me.” I dismissed.

“Things are always more daunting when you’re doing them with someone that you’re into, you know.” He explained.

“I… you… what?” In my surprise, I couldn’t get my words out right. Had he not been kidding for the last five minutes with everything that he was saying? A lot of moments over the last six months suddenly made a lot more sense.

“You’re not getting me to say it twice.” He said with a small smile.

“How long?” Was all I could manage to ask.

“For ages.” He said simply. “Why do you think I stayed with you in the hospital? Why do you think I spend so much time with you? Why do you think I bother you so much? You think that it’s me who’s teasing you to the guys, but it’s them teasing me about you.” He answered.

  Everything that I had felt in the hospital was now in the forefront of my mind. Maybe I hadn’t been so crazy to want to flirt with Matty then. Certainly, in this moment, his confession had my heart rate picking up and my mind reeling. “Then what was with all the pranks?” I said, shoving his shoulder slightly.

“Kept your attention, didn’t it?” He chuckled.

“I suppose so.” I agreed. “I think I’m into you too.” I said quietly.

“I know.” He nodded.

“What?”

“You told me so when you first woke up in hospital. You slept for a few hours after that, though.” He elaborated. “You don’t remember?”

I shook my head, but for what I did remember, if I had said that, it made sense. “So… is this a real date then?” I asked out of curiosity.

“It can be.” He shrugged.

“I’d like that.” I smiled, leaning up slightly to catch him off guard and kiss him briefly. “But first, we’d better get out of here before they realise what you did.”

Part One

Part Two

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Oh goodness okay. I need some good ol’ Cliona’s Corner advice if it’s not too much to ask (if it is, please ignore 💕).

So I’m a cis female who’s always loved men but recently looked a bit longer at girls and noticed that yeah they’re pretty. The thing is that I’m on the asexual spectrum, which is also a recently learned fact. And for me that means I 100% don’t have any desire to sleep with women, while with men I would consider doing it if my partner wanted. And when I picture getting married, or dates, or parenting- it’s always with a man. Not once a woman. So I’m realizing now that calling myself “bi” as I have been for maybe just under a year....doesn’t really fit too well for me. And that would be fine if not for the fact that some of my good friends make a huge deal of no one in our group being straight, gay (or slightly gay) people being superior, ect.

And it feels super weird having everyone see me and accept me as bi when I don’t feel bi. And I don’t want to be just another straight girl who pretended to be bi for just a little bit before she got bored and went back to men. And I don’t want to be excluded from their pride celebrations just because I identify with straight, because I’m still aspec. But I’m worried if I say I’m straight they’ll see me differently, start to other me.

So my question really is....is pride month a good time to come out as straight?

Wow!

(That last line gave me a bit of a giggle! It would be a great headline!)

Okay let’s crack on!

First of all, you do whatever the fuck feels best for you. I totally get what you mean about your friends, I knew people in school who would actively diss someone (and not in a joking way) just because they were straight? And it always really bothered me! It actually became so intense and spread out over so many things (like nothing could happen without it being gay. This is not an internalised homophobia thing on my behalf to say this, this was something else altogether). It really ended up hurting a friend of mine who was their friend too and happens to be straight and she’s still friends with them to this day (she’s friends friends with them, I was more ‘we shared a few classes’ friends of you get me) but now she genuinely hesitates to tell them about her love life due to things they’ve judged her for in the past.

Starting this off with a horror story was prob not the best way to do this!

The point of that story really was to say, if you feel that telling them you’re straight would be a Thing, you don’t have to tell them. You don’t owe anyone anything. If you want to, great! But you don’t have to.

(Side note, as an ace person, you can still be part of the lgbtqia community, you could also emphasise that to them if you wanted because, loopholes) if they try and exclude you just cause you’re only attracted to guys, then really, they’re not as open and inclusive and progressive as they may claim to be. I’ve actually seen this a lot, where people in the lgbt community try, idk, make you fit into what their idea of queer is? But it doesn’t fucking matter, the only person who’s opinion you need; is your own.

Personally; I think pride is a great time to come out! Pride is all about expressing yourself and having the freedom to do that! You’re not a stereotypical girl who ‘pretended to be bi’ (tune in another time for a rant on why that’s absolute bullshit and no one should be shamed for being open minded and figuring themselves out) you’re a person who took the time and effort to come to turns with yourself and your mind and your body and really, that can be a hard thing to do, so go you!

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that we humans are ever-evolving. Who knows, in the future you might realise a different label suits better, but if this one works for you right now - fantastic!!!

(And I’ve said it a million times but I’ll say it again, you don’t have to label yourself as anything if you don’t want! In my head I’m just... me. Labels aren’t my thing really. I’ll use them to help other people grasp certain aspects about me but in my own head, I’m just chillin)

I hoped this helped even a little bit. Remember, only you knows what’s best and what’s right for you. Do whatever feels best. I’ve got your back either way, if anyone gives you any grief just send them my way!

Sending so much love and support!

Clíona💕💕💕

[aimee-maroux]

Plato-nic Love (Part I)

I sadly didn’t finish the whole story in time but this is part one of Seren and Plato’s epic love story for the ages XD

Illustrations were done by the wonderful @sigeel​ 😍😍😍

So this submission is by the two of us!

Plato-nic Love

Seren poured a libation of wine and started working on the grapevine that had been growing in the family garden for a while. At first, her mother had tried to get rid of it but it had proven the essence of indestructable life and so they had accepted its presence much like Seren had come to accept the presence of its patron god. She was about to cut off a branch to use for making a crown later on when she heard a familiar voice. "How is my favourite bacchae?" She sighed. It had been about a year since she had agreed to become his faithful follower and needless to say she was still the only one. "Do you know what day it is?" Seren started frantically going through all the calendars she had studied, from the reconstructed Attic calendar to the Roman calendar before and after the Julian reform -what moon phase were they in again? "You always think we don't care about these things but I have a sursprise for you." Dionysos flashed her a bright smile. "What?" she said flatly. A surprise from a god couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"I SAID: I have a SURPRISE for you!" Confetti and flower petals started raining down on them and from above sounded a rustic melody played on pan pipes. Seren looked up to see Hermes sitting on a treebranch, grinning as he played the instrument his son invented. "Ha ha, very funny, Hermes." Dionysos took Seren by the shoulders. "He was supposed to play the Time Warp. Because it's exactly ONE YEAR TODAY that you became my bacchae and do I have a surprise for you!" "Yeah, you said so. But maybe it would be better if-" "Nonsense! As your patron god I am exceedingly generous. You see, I have noticed your infatuation with Plato." "You don't say." "Yes. Anyway, Hermes was so nice to pay grandfather Kronos a visit and relieve him of a little artef- well, details, it doesn't matter! What is important is that you will get to meet Plato!" "Really?!" There was a nagging voice in Seren's head that told her to be careful but Dionysos had just told her she'd get to meet Plato! "Really. All you have to do is take my hand. But I have another gift for you. Hermes, come down here!" The messenger god swung himself lazily from the tree and floated down until his winged sandals touched the ground. "My brother pointed out that you might have difficulties speaking ancient Greek fluently so he will grant you the ability to speak it like a native for as long as you give up your native English." Seren gaped. "That... is surprisingly thoughtful of you." "Hermes, do it! And no nonsense like giving her a lisp or a foreign accent!" "Of course not. Why would I do that?" Hermes grinned at Seren. "I'd not even be there to see it." "What? Now? Wait!" Seren cried out as divine magic rearranged the synapses in her speech centre. "I did not agree-" "She'll speak fluently once you arrive in Greece," Hermes said, "Once you return, the magic wears off." Dionysos gave his brother a suspicious look. Then he beamed. "Perfect!" Dionysos clapped enthusiastically. "Hold on tight!" He pulled her into his embrace and Seren instinctively hugged him. The world around them began to blur and the heavens seemed to turn back as they sped through time and space. There was a sudden jolt and the world was clear once again. Only, it looked strange. But not strange enough for Seren not to recognise her patron god had spoken the truth. This was ancient Athens! She felt a nasty queasiness but she was much too excited to care about that just now. She had known about polychromy but the sheer explosion of colours in the city made her heart sing. The reconstructions were mere shadows of the vibrant paint on the statues, buildings, and clothes. And the Akropolis! It looked majestic even now but the ruins were nothing compared to the magnificence of colour and architecture. Seren stood in awe, even though they were miles away down in a sidestreet. Potters had laid out their painted vases and other works as they created new ones. Seren couldn't decide what to see first, jumping this way and that until the unsavoury sound of regurgitation briefly diverted her attention. Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick wall of a house and puked his guts out. "How can you be so chipper?" Dionysos groaned, wiping his mouth. "You're mortal!" We travelled both time AND space. You should be barfing like a youth at his first symposion." But Seren just ignored him in her euphoria. "It's Athens!" she cried. "ANCIENT Athens!" "That fleet-foorted son of a-" "What? What is it?!" "Nothing, nothing. Everything is fine. I just..." Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick house. "Hermes could have said something about the inconvenience of travelling." Seren shrugged. Who cared, they were already there. "I want to see EVERYTHING!!! The sculptures! The pottery! The architecture! The clothes..." "Speaking of which..." Dionysos grinned. "We should get you something less 2020. If you want to meet Plato, we need a certain disguise. And you want to look your best for him, right?" Seren screwed up her face. "Plato isn't about looks. He's about the beauty of the soul." "Well, if you want to go dressed in that tasteless pink sweater and leggings combination. But let me tell you, nothing looks better on a woman than a finely woven chiton." "Yeah, you're not at all biased." "It's one of the few things even Apollo and I agree on, so it must be true." Seren would have been happy just roaming the streets of ancient Athens for a couple of days. Or for however long this time thingy would allow. The prospect of meeting Plato both exhilarated and terrified her.

Dionysos bought her an elegant chiton in the extremely crowded agora. Seren hardly suppressed a squeal when he paid with real ancient drachmae. Only they didn't look ancient at all. "Why is nobody staring?" she asked, as another group of people walked past them without paying them any mind. "Did you put glamour over my modern clothes?" Dionysos laughed. "No need, honeybee. This is Athens. At a time like this they get tourists from all over the world. One strange, foreign costume is not going to turn any heads." He pulled her away from the merchants and splendour of the agora into the entrance of a seemingly abandoned house. "Put it on," he said, handing her the chiton. "Don't peek!" she reminded him before she changed into her new garment. It felt cool and pleasant on her skin and the quality of the linen was indeed fantastic. Despite the loose fit the fabric was so delicate it hugged her figure in an almost revealing way, making her feel exposed. "Is this really acceptable dress?" she asked. "Only with this worn over it." Dionysos came up behind her, closing another layer of cloth over her shoulders with simple dress pins. "You look great, honeybee," he said sincerely. "Plato can consider himself lucky. You got the brains, you got the looks, and even that austere, joyless personality to match." "I get the impression you don't like Plato much." Dionysos slung the belt around her waist and fastened it. "What gave it away? My graffiti, my groaning everytime you bring him up, or the charming way I speak about him?" "The graffiti was a pretty obvious hint." "I hope you appreciate my gift all the more, honeybee." "I do." She smiled. "But I don't think I could appreciate it any more than I already do. This is a dream come true. The most exciting day of my life. More exciting even than Delphi." "Be careful not to tell Apollo," Dionysos warned but he looked pleased. "Sure. If I ever run into him I'll remember it." As they stepped outside, the streets were empty. "Where is everybody?" "Oh, it must be time to crown the victors." "Victors? Of what? It's too cold to be July, isn't it?" "Not the Panathenaic Games." Dionysos smiled broadly. "It's not an athletic contest. Today..." He made a dramatic pause. "Is the last day of the Great Dionysia!" "Oh." Seren was disappointed. "So we can't go and watch any of the plays?" "I'm afraid it is too late for that. But I can show you my theatre and the temple with my cult image if you want."

Seren politely admired the simple wooden log that was supposed to be a representation of Dionysos and genuinely marvelled at the masks that had been dedicated below it. She patiently listened to Dionysos as he recounted the story of the very first Dionysia in Athens and how he used to mingle among the crowd every year to watch what the people of Athens had put on the stage in his honour. Once they arrived at the theatre it was already empty but it was a stunning sight all the same. Seeing everything intact and in its full glory filled Seren with unknown joy. The decorations, both permanent and temporary, were as colourful and flamboyant as the god they honoured. When they made it back to the streets of Athens, there were already groups of shouty drunk people roaming about. "Victory parties," Dionysos explained when he saw Seren's face. "In fact, we are about to attend one too. But first..." A purple mist shrouded the god's body and when it dispelled, his simple chiton had given way to a slutty ankle-length skirt that hung low enough to expose part of his bum cheeks, his arms, wrists, and ankles adorned with golden jewellery. "I know you practiced with the aulos. You're gonna be a flute girl." Seren startled. "What? No! I'm not nearly good enough!" Dionysos shrugged, making his golden bracelets clink. "I don't think I need to tell you that other kinds of women are not allowed at symposia. Unless you want to play the role of a hetaira..." "F-Flute girl is fine."

They arrived at a house that obviously belonged to someone well-to-do. "A group of revellers is about to show up here any minute. We'll join them to enter the symposion. Trust me, they're too drunk to realise we don't belong." Seren nodded nervously. "Now would be the time to ditch that respectable dress." Reluctantly, Seren freed herself of the protective extra layer of clothing and received the aulos flutes Dionysos handed her. The revellers did indeed show up. Loud and obnoxious, it was impossible not to notice them. A man in his late 20s or early 30s led the group. Half-naked and well into his cups, crowned with a wreath of ivy and violets, he was all but carried by two sturdy lads who looked like they were half-naked professionally. "Come!" Dionysos tugged on her arm and they danced along, she awkwardly, he with a grace and confidence she envied. The leader of the group pounded against the door and yelled for "Agathon". Seren's heart skipped a beat. "Is that... Alkibiades?!" she whispered to Dionysos. "The very same." "We are at THAT Symposium?!!" "We most certainly are." Seren gaped at the man who would eventually be the ruin of Athens by defecting to Sparta and then to Persia. He rattled the door, shouting "Agathon!" and dropped his single piece of clothing in the process, quickly picked up by his lads. Seren shrieked when the man suddenly leaned heavily on her, his arms reeling for support. Dionysos was quick to jump to his other side, taking most of the load off his bacchae. "AGATHON!" Alkibiades yelled once more, in the manner drunks yelled on their way home from the pub after closing hours. He kept demanding to see Agathon with a heavy tongue until a servant boy finally opened up and led them to the andron. Alkibiades managed to stand on his own, stumbling towards the host of the party while announcing how completely and utterly wasted he was. "Let's bring the bacchic spirit to this lame party!" Dionysos cheered. Seren gazed around with stars in her eyes. The room was bright with torches and the klinai were populated by men both young and old but all shirtless and all with crowns of ivy on their heads. She looked more closely at the guests while Alkibiades spoke to Agathon, probably congratulating him for his victory. But none of the symposiasts looked like any of the artworks she had seen of Plato. They were most likely created after his death anyway. "Soooo..." She leaned on Dionysos' shoulder. "Where is Plato?" Dionysos gestured at the kline at the very end of the room, occupied by two young men. "The dark-haired one."

"THAT is Plato?! I thought he'd be at least in his 30s!" Dionysos grinned a smug grin. "He wrote the Symposion in his late 30s. But this, honeybee, is the year the titular symposion actually took place. The first year of the 91st Olympiad. Or, as you would say, 416 BCE." Seren gaped at the young man seated on a couch with a blond youth. He had long, curly hair crowned with a wreath of ivy like all the symposiasts, young and old. A strong, Greek nose gave his face a distinct personality. Who would have thought the man Seren knew only from his words and artwork showing him as an old man could be so... hot. The blonde guy leaned over, whispering something to him. Maybe they were flirting. It wasn't anything unusual back in the day, Seren knew that. But they seemed to be about the same age. Shouldn't- "Play, flute girl," Dionysos nudged her with his elbow, "I'll clear the kline for you."

Seren watched him shimmy over to the pair and tried to remember how to play the aulos. She had practiced so much but right now it felt as if she knew nothing at all. Her idol, Plato, might be listening! Her cheeks burned as she blew into the wooden instrument, the tune an embarrassing version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". Despite playing the role of a dancer, Dionysos sat down with the two no doubt aristocratic young men in his usual impudent manner. The blond youth's face turned sour. "What is the meaning of this?" "I came for the entertainment." "We are very well entertained by each other's company, thank you." Dionysos gave the blonde guy a cheeky grin. "Does your company agree?" He crawled on the kline until he basically sat on Plato's lap, prompting the young philosopher to blush. How cute! "Some people can be such a dull affair, talking about nothing but themselves all the time." The angry blond yanked Dionysos off Plato. "This was a philosophical symposion before you arrived!" "Yes. And to shame! You are celebrating a victory at the Dionysia. Where is the revelry?" "There are countless symposia all over Athens. Why did you have to come and ruin this one?" "You know exactly that I didn't ruin anything. But please, if you have any grievances take it up with my master. Alkibiades." "You know what? I will!" The blond aristocrat got up from the kline and grabbed Dionysos by the wrist, effectively pulling him off the kline. He dragged the god behind him as he made for the door, leaving Plato all alone on his bed of colourful cushions. Dionysos winked at her as they passed and it was at that moment that Seren noticed that his "friend" was the only one wearing laurel instead of ivy. Did they just... cock-block Apollon? But not all is lost, she reasoned, if Plato likes Apollon, he likes blondes, right? Right?

Shyly, Seren sat down next to the man whose teachings she still hadn't figured out. And maybe neither did he. He was so young and handsome. She was close enough to smell his heavy perfume and either oil or sweat or both made his chest gleam in the firelight. It really was quite hot in here. He didn't fit the stereotype of the philosopher at all, being so young and handsome and quite brawny. But no matter how hot he was, his physical appearance was dwarfed by the beauty of his brain and thoughts. His intelligence was that much hotter. That being said, Seren liked to think she would be less flustered if the man were old enough to be her father. But he was not. He must be about her own age. "We got rid of the other flute girl." "Wa-What?" "You must know there were already celebrations with heavy drinking last night. Surely you played at Alkibiades' place or some other house?" Seren nodded timidly. "So Pausanias suggested we refrain from drinking tonight and we ended up sending away the flute girl as well. A shame, because before you came in, it was all boring speeches of the old men assembled here. I enjoy the delightful harmony of music much, much more." "You don't like philosophy?" "Of course I do, but not at a drinking party celebrating the Dionysia. You're not from here, are you?" "Ahm, no?" "I don't think I've met a Spartan flute girl. Most of them come from Peiraieús." Seren laughed nervously. What the fuck, Hermes?! "I hope it's not a problem?" she mumbled. "No, no. I'm just surprised. Do you have a name, dear?" "I... I am Seren." "Seiren? What a fitting nickname! My name is-" "I know who you are!" Seren gushed, "I-I-I admire you greatly, Plato!" "Oh?" To Seren's great relief he smiled. "So you have seen me compete?" "Uh, yes, of course!" Seren would be thrilled to see him at any competition, really. "It's just a silly name my wrestling coach gave me. To intimidate my rivals, he says." "I like it!" "You like my broad shoulders, Seiren?" Seren blushed. "No, that's not what I, uh..." "It's all right. Lots of women admire them." "Ahahaha." Was he flirting with her? Or just bragging? "You may be an outstanding athlete," she said, "But I admire your words even more." "My poetry?" Now it was his time to blush. "Did you play it?" "Not yet." Seren decided to be bold, "People want to hear the same songs, Sappho, Pindar and the like. But... But maybe you can teach me how to play yours?" "No I... I burned them all." "Why would you do that?" "I wanted to focus better on my studies. Maybe I made the wrong call. Mousaios, the guy who just left? He said music is like medicine and can create harmony between opposites, that a musical education is helpful in the study of philosophy. Ah, I don't know. I don't want to bore you, flute girl." "You're not boring me, Plato. Please, tell me your thoughts!" And then, all of a sudden, a large drunken group walked into the room and joined the party, Dionysos among them. There was noise everywhere, and Plato leaned in very close and asked: "What do you say, Seiren. Shall we make our excuses and leave?"

to be continued...

[autoplaysdigimon]

Character Analysis: Mimi Tachikawa and Palmon

When I was a kid, I had some weird ideas about gender.

I fully bought into that “not like other girls” thing. I wasn’t interested in makeup, or clothes, or boys in the same way that the other girls seemed to be (HMMM). I didn’t like shopping, I didn’t care about being pretty, and I preferred being friends with the boys because they were doing fun things like playing Pokemon, and that’s for boys because the Pokemon toys are shelved in the boy’s toy aisle. When I was a kid, there were only two kinds of girls: those who conform to femininity entirely, and those who reject it entirely. In my mind, the spokesmodels for these two types of girls were Mimi and Sora.

This led to a whole Thing where I figured that femininity is terrible and weak and I shouldn’t strive to be like that at all. My friends, the Boys, don’t like feminine things or feminine people, and I wasn’t like that, I was cool, like them! I played Video Games and didn’t wear nail polish! I didn’t always want to gossip or go clothes shopping! In the cast of Digimon, I very much hated Mimi, and wanted to be Sora. I hated pink, I hated fashion, I hated her. 

For the longest time, I tried to get into sports. Mostly it was soccer, because that’s what they play on Digimon! (Alright, it was because that’s what Davis plays specifically. leave me alone) And it killed me that I wasn’t good at it. I didn’t understand the rules even though when I joined up they told us they’d explain the rules and they didn’t (>:[) and I wasn’t fast at running, or competitive enough to be any good. Also I was hit by the ball a lot and developed a fear of it. It ate me up for the longest time, because if I wasn’t good at sports, I must be girly, and I can’t be that, I’m not! I play the Games and everything!

It took me a long-ass time to unlearn all that gender fuckery. I embraced being girly somewhere in the teens I think, and look what happened - I’m unathletic, I like shopping (but will only barely tolerate it if it’s clothes shopping), I’m taking more of an interest in changing my appearance, sometimes I will put on A Make-up, I fucking love pink, I’m a gossipy little bitch, and I never stopped playing video games. Hell, if you’d told me as a kid that I’d end up running a blog about video games, I’d probably ask what a blog was, but I’d be proud of that. I still am.

And rewatching this series, I’ve decided that Mimi and Palmon are my favourites from this season.

Everything that irritated me about her, back then and now, is the fault of the dub writers. Every time they wanted to fill in a dramatic silence with her complaining about missing sales or chipping a nail or ruining her complexion, every time she was silly and vapid and stereotypically girly, it was unnecessary. While the others were trying to find shelter or food, she’d say something that implied that her priorities were about her appearance, not survival. The dub writing really did her a disservice, and that’s a real shame because she’s such an interesting character. There are also a few times where Mimi or Palmon are the butt of an undignified joke, and it’s pretty cool. Not every feminine character gets that!

Was she really representative of Sincerity, or should they have left her as being Purity, like in the original? I think Purity as a concept is very different outside of Japan, so they were probably not going to be able to leave it the way it was. She seemd to be sincere in the same way that Applejack is about Honesty, in that she just has a hard time lying. Is she sincere in a positive way? Eh, sure, she’s good at apologies.

I like seeing characters who exist on a spectrum, instead of being written as a list of aspects. Mimi’s was always about her selfishness and self-preservation instincts against her opposing desire to see everyone safe and happy. She never really wants to fight, hence her splitting from the group in the last arc. Typically, her complaints that aren’t about surface-level things are about why it has to be them, why her. She doesn’t want to be saving the world, she’d just much rather have the world not need saving in the first place. In a way, you could say that her complaints about how much her feet hurt and how she was going to mess up her hair are what she chooses to focus on, rather than air out her real concerns. Plus, she does grow up at least a little during her time in the Digital World.

But occasionally, she’s a girl of Action. When she really needs to, she can be a badass, and that’s everything every girl needs to see. Stereotypically feminine and not put at odds with her competence!

(And let’s be real here for a second, if I was a Digidestined kid, I would ABSOLUTELY be Mimi. I’d complain about getting dirty, about hunger, the heat, having to fight, just the same as her. Hell, she was my avatar for the longest time because I almost physically resemble her!)

(Also because, when that shot came up, I was also playing with my hair in the exact same way. It’s a sign!)

Her relationship with Palmon is interesting. In the first episode, when the In-Training Digimon fail to take down Kuwagamon as they are, all of the Digimon are physically struggling against their partners to get back to the fight except Tanemon, and Mimi merely asks her if she feels the same as the others. Does this speak to Palmon sharing Mimi’s preference for non-violence, or did she pick up on this trait of Mimi’s this early on? In the second episode, Palmon asks...

...which, okay that’s a pretty obvious trait of Mimi’s, let’s be fair. But it does show that Palmon has been analysing Mimi at least a little.

Palmon was very often on the same wavelength as Mimi. She cried when Mimi cried. When Mimi was upset at something, no matter how small, Palmon at least looked to be sad as well, possibly just out of wanting Mimi to not be sad. The biggest rift between them was in the Princess Karaoke episode, where Palmon’s eventual disapproval of how Mimi was acting was the final straw in convincing Mimi that she was in the wrong. It took Palmon a long time to figure out that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t the good guys in this situation. The Japanese version has a throughline where Palmon tells Mimi that she hates her, tells her again in her dream, and then tells her that she loves her at the end of the episode, which is exactly what Mimi needed to hear every time. (The dub doesn’t have this, but it does have Palmon telling Mimi that she’s a spoiled brat instead, which is still pretty heckin’ harsh.)

It could have been any of the pairs in the situation of the final episode, where one doesn’t want to say goodbye so they run away, deciding to just never see them again. It could have been Kari and Gatomon, not wanting to say goodbye so soon after meeting for the first time. It could have been TK and Patamon, because they’re the Young Ones who don’t know how to face their emotions yet. It could have been Tai and Agumon, because shows like this like to have the important events happen to the front-line main characters. But it wasn’t any of them, it was Palmon who couldn’t face saying goodbye, and Mimi who nearly didn’t get a proper sendoff for closure.

Palmon and Mimi’s relationship was shown to be very strong, very trusting. For Palmon’s words to be the point where Mimi realised that she was being selfish, she must have valued Palmon’s opinion of her a lot more than she realised. She was happy enough for Joe, Tai and their partners to think that she was selfish, but Palmon was where she drew the line and snapped out of it. The fact that Mimi was inconsolable in the final episode when she (nearly) didn’t get to say goodbye just shows this further.

I think my favourite thing about Palmon is that she Digivolves into Togemon. She’s this cute little flower girl, and then she’s a fucking huge cactus who’s ready to throw down in every way imaginable and will punch a dude in the face. Also dumb plant jokes. And she’s a little bit dumb of ass, but that’s okay.

I don’t know, I just like them both. They’re also #aesthetic goals, if I’m honest. Palmon’s an adorable little fucker, I had to restrain myself from posting every Palmon face I thought was cute. I’d go ahead and say that she’s in my top 5 favourite Digimon. While Mimi’s voice acting was pretty good, Palmon’s was fantastic, and I could listen to her talk all day. She had random voice cracking moments and that one time she laughed I physically made squeeing noises. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, she is PRECIOUS.

Plus, Palmon wearing Mimi’s hat? ADORABLE. I like to think that, after the hat fell off the tram at the end, Palmon found it and kept it.

The last thing I want to say about Palmon is that is her name derived from Palm, like palm trees? Should it be pronounced that way???? They don’t in the dub, but they alsy like to pronounce “Dramon” very wrong, so maybe we shouldn’t take their word for it. Maybe it’s correct anyway, because she is, indeed, a pal.

TL;DR GIRLS GOOD

[life-rewritten]

Spooky Season! A look into a Masterpiece (He’s Coming To Me Review)

I've been waiting to talk about this show and how my love for it will never end. Surprisingly the source of the show is GMMTV, whilst known for so many problematic elements in BL genre; He's coming to me manages to avoid every single issue naturally had with this genre. And because of that, this review is an ode to a masterpiece that should not be forgotten and should not be underrated. It's also Halloween, so this is another excuse to go back and look at the best things about this show. Hopefully, we get more like this GMMTV.

Ratings: Plot: 9/10 Directing: 9/10 Acting: 910 Satisfaction: 9/10 Overall: A* Rewatch factor: 8.5/10

AN IN-DEPTH REVIEW

Nothing wrong to say about this show. And that's a breath of fresh air; I remember first watching this show in 2019 very late because we had issues with the subtitles, and I went into it very sceptical and had low expectations. By the end of this show, I was so grateful and happy that this exists. 

The title of the show (He keeps coming to me) is what the heart of the show is about.  Thun, our main character who keeps going to Mes,  a ghost who he can see, his determination in keeping Mes by his side, to being his childhood acquaintance, to his best friend and finally to his lover, is felt and focused on when he has to brave the world and society norms, and some truths about himself.  Meanwhile, Mes has to discover his reason for being a ghost and unravel the mysteries tying him to his fate with Thun. So incredible to watch and see their love story unfold. 

Criticisms/ Comments

As I said, there are no negatives when it comes to this show.  All we could maybe mention is the slow pace from episode 1-3. But even at that, the relationship dynamics are shown genuinely because of the time it takes to develop the story.

This love story uses the trope friends to lovers which entails a soft cute and heartwarming bond between Mes and Thun since they first met each other. The two want to spend as much time with each other even though their worlds are different (spirit realm vs human realm). Thun is determined to have Mes keep coming to his side, learning about the lore and rules surrounding ghosts in our world; the use of incense, the way Mes starts of not being able to hold onto anything, the fact that Thun is the only person who sees Mes. He can't hide his feelings even when he's with his friends, he makes up excuses just to return home to spend time with Mes, and he makes it his mission to discover why Mes died, so Mes gets reincarnated. The slow pace might make people think the show is a bit boring, but it's just a way to introduce and show exposition to the other characters surrounding this world. If you rewatch the show, you also start to recognise foreshadowing symbolisms, devices and hints pointing to the final revelation about how Thun and Mes are tied together.

I also think some people struggled with as well the lack of 'skinship' from Thun and Mes, but this is a device used to emphasise one of the obstacles of our couple;  the lack of touch ( because Mes struggles to learn the rules of how to hold objects or touch Thun). We the audience try to uncover the reasons for why sometimes they're able to feel each other by mistake and Mes starts to work hard to hold objects and cook, and turn on the incense which keeps him tied to the environment it's in. I didn't have an issue with the skinship because the actors were phenomenal at showing little subtle hints to feelings on their faces of longing, want and love. The scenes where skinship was required wasn't stiff or awkward or weird like other shows of this genre make you feel about them. It felt natural,  a tad unrealistic (in terms of the way their heads tilted and the camera spun) but so what?  The show wasn't meant to focus on that; it focused on the bond and love between the two, they just enjoyed talking and spending quality time being domestic with each other, and that's adorable. Alright, let's look at the positives:

Character Breakdown and Plot Meaning

The characterisation of HCTM is so excellent; it still shocks me how much I didn't expect it to be this way. All our characters are critical to the plot, even when they're just side characters with no deep story arcs to themselves. Thun and Mes interact with people who are part of their path in recognising what they are to each other. Before I praise the characterisation of the two, let's focus on some other characters who were so good in this show:

Thun's best friends: Prince, Plufai and Khiem

These were a phenomenal group of friends who were so caring and patient and genuinely the heartwarming part of this series as well. I enjoyed watching how much they went out of their way to ensure that Thun was okay, even when they didn't understand why he was the way he was and also felt frightened by some of his actions (talking to himself randomly, and acting out). One of my fave story arcs during the season is when Khiem (Played amazingly by Sing) thinks Thun is taking drugs and so starts a secret series of investigations keeping an eye on his actions. It wasn't because they were judging him but because they were worried about his wellbeing.  

Also, my heart melted for Prince (Played by another excellent favourite Chimon),  who had unrequited feelings for Plufai and struggled to deal with her feelings for Thun and his own seemingly cold/nonchalant/evasive actions concerning her. It's the way he wasn't toxic or problematic and also was willing to step down if Thun did have feelings for Plufai. I also really enjoyed watching his relationship with her develop and the natural chemistry between the two.

Lastly, PluFai first starts as every female character from a GMMTV show, a competition, someone there to be a beard to the main character. Still, I enjoyed her heart. I also loved her being the mirror character to Thun's mum when it came to her relationship with Mes in the past. Both women show strength and understanding and acceptance once they discover the sexuality of the person who they had feelings for. And I thought her way of dealing with it, their friendship being robust and full of communication was really what sold it for me. There were moments when I was frightened about her connection to the mystery of Mes's death, and it broke my heart when she realised what she was to him and what it meant for her grandfather. I also enjoyed the way she takes it on her self to make it up to him and how forgiving she is to her grandfather despite the fact I didn't think he should be. She showed strength, understanding and warmth and kept being that way and also consistent.  And I love that because she wasn't problematic female stereotypes that GMMTV loves to add to women, she stayed great and true throughout the show. And I loved it.

Thun's Family: Mum and Dad

Honestly, the way the writing of these characters was what made me love this show the most. Thun's dad shows up only in episode 1 before he dies surprisingly and Mes sees his ghost disappear. I thought that's all we needed to know of him. Still, we really get to learn more about Thun's family dynamics; there are answers to why his mum didn't join them during the grave excursions, why she was absent during those years he meets Mes, his father's knowing and understanding gaze as Thun cries about not being able to see him and also how he's hidden the fact he sees ghosts. We get information as well about the relationship with him and the mum after Mes broke up with her.

Next, we have Thun's mum, her first appearance is warm and pleasant. Still, we won't be able to fathom that she's wearing the watch that Mes has been drawing all this time, she's the girl who provided Mes with the same gift he created for Thun, she's already been close with someone who came out and so she was a source of strength for Thun when he struggled with accepting his sexuality. That coming out scene is so incredible and has made this show a fantastic piece of media for representation for LGBT. I loved her relationship with Mes, despite it being an obstacle to our couple at first, she's so understanding of him, and she's so grateful he returned and is the person her son loves. But also it's the plot twist that Thun sees ghosts because she too can, and she was hiding that as a secret until she meets Mes. It made it better, a relief to know that he's not alone and there is a reason for why he's able to see them. It also made the relationship with our couple easier because she understood and saw Mes, so Thun and Mes's relationship was more readily accepted.

He's coming to me brought these characters and connected it to its world-building, rules and understanding of its supernatural themes whilst still providing consistent dynamics about friendship and family and life in general. Not only is it a BL show, but it had other focuses as well rounding it up and making it much more wholesome and needed. The characters held no toxic tropes commonly also found in BL, the relationships felt real and authentic, and each of the characters had development and growth that tied them together to the plot overall. Now onto the heart of this show: My all-time faves Thun and Mes

Thun

One of my favourite characters, honestly rewatching this show was so incredible, especially when I started to notice more about this character after all the revelations revealed throughout the show. I went into the show surprised at how open Thun was to Mes already, the way he cared and wanted what was the best for Mes who has always been alone and neglected. Even when older Thun shows up and still shows the same amount of care even though he dislikes the fact that he could see ghosts, he's so warm and protective over Mes, and it made me swoon and smile. I enjoyed watching him come to terms with who he was.

At first, we don't see any hints that this is something the story will focus on.  But as we go deeper into his university life and his reason for why he studied law etc. It becomes evident that Thun knows he's gay but is struggling with internalised homophobia, it's also pretty clear he's had feelings from the beginning for Mes. He even knew when Mes started having feelings for him too.

They just didn't want to confront what it meant. Ohm Pawat's acting is so incredible you can see the subtle changes in Thun, and meanings with his actions with Mes that they both have requited feelings for each other but they don't want to cross the line. Thun has memorable speeches during the show as well about his struggle with his sexuality and how people perceive him. It's incredible how the show mirrors his on the surface secret about seeing ghosts and being seen as abnormal to the world to his internal/ more profound secret about his sexuality and also feeling abnormal. It's so telling that once Mes enters his life, he no longer feels it a struggle to embrace who he is, he uncontrollably speaks to Mes and laughs and stares romantically whilst hanging around his friends, he can't help but run to him when he needs him. Especially during the rooftop scene, the fear of losing Mes causes him not to care what others think, and he proceeds to call for him and confess his feelings and stay out in the rain waiting for him. He also proceeds to accept his sexuality even more, once Mes enters his life, he kisses Plufai to determine what he truly feels and once that occurs he decides to head straight and try to talk to Mes about it, thereby afterwards always making Mes know what he is to him is more than friends. I can talk a lot about his character and how much I enjoyed his development and how he chose to finally trust the people around him and also his determination to keep Mes by his side.  Which we, later on, find out is also the reason for why they could touch and feel each other. The show emphasises that it's about his determination, his perseverance and love for Mes that keeps the latter coming to him. And towards the end, his wish comes true, and Mes returns to his side because of that. Awesome and beautifully written.  

Mes

Singto has been an unstoppable force in GMMTV as an actor, and Mes is another character that is just as memorable and great as the others. While Thun's characterisation surrounds his will and determination to keep Mes by his side, Mes's surrounds his warmth and caring aura. I love. love realising that both Mes and Thun mirrored each other when struggling with their sexuality, both had girls who were loyal and great to them, but they couldn't hide who they were anymore.

The show emphasises the importance of this,  telling the audience that yes they're gay, this is a show about two gay boys falling in love, and this is also about how they accept who they are whilst dealing with the obstacles that are supposed to separate them.

Mes is so soft, he's this adorable, mischievous (with personality), ball of fluff and I enjoyed his character. He wasn't written as a stagnant and a boring character; he had his own goals, his own self-exploration, his own storyline and mystery to be solved. And the way the show told his story, was fantastic, the way they mixed the supernatural elements of Mes and the mystery of his death back to Thun was so great. Mes and Thun were always destined to find each other; they were on the path to each other though one of it included him being murdered by his relative, every character is connected together to help get these two together at the end. I love how the show makes us feel like Mes has an unrequited love for Thun at first.

We see Singto's acting to the finest, the longing, the jealousy and the worry about their new blooming relationship. He also shows guilt and character depth when he realises that Kwan is Thun's mother. The pacing and directing keep us in the dark for why he's gone for so long and ran away after their first kiss. We later get the truth revealed as Thun comes out to his mum, and it's such a brilliant way to get the audience even more heartbroken about the reveal. Due to dramatic irony. The mum is the reason for why Thun can happily accept Mes as his lover in his life yet is also an obstacle because Mes can't get over what he did to her in the past. It's brilliant, and such a great way to write the story.

I am so happy as well that Mes returns to Thun's side. I cried like a baby watching their week together, knowing that the time to say goodbye was coming closer. Their conversation about everything and their uncontrollable feelings was so meaningful and heartbreaking; their confession about how they've loved each other from the start; how they've known how the latter felt but refused to accept it because of all the obstacles in their way. Mes still unsure but deciding to spend the last moments together as much as possible. And their relief in discovering that they can touch each other, and the reason for why. These two's love was so beautiful to see.

Lastly, I enjoyed the fact that this is a happy ending. With this genre when surrounding these topics death, separation etc. You expect sad endings mostly because that's the way directors like to end LGBT shows for a long time (something I absolutely detest), from episode 1, the show actually foreshadowed the ending, and comes through with it, I cried so much when I realised that it was not yet Mes's time to go all because of the reasons stated in episode 1. I also cried because GMMTV directors let a great representation show have a hopeful, romantic ending, and a show for many people to relate to, but also to run to and forget about reality.

 That's why this show is a masterpiece. I didn't even go into the devices and symbols used in this show, but there was a lot of meta, foreshadowing, dramatic irony etc. That also made this show brilliant. The directing and production quality is also fantastic and deserves praise. The actors; all of them were incredible. I just want another show like this please GMMTV?

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Completely Enamoured

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x reader

Request: hi!! can I please request a Charlie x reader where he gets jealous when another team's seeker starts cozying up to the reader. Charlie tries to get himself in between her and the guy at all costs - saying that you are his best friend afterall and you, oblivious, agrees with him. Charlie's final trick is involving the twins, and he instructs them to sit on either of you and the guy during lunch until he leaves. Charlie confesses afterwards, after much teasing from the twins 😁

A/N: Thank you Anon!! I l o v e Charlie Weasley and I hope I did your request justice (sorry I deviated a little)!! Also, I really do want to do a part two to this, where they tell his family about them (maybe as they graduate), let me know if you’d like that!! Edit: Part Two Here!

Wordcount: 1.6k

Requests are still open!

…

Charlie laughed at a joke she had made, admiring the way she smiled proudly, hair blowing around her face in the wind as it grew stronger. He tried to ignore it, to remind himself that they were just friends, but every time she looked at him, or said his name, his heart went into overdrive and he thought he would die if he didn’t kiss her. But he knew that she wouldn’t feel the same, and he didn’t want to sacrifice their friendship over feelings that he was sure he could put away, eventually, even if he hadn’t been able to in the seven years they had known each other.

Bill had known Charlie’s secret – he said it was obvious, that he was near enough tripping over his own feet to be close to her, always sitting a little too close or laughing a little too long. He had tried to convince Charlie to tell y/n how he felt, he said he was sure that she felt the same way too, but Charlie wasn’t sure that could be true. Alas, Bill had left Hogwarts with the pair still not together, with Charlie still pining after her painfully, unable to help anymore.

Which was why, when the Hufflepuff seeker sat next to her when they were studying in the library together, trying to flirt with her after his house’s spectacular win in the Quidditch match, he knew he couldn’t let it happen, even if he knew it was wrong he couldn’t control the jealousy that told him to interfere, to protect y/n. And so, he turned to the trouble-makers that were his twins for help.

“Listen, I just don’t think he has good intentions and I don’t want her to get hurt.” Charlie explained to the twins as their young faces looked back at him with scepticism written all over their faces.

“Yeah, he has the intention of stealing your girl.” George smirked, and Fred laughed loudly at the look on Charlie’s face. He stuttered, trying to deter his younger brothers from this subject, but they were as persistent as Bill had been.

“Don’t worry Charlie, Bill told us everything.” Fred spoke up. “You and y/n would be cute together, we’ll help.”

“Plus, when have we ever turned down an opportunity for mayhem?” George grinned. Charlie sighed in relief, patting them both on the shoulder in thanks as he began to lay out the plan to them.

…

y/n was walking through the corridors with John, the Hufflepuff seeker who had turned his attentions on to her a few days prior. They were having a polite conversation between the two of them, interesting enough, but nowhere near as engaging and entertaining as the conversations she always had with Charlie, she thought as they walked towards the greenhouses.

While she was looking away across the grounds he reached his hand out, intending to grab hers in it, when a foul smell filled the air, causing him to cough and for y/n to turn around. She spotted the two redheads running away and laughed, cursing them loudly. She started her journey to the greenhouses again, noticing that John seemed a little put-out.

“Aw come on, we were just the victims of a prank.” She laughed, glad that they were out of the vicinity of the dungbomb now. John’s smile, however, had still not returned.

“I just think it’s childish.” He said, and she rolled her eyes.

“They are children, they’re twelve.” She chastised, and he shrugged, not arguing any further but clearly not agreeing. After a few minutes of silence, he struck up another conversation, the same polite tone as before.

Charlie watched from behind, unable to help the smile on his face as he noticed that y/n made sure to leave a little more distance between the two than there was before, and how both of their hands stayed firmly at their sides.

…

The weather had broken into a nice spell, for what the students knew would only be a few days, and y/n and John were sat next to the lake, enjoying the sunshine as she had a book out in front of her which she seemed to be talking about animatedly, and John seemed to be listening along with a very limited interest.

Charlie was watching, jealousy simmering inside of him. He pushed down the waves as they came, pretending to be writing something on the parchment in front of him, until he heard her laugh carry over to him. The melodic sound of it carried through the air, and for a second he couldn’t help but have his spirits lifted, until he realised why she was laughing and who had caused it.

Unable to take it anymore, he stuffed his parchment and quill back into his bag, swinging it over his shoulder as he made his way across the grass, to where they were sat and she was still giggling to herself quietly.

“Hey, Charlie!” She beamed up at him, his heart faltering for a second at her dazzling smile.

“Hagrid has asked for our help with some of the creatures.” He lied on the spot, hoping that Hagrid would pick up on the cues and not tell her that he hadn’t, in fact, asked for any help. “Care to join?”

“Of course!” Within a second she had hopped up to join him, taking the hand that he offered to pull her up. “Bye John.” She waved, barely giving him another glance as they walked together, glad to be back in Charlie’s company. “You’ll never believe it, Charlie, I was reading Fantastic Beasts and telling John about Nifflers, he asked if they were dangerous.” She laughed loudly again, and Charlie couldn’t help but join her at the idea of an unfriendly Niffler. It lifted his heart when he thought that she had been spending her time with him still talking about the creatures that they both loved so much.

…

John had cornered her once again, asking to go and study together in the library, which she had reluctantly accepted, not seeing the harm if they would be sat there in silence. He didn’t seem to have the same idea, however, and kept starting conversations, pulling her away from the essay she was trying to finish.

“So I was in training the other day, and I managed to find the snitch in twenty minutes.” He started again, and she sighed inwardly. He spoke about Quidditch almost as much as Charlie spoke about dragons, but at least she cared about dragons.

“Oh, that’s impressive.” She smiled kindly, dipping her quill back into her ink. “I think I watched Charlie catch one in ten minutes before.” His mouth dropped open, but before he could respond two people had sat on either side of them, wearing identical smiles on their identical faces.

“Hi y/n” The twins said in unison, and she smiled at the both of them warmly.

“How can I help you?” she asked, putting her essay away, knowing that between the three of them, she would never have it finished.

“Well, remember when we were on the platform before our first year, and you offered to help us if we were ever struggling?” George started, and she nodded, remembering how pleased Molly had been at her offer.

“The time has come. We need your help in potions, if you’re willing.” Fred chimed in. She happily agreed, asking for a copy of their textbook as she started to explain the concepts they said they were struggling with. After five minutes, John looked extremely angry, and gathered his things in his arms promptly.

“I’ll catch up with you some other time I guess.” He huffed, storming out of the library in a way that made y/n have to stifle a giggle.

They stayed in the library for another hour or so, before she shepherded the twins back to the common room. Once they had entered, she saw a head turn towards her, a welcoming expression, and saying goodbye to Fred and George headed to join him.

“Charles, why have you had Fred and George tailing me for the last fortnight?” She asked, her voice light and teasing despite her accusation. He froze, heart pounding as panic flooded him at the thought that she had caught on to what he was doing.

“You know?” he asked.

“Of course I know!” There it was again, that laugh. The one which was a drug to him, one he wanted to hear forever. “Every time John gets close to me they’re there, and I know they don’t need help in potions.”

Despite his racing mind, he couldn’t find an excuse, a lie as to why he had, indeed, asked his brothers to keep the boy away from her. And so, in his own messy way, the truth came out.

“Well, I didn’t like that guy hanging around you. I don’t think he’s good for you. Actually, I don’t think any guy is good for you, except one. I, um, I happen to think that I am good for you, or I want to be, if you want that too.” He stumbled over his words, wishing this could have gone more smoothly for him. He was surprised, then, when she leapt forwards to press her lips to his, a kiss which short-circuited his brain and made him completely lost in her.

“Who would have thought, Charlie Weasley being interested in more than just dragons.” She teased when she pulled away, earning a laugh from him and a teasing pinch on her shoulder. She fell into his chest, resting her head in the crook of his neck, feeling like she was at home already. “Oh, I can’t wait until we tell Molly. Do you think she’ll cry? I think we can make her cry.”