#i think straight people in the 70s were watching a very different show than the one i am watching as a dyke in 2023

[nedlittle]

sometimes you hear the bullet scrambled me like an egg

[deliciouswastelandgoddess]

Kinnporsche and Queer Dressing - The Genius of Kinnporsche's Wardrobe

Also read:

The Genius of Kinnporsche's Humour

The Genius of Kinnporsche's Intimacy The Genius of Kinnporsche's Plot Twists

I remember the first time I came across any KP content on Tumblr - it was the entire boat scene set where Kinn is leveling a gun at Porsche asking him to be his bodyguard and P just yeets himself off of the boat. I had no prior knowledge or context for this but I still remember thinking - this looks fruity as hell. And I know it was because of alot of things but primarily it was because of how Kinn was dressed. So I bring to you my take on how Kinnporsche utilizes each character's wardrobe to frame their queerness in the narrative - four characters in particular actually - Tankhun, Kinn, Vegas and Porsche.

I want to prelude this by stating that I like to think of Kinnporsche as a romantic/comedy/action show which happens to have a gay lead pair rather than a gay mafia show - I think the cast and crew have gone out of their way to make it feel that way as well because while there exists a distinctive queer experience of life, in the end people are people and no amount sexuality or gender differences will stop us from empathising and sympathising with a character.

A character's wardrobe can be a powerful tool in delivering narrative short hand. Some short-hands can contribute to creating excessively harmful stereotypes but if done right it can engage the target audiences (queer people in this case) by giving them something to relate to. It could be the way someone talks, or their body language, film references and ofcourse their clothes. To me it feels like the KP showrunners went out of their way to find stylists who were in touch with queer pop culture (both western and eastern) and how that reflects in men's wardrobe (all men I would say but gay and gnc men in particular).

1. Tankhun

Tankhun's style is representative of the early western media depiction of what a gay man would dress like. They haven't really confirmed his sexuality in the show so far but I don't think that matters. Even if he turned out to be straight, the roots of his wardrobe choices lay in the out and proud gays of the 70s, 80s and the 90s in the west.

Tankhun sticks to a masculine cut - blouses and trousers - but the fabrics and colors are not what you would expect from western traditional masculine attire. You see a lot of pink - a colour associated with femininity traditionally, eccentric prints, colorful necklaces, glitter, funny sunglasses, leather, furs, ruffles, and ostentatious jackets. He's confidently loud about his gender non-conformity.

It's also interesting to note that while garish colors or prints are not considered effeminate when it comes to traditional eastern clothing for men, the same group of people would consider it effeminate just because the clothes are western. Tankhun really embodies the idea of queer dressing as we see it in western pop culture - this is queer dressing at its loudest. Also I would give my left lung for that floral Cape he's wearing here.

2. Kinn

Kinn at first glance seems to be the antithesis of Tankhun when it comes to his dressing. He is always in his suits and button downs, hair always in place, luxury watches, etc. - he oozes classic western masculine elegance. Very Very masculine and very very elegant. Even his informal clothing and pyjamas are very crisp. But let me remind you again that it was his ombre suit that made me think that something very LGBT seems to be happening in this show.

Porsche should have clocked him the moment he turned up to Yok's bar in this absolute icon of a suit. It's the softest of colours - a faint blush - completely at odds with his first impression of mafia machismo. He still manages to look edgy in it but it's so so feminine and delicate. The legendary ombre suit is iconic not just because it's a beautifully put together fashion moment (I would give both my lungs for this one) but because it frames Kinn's queerness visually rather than just through words or dialogues. Kinn is also the only character in the story who actually calls himself "gay" like sure everyone is gay in KP but he's the only one who owns up to that label. So not only is he an out and proud gay man he's actually in touch with queer fashion sensibilities and not afraid to use feminine/gnc elements in his dressing. It's also great representation to have different types of queer characters expressing themselves.

Once you start noticing his dressing with a keen eye you can really see that very few straight men would dress the way Kinn does but it's a very subtle thing. His penchant for red, his earrings (oh lord his earrings), the rich boy knit t-shirts tucked into his cropped pants, the 6 inches of ankle over his little pull on shoes - he screams gay but like very quietly. The second time Porsche should have clocked him:

Again to add here, earrings aren't considered to be particularly feminine in many Eastern cultures. Also they are gaining mainstream popularity in the west as well. Thirdly steel jewelry for crime lords is a very old media trope. It's still a little fruity though.

Kinn's wardrobe is hands down my favourite in the show for multiple reasons and the understated queerness just makes it even more delicious. I could go on and on about him in just the first episode but alas we have to move on.

3. Vegas

Vegas is again on the subtler side of the queer dressing spectrum - I would argue he is even more understated than Kinn. He employs a bunch of interesting prints but that's actually pretty normal for asian mafia representation in media (eg: the guy standing behind Vegas in the gif).

His most telling outfit was this red satin blouse which is gloriously androgynous - the cut is pretty masculine, the fabric is feminine and colour is something between the two. It isn't soft at all (unlike the ombre suit) but it's very delicate - both delicate and dangerous - it's a lovely dichotomy. Interestingly this is also an outfit that evokes the way lesbians tend to dress which is a very different vibe to Kinn and Tankhun. I can't articulate why this screams lesbian™ but it does and i think it's very neat.

4. Porsche

My second favourite wardrobe in the show after Kinn's. He started out with the most basic straight manwhore™ outfits but slowly came into his queer fashion sensibilities. The stylists understood the assignment with him people. The tailored Italian pants with worned out t-shirts and old chucks just -*chef's kiss*- love to see it, very LGBT of him.

It's also a fun detail because clearly Porsche is a queer character but he isn't really in touch with queer pop culture so he's picking things up from his partner - he's learning. The high fashion Italian pants are obviously an influence from Kinn who is a much more experienced...ah gay, a learned gay, if you will - he be gaying alot longer than Porsche. Funnily enough though, even before Porsche started dating Kinn he exhibited quirks that I can only chalk up to him being a ✨bisexual✨ like not to sound like a Jane Austenesque puritan but what's with all the rolled up t-shirt sleeves huh??

It's an outdated term but Porsche's recent outfits really channel the Y2K metrosexual™. It's also lovely to see the fact, that there isn't a wrong way to be queer, represented in media. Porsche may not exactly fit into the well-read tuned-in category of the Twitter and Tumblr savvy woke™ LGBT community but he is woke because he is a decent human being. He is also the most traditionally masculine in his fashion choices (the cut, the fabric, the colors) amongst the four discussed in this post- the only remotely feminine thing in his outfits is the delicate silver chain and that's it but his wardrobe still manages to feel like it's catering to the...queer gaze, for lack of a better phrase.

~

There isn't really a conclusion to this post except that I really enjoy overthinking about weird details in the media I consume.

+Honorary mentions:

Lady Jessica and Tay - love what they have done with their gender, absolute legends.

[thommi-tomate]

Philipp Lahm Column

The year begins sadly. Franz Beckenbauer has died. He gave more to German football than anyone else and embodied his country in the best possible way. With wit, charisma, expertise, charm and optimism. The world bows before this shining light.

Beckenbauer always instilled enormous confidence in Germans. First as a player, then as a coach and finally as the man behind the 2006 summer fairytale. It was always true: if Franz takes care of things, nothing can happen to us

I didn’t experience Franz Beckenbauer as a player; the last time he was on the pitch was shortly before I was born. But I did experience the reverence with which my father spoke of him. And when I later looked at the old recordings from the 60s and 70s, some still in black and white, I immediately noticed something: everything was much slower than it is today. The players took a long time to position the ball. They only passed it with their second or third touch. Except for one. Franz played the ball directly to where he wanted it. He played in a way that became common decades later. Like a man from the future.

I have a free-kick in my mind’s eye that he, in a Bayern shirt, flicked over the wall and into the corner of the goal with the outside of his foot after a straight run-up. This goal must have seemed like a miracle to those who witnessed it.

Beckenbauer embodied this progress, this technical innovation, with unprecedented ease. And he was not only more elegant than the others, he had a different idea of football and teamwork. He became a role model for a generation. Der Kaiser modernised football, accelerated it, made it more beautiful. I can’t think of anyone who changed the game in the same way.

When West Germany became world champions in 1990 under Beckenbauer, I was glued to the television as a six-year-old. I think I watched every game of that World Cup. I remember the penalty kick Andi Brehme scored to win the title. And the hairstyle of the team manager, who entertained the whole country with his jokes.

You saw a world champion coach who worked so hard that his mother worried about him “because Franz was so thin”. He knew how to address his players. “Geht’s raus und spielt’s Fußball.”: “Go out on to the pitch and play football.” He gave everyone courage, because one thing was always clear to everyone: nothing can go wrong with Franz.

In 2006, when the World Cup kicked off in Germany, I was on the pitch. The goal I scored in the opening game against Costa Rica is one of the highlights of my career. Being able to play a World Cup in your home country is a priceless gift. The connection with the crowd, the closeness to the fans, has always filled me with confidence. The 2006 experience carried me through my career. It also made me realise my responsibility as a footballer.

The World Cup transformed Germany. A nation that was used to looking at itself very critically suddenly recognised its beautiful teams. A free-playing Germany helped the country look itself in the mirror. Football helped Germany to recognise itself.

We all know mistakes were made around the 2006 World Cup. But in the case of Beckenbauer, something got out of balance. His life’s work for German football and his country cannot be overestimated. The Sommermärchen would not have been possible without the president of the organising committee.

Another tournament is due to be held in Germany this summer. Times have changed, the world is plagued by many crises. We have to adapt, strengthen our community and learn to appreciate Europe and all its achievements again. To do this, we need a new impetus

Europe can do this, its people are capable of it. And football as a cultural asset is part of European civil society. The game can create solidarity and unite people across borders. The many warm-hearted obituaries Franz Beckenbauer has received from all countries shows this.

Euro 2024 should strengthen our cohesion and the European idea. For sport to achieve this, it needs authentic personalities who radiate satisfaction, pride and optimism. Franz Beckenbauer always did that. That is his legacy.

[wroteonedad]

Pearl (2022)

I go onto my Letterboxd and I type in my silly little review about the horny grandma in X (2022), within minutes of posting the review I have one of my friends messaging me, insisting that I watch Pearl straight away. I couldn't bare to put myself through a movie double bill, but if I watch X again, I know I'll have to watch the two movies back to back.

Pearl is perhaps a movie that didn't really need to happen, but I am so glad it did. After watching this film, I think I understand why Pearl was the way she was in X (2022). The way in which the film is laid out is brilliant. X being chronologically the sequel to Pearl is about a 70s porno. The way in which the film is edited and shot very much suggests mid 70s. Pearl does exactly the same thing. As it's the first story in the trilogy, the film opens and closes exactly how an Audrey Hepburn movie would. The music, many of the credits at the beginning, the overbearing smile at the end; it all resembles that show girl aesthetic that women were dying to have during the War.

The storyline is also weirdly wonderful. Pearl is left with her German family working at their farm, waiting for the return of her husband Howard who is fighting in the war and dealing with life changes from both the war and the Spanish Influenza; the area is in lockdown and Pearl is left wearing a face mask every time she goes into town to run her errands. Her strict mother, the lockdown and her need to break free, to become her own woman gets the better of her and she starts to end up going a bit crazy. Her mother essentially becomes cruel towards Pearl, not allowing her to speak to people in town in fear of someone coming after them for their German heritage. Her father has had a stroke and is left needing 24 hour care.

Lusting for men, doing anything out of her power to ensure she's the star at the dance and ultimately killing the people who were looking out for her the most out of spite and jealousy, this movie makes for a remarkable modern horror. I am so for these forms of non conventional horror movies because there is nothing more boring than when you spend the whole film waiting for the jumpscare to happen and nobody to have any character development through the whole picture.

Pearl wants to be seen by everyone all the time. She wants to be the ladies in the dance films, and when everything becomes too overwhelming for her, she turns to the animals at the farm. Sometimes it's dancing on top of hay and performing with a pitchfork, other times its to impale them, to feed them to her best friend, an alligator which seemingly seems to reside pretty much at the end of the farm land. The story of Pearl follows how she went from lockdown insane to becoming a serial killer.

The way in which Pearl failed to achieve any of her dreams makes sense why the way she is the way she is in X (2022). Everything she does, everybody she kills seems to foreshadow exactly the way in which the story will pan out over 50 years later.

The colouring and setting of this film is very different to X. The outdoor shots of the farm and towards the town are bright, rich in colour. Like something out of a book, something like what you saw in the original Wizard of Oz movie. Inside on the other hand is dark and dingy, possibly reflecting how Pearl felt trapped, as if it was her parents who were holding her back from everything that she wanted to accomplish. Despite the grittiness of the movie and the relationships she both begins and ends, the actual death scenes themselves very much resemble something out of a dark comedy. I think it is perfect, I think that Mia Goth is the perfect person to be playing a character like Pearl and for that I cannot wait to see how the third movie will pan out in the X universe.

Pearl is currently not available on any streaming services. Legal ones anyway.

[castielmacleod]

To clarify my Opinion on the prequel for the days ahead

—> I first and foremost do not care. Critically I am not actually a fan of spn. I could BARELY stand that show even when the characters I actually liked (literally just the side characters) were on screen. Now the see double you wants me to look at zoomer Mary “I had to be literally brainwashed before I could love and have children with this man” Campbell (with STRAIGHT. HAIR.) and ken doll John “I’m such a rookie goofball even though I literally volunteered to go murder people in Vietnam” Winchester, as they fall in heterosexual love as conceived in the mind of Jensen “I literally think spn is/was a good show” Ackles. Lol. There is nothing on planet earth that could compel me to watch or even 🏴‍☠️ the prequel, I genuinely want nothing to do with it.

—> I have to emphasise that even the prequel bringing back any of my beloved side characters could compel me to watch it and in fact that would have the complete opposite effect. I would actually be repelled because I do not trust Jason Ankles I do not trust Robbie Thompson I do not trust a single spn writer to do anything but ruin these characters (more than they already may have been ruined of course) and yes this VERY MUCH includes Cas. This includes Rowena. This includes Crowley. This includes if they put angels and demons in new vessels. This even includes if they somehow get 70? Is he 70? Year old Mark Shep back in front of the camera in an all-black suit to be snide and miserable and gay again. I am ACTIVELY hoping that the prequel doesn’t touch any of them but if they do I swear to fucking christ. 

—> I also really don’t actually care who does and doesn’t engage with the prequel within spnblr. Like I think the prequel looks awful and not anything I’d ever give the time of day but it’s whatever. I am only interested in in the inevitable D*sticule drama over this because let me tell you right now that people are going to care

—> As far as this blog goes I have virtually no intentions of engaging with or reblogging posts about the prequel (about the storylines, new characters, etc like I said I really do not care and want nothing to do with it) or prequel fan content (like fanart and gifs). The exception is the rule of funny and anything that allows me to be a hater. So posts actively mocking it or its storylines, or posts calling it bad. Another exception is posts pointing out racism in the show, or the American jingoism and xenophobia, or any sexism, homophobia, or transphobia. These exceptions are really the only prequel content I can see myself actively sharing to this blog. I’m not going to like, BLOG about it though. This is an spn blog. I plan to continue hollering about CrowstieI and such for the foreseeable future. I won’t be keeping up episode by episode, it’ll literally just be if I stumble across a post I like.

—> Going off of that. Everything I said in my earlier point about the show maybe bringing back characters I like is still true, I will not actually watch them in the show, but if they DO put Cas or Crowley or Billie or another angel or demon I like on the show in their original vessels (MAYBE if they’re in a different vessel but it would depend on the look/vibes of the actor) or if they actually produce my 70s flower power Rowena vision (and hopefully it would be Ruth Connell because hopefully tptb would understand Rowena stopped ageing in medieval times and it wouldn’t make sense to cast a younger actor to play her just in the 70s, but tptb + understanding is always a tough one to wish for so). If they do those things then I may have to reblog gifs, fanart, or screens of them if only for the Visuals. But it would be tagged for ts and it would just be me wailing that I miss them or whatever reaction I have and that would be all.

—> Otherwise though those are the extent of my thoughts on the prequel. If you’re watching have fun with it, if you’re not we’re shaking hands. That’s all!

[jisungshotfirst]

Toku anon:

(insert one of those memes of a burning hybe building with, I dunno, Beomgyu eagerly watching in the foreground)

Okay, so the circumstances were very different, since the... infrastructure??... of the toku fandom is a little different. Basically, very few of these toku shows actually have English subs or dubs. The ones that got dubbed were only on TV in a few countries and a lot of them are lost media. The official subtitles, if they exist, are often terribly translated. And if it's available on YouTube, it's often region-locked

Enter the fan-subbers. They're fans who translate the shows as accurately as possible, add them to the show, and then post it on the web for the rest of the fandom. And not just the episodes either: some also translate movies, bonus features, show ads, book/manga spin-offs and (in the case of that show with the bench) audio drama spin-offs too.

Here's the thing: a lot of the biggest toku shows (in terms of fandom) are made by this one company called Toei. For an idea of how big they are: nearly every Toku show I told you about ever was made by this company. They've been making these since at least the early 70s. And a few years back, some fans noticed that one of their leading staff had an official Twitter.

One thing led to another and, uh, the guy found out about the fansubs.

Toei wasn't happy.

And that's the story of why and how a bunch of translated archives were totally wiped off the internet, and totally not archived on a bunch of torrent archives for anyone in the world to totally be able to access if they know where to look.

(whispers) by the way this is sarcasm. They are archived and— uh oh (gets captured by Toei's assassins)

Here's the additional funny thing: the actors don't seem to mind that much? One time, the guy who played Main Card-Themed Protag From Evil Bench Show went to a con in the States, and didn't even think ''hey wait how do english-speakers know about us'' until he was on his flight back home. This other time another toku actor (who wasn't technically in a Toei Toku but still) learned that they stopped releasing DVDs of the toku he starred in, and straight-up endorsed piracy that day. It was wild.

Anywho, to bring this back around, we also have a similar meme for these situations where we're upset at a big company. We call it ''destroying Toei Studios would be even faster! :D'' (insert image of some toku protags cheering in the corner as the Toei building breaks). Ironically that meme is also just a screencap from one of their shows, the words and all.

Beomgyu SHOULD <333

Omg fuck Toei ... like the way they found out they had a bigger audience than they assumed and instead of engaging with y'all they cut u off ... I literally don't understand these companies fr.

Fandom subtitlers and translators are the best people ever and I don't say that lightly like fr they do so much !! They are incredible !!!

I love when actors are chill about that stuff it's so great fjdj they are just happy to have worked on what they did and have fans engage in any way they can. Ugh what a legend promoting piracy we do love<3

The topic of piracy is so interesting because artists are often so split on it. There was a period of time kinda like early 2000s where there was this music sharing site where bascially someone could upload a recording of a tape/cd they had and share the mp3 online to other people who could then download and listen to it for free! So it was pirating music but on a Massive scale because anyone with any computer skills all got their music there. And artists spoke out about it and lots were against it because they don't get paid what they would be due from physical copies bought by all those people. But then some artists who had an anti-capitalist mindset supported it and encouraged it even tho it directly effected their income! It is just really interesting to see

Ahh we love a good burning a company down meme<3 Beomgyu deserves to burn hybe down he rly does

[verdantmoontruther]

why every single member of team 7 is absolutely intolerable (apart from the obvious), shippuden era

as a follow-up to this post, here are my thoughts on why the slightly older but not much more mature members of shippuden-era team 7 make everyone else want to leave them

naruto

- is oddly defensive and touchy about the fact that he needs an inhaler after sasuke pulverised his right lung, finds it embarrassing to carry around

- if he has something to do in the afternoon, he cannot do anything before or after. he is unavailable. his schedule is completely clear and yet totally filled up for the rest of the day

- no indoor voice

- still very much “but iruka-sensei SAID --”, but now he sometimes follows it up with things iruka-sensei never said (has done this in front of iruka, too)

- once he starts knocking, he will not stop until the door is open

sakura

- does the debby ryan radio rebel face thing

- asks people about their lives only in the hopes that they’ll ask back and give her the chance to endlessly talk about herself

- takes 1.5 hours to finish eating an apple

- often speaks unintelligibly fast

- very big on what she calls “experimenting”, which is just mixing up different chemicals she finds in the hospital to see which combination smells worst

sasuke

- thinks saying sentences out loud is beneath him, prefers to communicate via looks and attempted telepathy, gets angry when it doesn’t work

- constantly attempts to gaslight his friends into believing that what he said was right, even if they all know they were right and he was objectively wrong

- his cuticles are always bleeding, it’s concerning but honestly just a little gross

- will ignore people that are standing right in front of him and speaking directly in his face if he’s not in the mood (has done this to kabuto)

- disastrously confrontational, always ready for an argument

sai

- believes several highly improbable conspiracies, will talk about them endlessly and with a very serious look on his face if you even hint at being interested

- berates and admonishes people for “the state [they] live in”, ie the shoes on their shoe rack aren’t perfectly straight

- tells people if they have a resting bitch face

- steps on people’s toes on purpose (literally and figuratively) just to see how they react

- draws the most revolting things he can possibly think of (think junji ito typa body horror shit) and shows them to people while they’re eating

- “that’s what she said”

- considers mint and vinegar ‘spicy’

kakashi

- “when i was your age” to people tenzou’s age

- flat out refuses to get new clothing unless it is more than 70% destroyed, always dressed like a hobo

- gives people that are lost wrong directions

- told sai that “that’s what she said” is a valuable contribution to any conversation

tenzou

- makes roots bulge out of the ground a little to trip people up

- compares everything to some random obscure soap opera he watches

- asks vegans and vegetarians why it is that they don’t think plants have feelings, very passionate about their answers

- is the primary source for all the lies that spread about what is under kakashi’s mask

EDIT: part 3 here!

[amaranthineoceans]

Everything Weird About Deltarune!

Spoiler Warning for Undertale and Both Chapters of Deltarune! Really! I Literally Go Through Everything I Can Remember About Them!

This is a long post so get comfortable. Also note that my brain doesn't process thoughts into words very well so some of these might not be worded in the best way. :)

Deltarune. The first teaser chapter was released on October 31, 2018, and it came out of nowhere. We've all gone through this, but I'll try and go through every single painstaking detail I can remember. Feel free to reblog and add/correct things.

The weirdness begins right off the bat. The title is an anagram of UNDERTALE. We all know Toby likes to use anagrams when he wants to indirectly tell us when things are related, so it's no surprise that when you go to download DELTARUNE, it warns you that the game is designed for people who have played UNDERTALE. You think, "Cool, so it's a sequel? Or maybe a prequel? A different perspective of UNDERTALE perhaps?" You were wrong; so terribly, terribly wrong! I'll elaborate on this later.

Before you download the application, the terms of service that you must agree to beforehand reads simply and plainly, "You accept everything that will happen from now on." This detail was kinda brushed off in the beginning, because, hey, it's Toby Fox. He does weird stuff all the time. But even in the first chapter, it's apparent that the concept of choice, or more accurately, the lack of it, is a very present theme in the game. I would like to remind you that Toby has announced that there will be one ending in the game. One. I'll elaborate on this later.

The program (as in, what the game is called in your files) is named SURVEY PROGRAM. Why not just call it Deltarune like it is when you download chapter two?

The game launches you, without a title screen, without any setting adjustment options, straight into a reference to the theme of the entire franchise: the lack of choice. A strange formless voice guides you through "making a vessel", with what we know now as a fountain in the background. You have the option to make some very disturbing choices in this character creator, such as making its favorite flavor "pain" or expressing your feelings about it with options such as "fear" and "disgust." You name your "creation," tell the formless voice your name (which is different from your vessel's name) and watch as said formless voice muses over your name at an agonizing pace. It thanks you for your time and tells you that your wonderful creation, (cue music cutout and background removal) will now be discarded. "No one can choose who they are in this world." The screen slowly turns white as the voice says, "Your... name... is..."

It gets weirder. The next scene appears from the whiteness and showcases Toriel calling "Kris" out of bed. Kris' area of the room is very bare in contrast to the other side, which we later discover is Asriel's.

It's Toriel. Why is Toriel here?

Kris is kind of an anagram of Frisk (the protagonist of UNDERTALE) but without the F. I highly doubt this is a coincidence.

Speaking with Noelle is the only reason you can proceed (see what i did there?) while finding a partner in the classroom. This means you can't go through the 1st chapter without knowing who she is. Is it because of the Snowgrave route?

Ralsei is just suspicious to me. There's no way he was just waiting in that castle his whole life alone without some mental toil. So either he's insane or he wasn't alone the whole time. What happened? Is it related to how he can close his eyes and see what Susie is going through when she's apart from the party? Was he just watching everything? Is he related to the formless voice?

Susie's icon is the only one without color in the Dark World.

Jevil's fight is more difficult than Sans'.

Your actions have little consequence in the first chapter. If you choose to go genocide, the only difference in the ending is being run out of the kingdom, and this doesn't carry over to the next chapter. Again, lack of choice, people.

If at the end of chapter one, you walk around town, it's mentioned (notably by Noelle) that you're usually not this talkative. If you go to the hospital and speak with the receptionist, they mention that you used to play the piano in the corner. If you decide to attempt to play the said piano, an out-of-key bash can be heard and the receptionist comments on how you used to play beautifully. If you try this in chapter two, the result is the same. All this is confirmation that Kris is acting noticeably weird.

When you leave the Dark World and walk around town, you can find Sans. He "pretends" to recognize you, and if you tell him you recognize him, he tells you it's funny, considering that you two have never met before. He winks. I'm pretty sure he knows that the player is there.

The mention of Papyrus in both games, but the purposeful lack of him. Like he's avoiding you.

If you go upstairs while inside Asgore's flower shop, there are flowers in glass cases resembling his SOUL collection in UNDERTALE. There's a red flower.

You can't enter the church.

The clock in the storage closet shows a different time than all the others in the school.

If you go all the way south in town and into the woods, the music stops and you come across a rusty, double door is in a hill covered in crass. It's locked. If you go this way in chapter two, however, you watch a cutscene where you and susie happen to find Monster Kid from UNDERTALE (or someone resembling them) and an owl kid in front of the door. The owl kid is pressuring Monster Kid to (presumably) break inside, telling them that they don't want to be a wimp like Kris. Does this imply that Kris is connected to this strange door somehow?

The ending. You know what I'm talking about.

Did Kris actually rip out the SOUL (I say "the" because I'm not entirely sure it's Kris') and knife because they wanted to eat the pie? Did they only eat the pie because Toriel caught them?

Why did they look at the player? Are they sick of being controlled? Is that why they freaked out after the Spamton fight? (later)

Anyway, now we're at chapter two.

DELTARUNE Chapter Two was released on September 17th, 2021. 17. Entry Number 17. Sound familiar?

Asriel's part of the room is different from the last chapter. I don't think this means anything sinister, but I think it means Kris notices different things about the room as the story progresses. My theory is that it will become more sinister in each chapter.

Ralsei getting super excited to see Susie and Kris after a day. As in he has separation anxiety and it breaks my heart. not anything suspicious but it makes me sad so it's on the list.

Kris and Susie's rooms. Ralsei REALLY doesn't want them to leave. Seriously get this boy a therapist. Or a stuffed animal. SOMETHING.

Kris having to gather everything from the storage closet so that people appear in the Dark World????? Why??????????????? They had to do the same thing for the computer lab too.

The golden door. I don't trust it.

How/why the heck did Noelle and Berdley go into the Computer Lab Dark World? I don't see either of them just walking into pulsing void doors without Susie.

Apparently the knight has been gone for a bit and can corrupt people's minds? The king in the first chapter doesn't seem like he can be redeemed but Queen just seems,,, not bad, but a little crazy. I wonder what happened.

Then again, name ONE person in this franchise without trauma.

Spamton.

Horror doesn't bother me. Spamton? Spamton bothers me.

SPAMTON. ENOUGH SAID.

A Kromer is a type of hat invented in the '70s. Nobody named Mike is associated with it, that I can find.

SPAMPTON. HOW DO I EVEN DESCRIBE IT.

HIS SONG IS THE ONLY ONE WITH WORDS.

The way he asks Kris is they want to be a heart on a chain their whole life. Like, dude, no wonder they were screaming after the fight.

WHERE DID THE YELLOW HEART COME FROM. YELLOW MEANS JUSTICE. WHY DOES JUSTICE APPLY.

Kris screaming after the fight and the player not being able to hear it. Don't you dare tell me that's just how the game is designed. There are sound effects characters make throughout the game. None that I can think of apply to Kris, apart from when they rip their soul out.

Ralsei brushing off the Spamton fight. Either that's his coping mechanism or he was trying to shut Susie and Kris up to protect them from... something. I'll touch on that in a minute.

According to Queen, DETERMINATION is a key factor in creating a fountain.

Also according to Queen, Kris, Noelle, and Susie all have DETERMINATION SOULS.

Ralsei freaking out about Berdley making a fountain implies that he may also have DETERMINATION. Why I'm bringing all this up will make sense soon.

How was Noelle able to cast Snowgrave... a spell that she, according to her, didn't know?

The Snowgrave route is so twisted.

You manipulate Noelle into killing Berdley and then, when you get back to the computer lab and investigate his corpse, the text box says that he doesn't seem to be awake. As if you're in denial?

Burgerpants recognizes you. Not Kris. As in the player.

The ending. I don't think I need to describe it. Kris is very methodical without the SOUL. (I say "the" because, again, I'm not 100% convinced it's theirs.) I'm saying this about how they left clues that someone broke into the This proves that they are NOT a mindless, vengeful husk.

HOW DID THEY MAKE THE FOUNTAIN WITHOUT THE SOUL INSIDE OF THEM. DID THEY FEED THE SOUL TO IT AFTERWARDS? IS THAT WHAT THAT WAS?

Another point I would like to make is my theory that Ralsei knows much more than he would have us believe. I might put this into a different post because I have yet to gather my points into a coherent bullet point list, so keep an eye out for that.

Anyway apart from Toriel and Susie being VERY heavy sleepers, I think I've gone through everything. I have a few theories.

1. Kris is possessed by the player and figured out that they could make a fountain from Queen and related to Spamton freaking out about freedom. They then decided to make a fountain going by the logic that "this would tick the player off." This is one of my top theories that assumes that the SOUL is theirs.

And 2. Kris is possessed by both the player and the knight. I think the formless voice at the very beginning of the game is the knight, and they somehow needed the player to possess someone with DETERMINATION. If so, then why Kris? We know from Queen that Noelle and Susie, and maybe even Berdley also have DETERMINATION. The most plausible thing I can think of is the fact that human souls are stronger than monster ones.

I do think that the popular theory (about the one that suggests that the Dark Word is nothing but a figment of a child's imagination, and the events that occur in said Dark World are simply children playing with toys) has been thoroughly dashed due to Berdley's murder in the genocide route of the second chapter. Unless he's not dead. Regardless, how the events (or lack thereof) that occur in the second chapter play through the next will be interesting, especially considering Toby's announcement about how there will be one ending to the game. So either Berdley isn't dead, or he will be.

Aaaand I think that's it! Sorry for the long post; let me know your thoughts and if I missed anything!

[all-things-fic]

Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit​‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things. 

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it. 

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe. 

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had  quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’. 

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place. 

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude. 

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care. 

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him. 

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years. 

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness. 

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch. 

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning. 

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy. 

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch. 

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over. 

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety. 

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt. 

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is. 

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes. 

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you. 

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music. 

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch. 

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark. 

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try. 

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat. 

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap. 

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours. 

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging -  one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in. 

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it. 

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring. 

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain. 

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night. 

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction. 

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is. 

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper. 

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry. 

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different. 

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him. 

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted. 

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.” 

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.  

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction. 

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first. 

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he? 

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap. 

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed. 

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage.  You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.” 

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.” 

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown. 

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however. 

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.” 

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them. 

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before. 

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry. 

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.” 

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore? 

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact. 

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped. 

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined. 

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in. 

And neither did he. 

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you. 

Understanding was vital. 

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete. 

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore. 

And for once you didn’t feel alone. 

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became. 

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here. 

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t. 

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“ 

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.” 

“We were both drunk, it happens.” 

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?” 

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes. 

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug. 

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door. 

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting. 

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers. 

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question. 

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in. 

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished. 

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar. 

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar. 

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of. 

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly 

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately. 

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double. 

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.” 

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment. 

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning. 

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment. 

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him. 

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity. 

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?” 

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them. 

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape. 

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile. 

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him. 

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him. 

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn’t like what he found? 

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated. 

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.” 

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly. 

“Not if I have my way.” 

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs. 

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his. 

“Different, but better.” 

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away. 

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged. 

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh. 

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his. 

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck. 

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you. 

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved. 

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back. 

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too. 

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show. 

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him. 

“You don’t have to-“

“No?” 

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused. 

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling. 

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue. 

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear. 

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt. 

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away. 

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself. 

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more. 

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks. 

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting. 

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents. 

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling. 

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.” 

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession. 

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed. 

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable. 

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you. 

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more. 

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge. 

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders. 

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks. 

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were. 

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too. 

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time. 

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before. 

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things. 

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips. 

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking. 

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour. 

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch. 

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,” he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale. 

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again. 

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

[rocketmuse]

I thought I'd share my playlist for the anniversary of the boathouse kiss. :)

Song translations, MANY thoughts, and timeline under the break.

Noise warning for song 19, Hinahanap-Hanap Kita. 4:23 to the end. Loud high pitched beeps.

YouTube music version to be made soon.

Translations for foreign songs:

Ewan [Dunno] — Apo Hiking Society — Filipino/Tagalog

Amour plastique [Plastic love] — Videoclub — French

Panalangin [Prayer] — Apo Hiking Society/Moonstar88 — Filipino/Tagalog

Hinahanap-Hanap Kita [I'm Looking For You] — Rivermaya — Filipino/Tagalog

This is a collaborative playlist made with my friend.

Thought Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy would be a good starter song. Something about the music. Represents a good start of Alec persuing Maurice, like, hey, I can be yours... Whatcha doin'?

I added Puppy Princess because of the chorus but I know some people don't like that song so... You can skip if you'd like. KISS MEEEEE KIISS ME WITH YIIR EYESSS CLOSED . ALL I WANT IS YOU YEAH YOU. TELL ME I'M NOT FUNNY TELL ME I'M LEGIIIIT

Ewan. OH MY GOD this song is so them. Alec cares for Maurice, and doesn't like not being taken seriously or being treated badly and brushed off.

"I don't know why you're like that, you're difficult to talk to and you're a snob" COME ON IS THAT NOT THEM — Just a smile from you, and I'll be in heaven. Please give me a response, anything but "No idea"... What a perfect representation of Alec's continuous persuit of Maurice, always talking, always trying...

I could go on with every lyric.

Edit: I just realised this song fits so well for Alec's letters and meeting at the museum. Must resist the urge to add the same exact track twice.

So about Touch Me... Some of the lyrics apply better in other versions. Spotify just has this version tho. Touch me, just like that.

All I've Ever Known. Maurice discovered so much that night about touch and sharing and being with someone. He wants to be with Alec. "All I've ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you too. [Hold you close, I don't wanna ever have to let you go. Hold you tight, I don't wanna to back to the lonely life.]" Alec opened up his eyes and he'll never be the same.

Can't Help Falling in Love With You. 'Did you ever dream you'd a friend, Alec? ... Someone to last your whole life...' 'Alec, you're a dear fellow and we've been very happy.'

I'd Like To Walk Around In Your Mind was added from Maurice's perspective. Perhaps it fits Alec too...

I think Love At First Sight has the double meaning of the literal title, as well as "wouldn't you like to kiss her" perhaps being... Something Maurice would hear.

I Don't Dance. Based on this post/edit. Please watch this video oh my God.

Pink in the Night. Alec yearns for Maurice in the boathouse. He hasn't come. He hears his heart breaking tonight.

Every lyric is perhaps pulled straight from Alec's brain, to be honest. I remember seeing a post with this song in other contexts with them too. So yes, a few meanings.

Amour plastique. Alec reminiscences on the night in the Russet room. Why hasn't he come?

In my mind, everything goes wild. I lose myself in your eyes. I drown myself in the vagueness of your loving gaze.

And at night I cry tears that stream down my cheeks. I think of you only when the days ends, only when my sad demons descend upon my mind, into the bottomless abyss.

Waiting in the boathouse at night, when the day ends.

I ring out in kisses all down your chest. Lost in the avalanche of my heart astray. Who are you? Where are you?

The moments of then repeat in his mind. Where is Maurice?

I suppose Hopelessly Devoted To You and I'm A Fool To Want You are self explanatory. Maurice should really come... Alec really toughed it out, 2 days he spent in the boathouse, really wanted to see Maurice, really knew they had something, and doesn't want to be treated like a dog. Generally, his 1st letter.

Moon Song. My friend said they added it as a general love song. — Why do you treat me like this? Why didn't you come to the boathouse? — Alec's 2nd letter as a whole. Plus bits of 1st.

And you pushed me in, and now my feet can't touch the bottom of you. ... So I will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door.

Ewan would fit here tbh.

Panalangin. My only prayer in this lifetime: to be beside you, to be together with you, that's my prayer.

"I since cricket match do long to ... place both arms round you and share with you, the above now seems sweeter than words can say."

And this heart won't allow if you will be away from me, my love, please listen.

It also fits the end of museum.

I Want You. Maurice, can you come to the boathouse already? Alec has no power to teleport you there. I hold one card that I can't use.

I found you. I found the door, but when I stepped through, there was no floor. He found Maurice, bit he's not being here for Alec.

You're coming back And it's the end of the world We're starting over And I love you, darling And I am done, dear

Alec wishes this would happen. Also, he does come back later and they love again over, and "it is finished".

Credit for suggesting the next two songs goes to @beatle-capaldi!!! He also wrote was in quotations!

English Summer Rain

The Most Radical Thing To Do

Hinahanap-Hanap Kita. 1st letter, he's looking for Maurice. Thinking about them together.

In my thoughts and dreams, in every turn of destiny, I look for you. Also applies to that hotel/post-hotel feeling. I look for you, even if I try to forget you, saying goodbye, looking back...

Wildest Dreams. They think a lot of each other. They share once more. But they must say goodbye. Alec saw this coming. Maurice hopes that Alec will remember him like this.

I Hear a Symphony. Alec truly opened up Maurice's eyes. Maurice was meant to be with him. He helped Maurice, changed his life. But now Alec is leaving on ship... Or is he? The symphony leads into...

An orchestral sountrack. The Boathouse. Unfortunately the Maurice soundtrack is not on spotify. It's on my personal YouTube music version. I added it because it just captures the boathouse the only way the sountrack itself can.

The Word of Your Body (Reprise). MLM people have moment of romantic tension, which culminates in confessions of love. Just had to add it. "Haven't you heard the word of your body?" perfectly describes Alec gifting and showing Maurice the wonder of truest physical affection and love. He lets Maurice be okay with himself, and again, changes everything. Every lyric is perfect.

Also, sorry JBW, I like other versions more... Too bad Spotify is mean.

I See The Light. Yeah. Every lyric. Maurice is Rapunzel. Movie Blond too. Both the morning at Russet room and the museum. And the world has somehow shifted. All at once everything is different, now that I see you. "By now they were in love with each other consciously."...

Suddenly Seymour. Suddenly see more, yeah? Clive = ass and someone gives him affection for once, wow! Sidenote, I want to sing this with them and their accents... Suddenly SCUDDER...

Helpless. Musical theatre songs seem to be good retellings of their love story. It's why they belong in post boathouse. Summaries and retellings. They're also good at conveying love they'd feel for each other in general, all times ever. Like loving men, retelling a story.

I'll Cover You. Cute love song feat. gays. I like to imagine them dancing around, declaring their love and devotion for each other. Walking and dancing around like in the original scene, sometime post canon. In my own imagination, I thought of Alec as Angel and Maurice (Christopher) as Collins.

Video Games. They must love spending time together. I thought this to be Maurice POV. Only worth living if somebody is loving you I mean, come on.

It's you, it's you, it's all for you. Everything I do. I tell you all the time, heaven is a place on Earth with you.

Un sospiro. I headcanon that Maurice picks up the piano and plays for Alec. Perhaps he picked it up bc of/after Clive, but now can play it for someone who gives a shit.

Something about the melody reminds me of them. And then it gets more intense... A bit like the passions of love, showing up in sharing and touch and more, too.

Liebestraum. I mean, it means love dream/dream of love. I just had to. Also I just like Liszt.

Take Me Up With You, Dearie. This song is just so sweet... So soft... Edwardian to boot... I love how quintessentially 1909 it is. Discovered it in a YT video. The thought of them getting married makes me cry. This song in general makes me want to cry, it's so romantic, tender, and exudes my favourite era...

Let us float, float, float through the clouds, and just have a lot of fun. We'll go up, up, up as two and then come down as one.

Put Your Head on My Shoulder. We Belong Together. I always imagine Maurice and Alec slowdancing to songs that come on the radio together, when the 1950s hits... Alec probably rests his head on his shoulder as this plays and they dance...

I'm using a lot of ellipses, am I secretly Rupert Graves?

Welcome to the 70s and 80s. They love dancing together and being with each other. Now, Panalangin can be a happy song. My only prayer for this lifetime ... To be together with you. And this heart won't allow if you will be away from me.

Just the Two of Us. What a nice, vibey song. Great title, great scenario of them dancing to this...

Tiny Dancer. Your Song. MLM people in the 70s + Radio, being happy and in love with each other. — I just thought I should add some Elton. A different friend, and I, like him. Maurice sings to Alec, "And you can tell everybody this is your song." That I put down in words how wonderful life is with you in the world.

Electric Love. Fun fact: this song got me to share the playlist. Got me thinking about them and their anniversary again. The funky busy instrumental describes well their passionate love. The highs of electric LOOOOOOVE describe the intensity of them.

Alt text continued: themselves together under and the love. And the love. The song has its own tension and it perfectly pictures their own tension. So yeah, this is THEIR song quite literally.

Sorry if my music taste is perhaps basic. I just made it for when I hear songs that are Them.

Falling for Ya. Alec falls for Maurice. "I saw you when you first drove up, Mr Hall..." Something about Maurice, right? Plus really nice vintage vibes with the music. The bit about Into your arms and it's a secure sure sounds like Maurice. Awh, they're falling for *each other*...

Rainbow Connections. Gay and bi people. Marriage. Everything that Maurice and Alec went through to get here, where they were meant to be. Clive. Working for Clive. Leading up to now.

All the things that had to go right, all the things that had to go wrong, that lead us to the place where we were going all along.

On the YT version there's a soft/jazzy cover of Panalangin here. Because they're old and spending time together and being happy. What a throwback, a defined meaning in their lives over time.

Still Into You. After all these decades... Old and grown, together... True soulmates... Two men can defy the world... Maurice and Alec still roam the greenwood. Imagine Maurice meeting Alec's mom in this context. If only.

Postmodern Jukebox cover, because they are a quintessentially 20th century couple. They exude vintage.

Some piano playing for Alec. Soft, tender, romantic, emotional, true. Feels like nighttime. Feels like Maurice and Alec. And a throwback to the pre 1914 world as well. Claire de Lune feels like... A credits of life piece. Time spent in the early 1980s. Nocturne feels like that too, but more romantic. Smidge less nighttime. Ah yes, Gymnopédies. The truest credits feel of them all. None of these actually are credits for Maurice and Alec, but I struggle to find the word for this feeling. But yeah. These all have Them vibes to me. Piano of the time just does I suppose. Glad to be reminded of them at any time.

What a long playlist. Like going through almost their whole lives together. 1:52 hrs. Almost like a movie. Imagine that. A full movie of THEIR lives... But leaving to the imagination was a good thing. Led to this such action. Thank you E.M. Forster.

Timeline:

1. Pendersleigh

4. & 5. Russet Room. Night, then Morning

9. Cricket

10. Boathouse Nights

18. The Museum

20. The Hotel

21. After

23. The Boathouse

24. They Still Roam the Greenwood

I just like to imagine them dancing to songs on the radio, for decades to come...

[songbirdstyles]

sparks

summary: you’re a music journalist assigned to covering one of harry styles’ gigs, and he’s absolutely smitten with you. (part one.)

warnings: slight fluff, excessive liberties taken about music journalism; smut in later chapters, angst in later chapters

word count: 8.2k

inspo.: almost famous - cameron crowe; sparks - the who; hello, i love you - the doors

You’d never truly gotten a big assignment before - sure, you’d gotten a few pieces here and there detailing local LA bands that you knew would never live to see more than 100,000 monthly listeners on Spotify, and they mostly ended up buried by your higher-ranking coworker’s higher end stories on the front covers - and, for the most part, you’d honestly been fine with it. You’re fresh out of college, the newest recruit to your company and your colleagues who are sent out to tour with big bands and artists have been here for years, some even decades, and you suppose they deserve the opportunities more than you, don’t they?

You work your way up, your boss had told you the first day you’d started working, following him around like an eager puppy as he showed you the office. Eventually - if I’m impressed with you - you’ll get something big.

It’s enough for you. Small bands playing in hole-in-the-wall clubs and restaurants may not be the exact thing you’d envisioned when you’d set your sights on being a music journalist but it’s worked out well for you so far, hasn’t it? You’ve made friends - even dated the lead singer of an underground rock band who cheated on you hardly two weeks into the relationship - and your portfolio is slowly building, stacked with exposés and detailed recounts of small gigs that you’d watched from backstage. Eventually, you’ll leave this company and move on to something bigger, like Rolling Stone, and your career will take off until you’re practically the face of music journalism.

And, really, those dreams have carried you through college and the first year of your career, putting your all into every article and every piece just so your boss can tug you into his office one day with a rarely-seen grin to finally tell you -

“I want you to write an article on Harry Styles.”

You furrow your eyebrows, shifting in the cushy office seat that your boss has for guests in his office. It’s a facade that you’ve learned to acknowledge, because, no matter how much he makes it look like he appreciates guests in his office, you know he regards you as nothing more than an interloper, even if he’d invited you there to begin with. “Harry Styles?”

“You��ve heard of him, haven’t you?” Mike asks, light shining off his bald head, and your mouth opens and closes a few times uselessly. 

“Of course I have!” You push yourself to sit up straighter in your seat, staring up at your boss with shock written in every feature of your face. You, writing about Harry Styles? God, you nearly want to pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming. “Write an article about - about what?”

Mike scoffs in that pretentious way that makes you hate ever having to talk to him, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. “He’s coming to do a few shows along the West Coast. You can go to one or two - talk to him a bit, talk to his band - you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“With small bands, sure - Tacocat and - and the Mystery Lights -” You swallow thickly, and Mike stares down at you in your seat like he’s unimpressed with your enthusiasm, or lack thereof. And it’s not that you aren’t executed - but, Christ. Going from bands performing in underground clubs to Harry Styles is like going straight from crawling to flying a fucking plane and you’re not sure if any of your experience with the musical locality in LA could prepare you for that. “I mean, that’s huge, Mike.”

“It is huge,” Mike confirms, crossing his thick arms over his chest, leaning against the desk before you as though he’s immune to sitting in his seat behind his desk like a normal boss. “Do you not want to do it? Because Melissa, you know - she’d love to, was going on and on about it last week -”

“No!” Your cheeks flush at the volume your voice raises to, and if you didn’t know better you could swear you see the ghost of a grin on Mike’s face. “I want to, Mike, I really want to - it’s just crazy.” There’s a pregnant pause between the two of you, your boss nodding smugly down at you as you struggle for words, before you ask the question burning the tip of your tongue with its desire to be heard. “But - why me? I’m sure you have people more qualified for it -”

“Easy,” Mike says, cutting you off and you’d be annoyed in any other instance but you’re too desperate to hear his answer. “Look, Harry’s a young guy. Younger than anyone else our people have interviewed - I think he’ll respond more to a young, pretty girl like yourself than someone older than him.”

Well, that makes sense, you suppose. The only coworker even close to you in age is Melissa, and she’s pushing 30 as it is. You’re 23 - graduated college just over a year ago, and by far the newest recruit this company has taken in years - but you had always imagined that was the main reason you wouldn’t get many big articles, and here it’s the main factor in you getting what will surely be the highlight of your portfolio once you apply to Rolling Stone. An interview with Harry Styles - God, they’ll probably foam at the mouth when they see it, and a grin spreads across your face as you think of it.

“Is that a yes?” Mike questions, blonde eyebrows raised high and nearly disappearing into his scalp. 

“Of course,” you respond without another moment of hesitation, and you push yourself to stand, office chair rolling behind you with the force, and it hits the wall behind you with a soft thump. “Yes - of course - of course.”

“Great.” And he crosses to the other side of his desk, pushing aside a few loose papers and folders on his desk, and you clutch your hands in front of your stomach as you watch him, practically bouncing up and down with uncontained joy and fear bubbling inside of you. The last time you’d felt like this was the first time you got a real assignment - more than just ranking songs and discussing new album releases - and you’d been sent to a strip club to cover a gig from an up-and-coming band. Back then, you’d never expected to ever feel more excited over anything in your life, and yet, here you are, eight months later, fighting back the urge to burst into joyful tears. “They come in a week - I’ll send you the address - if you need help with your questions -”

“I’ll ask Francine,” you finish the same advice he gives you every time you’re assigned an article, referring to your oldest coworker - a little old woman who’s been with the company since the 70s. She’s always been more than willing to help you with your assignments but this - you need to do this by yourself. “Thank you so much, Mike, this is - this is great.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says, pointing his finger at you, and you nod furiously. “I’m trusting you on this - it’s a big opportunity.”

“I won’t disappoint you,” you promise, holding up your crossed fingers just to show him how much you mean it, and you know it’s the truth - you’ll make this piece the best damn one this company has ever seen if it’s the last thing you ever do. 

 ~~

 The night begins a bit - rocky, to say the least.

For one, you couldn’t decide what to wear, even after spending nearly a half hour trying on every variation of clothes in your closet and tossing them onto the floor of your studio apartment when they didn’t satisfy your needs. In the past you’d worn to gigs what you’d wear if you were a simple concertgoer, albeit a bit more modestly, but you can’t decide what you would wear to a Harry Styles concert if you got the regular chance to - and you’d never even dreamt that it would happen in the first place -

Well, you peruse your closet intently and land on a pair of patterned flare pants and a long sleeve sweater. It only seems fitting for the chilly weather outside, and you fold a shirt into your bag in case you need to change if it gets hot backstage. You’re not dressed to impress, necessarily - you’re dressed to get a job done, as Mike would always say, but how could you be expected to not attempt to impress Harry Styles? It’s a preposterous idea. You’re sure anyone would understand.

Journalism pass - phone - keys - deodorant - when you’ve checked your bag over three times to ensure you have everything necessary you finally leave, locking your door shut behind you and ordering an Uber to take you to the concert.

You hadn’t anticipated Uber and Lyft being absolutely overloaded with patrons due to the concert just a half hour away and you need to be there by 6:30 at the very latest to ensure you get in and can at least talk to Harry before he goes on - a quarter of your questions are geared towards how he feels pre show and you can’t get pre show questions after the show - that’s barbaric. But the minutes inch closer to 5:30 and your Uber driver is still ten minutes away and your heart beats so fast against your chest you think you might vomit right into the street in front of your building -

You’re in the car by 5:45. It’s not ideal, and you know you’re cutting it close, but hopefully you’ll be there before the soundcheck ends. It’s always an ideal time to take photos, watching the band warm up and check mics, and with a piece like this, you need all the opportunities for pictures you can get.

And traffic is horrible - you suppose that’s also to be expected, and your Uber driver curses in a language you can’t recognize as cars cut him off on the highway and if you were a different person, you’d recommend a shortcut he takes, but he doesn’t look like he wants to hear a single word come from your mouth. He had given you a dirty look when you entered the car, and that’s enough to make you shut up and pray for the entire car ride that you make it on time.

6:27. Mike would piss himself if he knew how close you cut it, and you hop out of the car with a speed you didn’t even know you could muster, pushing past the buzzing crowd standing in front of the main entrance. The hoard of people seems to have a steady heartbeat, pulsing with excitement much like your own, and you can’t help but smile as you make your way around the group, goosebumps cropping up over your skin as your teeth chatter in the coldness. For a moment you fear that the directions to the backstage entrance that Mike had given you were total bullshit - but then you see the door, blocked by a burly security guard that glowers at you as you walk up to him like you’re something sticky beneath his shoe.

“Hi!” you call, breath exploding in a white cloud in front of you in the cool night air. The security guard smells so strongly of booze that you need to try harder than you’d care to admit not to scrunch your nose - you cough softly. “Let me - um - find my pass - I’m with Autoamerican, the magazine?”

Fingers grab onto your journalism pass, deep within your bag, and you tug it out, flashing it to the security guard with a slightly nervous grin. All of the gigs you’d been to before hadn’t even had backstage doors - to get backstage, you just had to climb onto the stage and walk behind the wings - but this is a fucking stadium, not just a measly club, and a big one, at that. In your youth you’re sure you could recall your dad watching a football game that occurred in this very stadium - funny how life turns out, sometimes.

“Autoamerican?” the security guard questions, bringing his face closer to your badge as the wafting smell of alcohol increases, and he raises his eyebrows with a scoff. “Never heard of it.”

“Oh.” you pause, feeling your teeth beginning to chatter in the cool February air. You’re not quite sure what to say - you’d assumed Mike had called to arrange the entire thing, hadn’t he? And this is the time you’re supposed to be here - “well, we’re not as big as Rolling Stone magazine, but - we’ve done interviews with The Cure, The Smiths - even Zeppelin, at one point -”

Your voice trails off into silence. He doesn’t care. He’s looking at you like you’re some innocent teenage girl, trying to bribe your way backstage so you can bombard the artist and not a fully grown woman here on business, goddammit. And you’re not sure what to say - he doesn’t believe you, clearly, and you hadn’t anticipated that even as you listed all the ways tonight could go wrong.

“Look, kid,” he begins, and that really has your blood boiling, eyes narrowing to glare at him. “We get this all the time. I’m a journalist - I’m with the crew - it’s a bunch of bullshit. Now go to the front with your general admission tickets like the rest of them -”

“I have a pass - I’m a journalist!”

“Sure -”

“I can call my boss if you want proof!”

And before you can reach into your bag to search relentlessly for your phone to follow through on the promise like you intend to, the door the man is guarding suddenly swings open, nearly hitting the guard in the ass as it opens out. You take a step back as dim light from inside floods the darkness, and a man steps out of the doorway, his eyes darting between you and the security guard.

“Are you with Autoamerican?” the man questions, raising his finger to point at you as though he could be speaking to anyone else. You nod furiously, and you hold up your journalism pass again just to prove it. “You can come inside, then - c’mon, Steve, she’s got a pass, for God’s sake -”

And you can’t resist flashing the guard a smug smile as he steps to the side to let you inside, rolling his eyes so far back into his head that all you can see is a strip of white.

The man lets you inside and the door shuts behind you, and you nearly knock straight into a second security guard standing by the door inside, as though trying to stop people from going out. And, well - you’ve been backstage at more concerts than you could count but this is certainly bigger, better, bustling with people carrying equipment and makeup artists and more people you couldn’t possibly identify. You’re half inclined to reach into your bag and grab your notebook to jot down exactly what you’re seeing so you can make sure to include it in the article, but you have a distinct feeling you’ll never forget it.

“I’m Jeff,” the man tells you, already setting off through the people, and you’re quick to follow, trying to maintain your pace beside him. After a second of walking in silence you realize he’s waiting for you to say yours - you clear your throat and introduce yourself, and he sends you a smile. “The band just finished their soundcheck, if you’d like to have a word with them before they go on - what’s the article about, anyway?”

Jeff shoulders the two of you through lingering groups of people until you emerge into a small hallway lined with doors, and you can hear bustling noise coming from the one closest to you - holy shit, is that Harry? 

“Um - just about the shows, the tour, how everything’s going. My boss basically told me to do what I want with it, so I’ll have a better idea once I speak to the band.” It’s the loosest instruction you’ve ever been given for a piece - you’d expected a clear cut outline - but perhaps with an artist this big, Mike trusts you to know what to write. “It likely won’t be anything too personal, but I’d love to get a chance to speak with Harry before and after.”

“Sounds great,” and you can tell he’s stressed - you wonder if he’s always anxious before his client’s shows, or if there’s something special about tonight that has him worried - and then he reaches past you, twisting the doorknob closest to you and holding the door open for you to enter before him, and you give him a gracious smile before walking in.

The room isn’t as crowded with people as you’d expected but they’re bustling with energy - a woman and a man, holding a guitar, lean against the wall with each other - two other women sip water bottles, laughing loudly amongst each other - another woman leans above someone, their body hidden from view except for their legs, covered in silk, floral printed pants -

Your breath catches in your throat as Jeff shuts the door behind you both, and the sound of the door clicking shut draws far more attention to yourself than you’d expected - it seems like every pair of eyes lands on you and Jeff, and you’d decided on being a music journalist to keep away from being the center of attention. You’ve always preferred being behind the scenes, a bit, at least until your career progresses until you’re a household name for music journalism, and now -

You feel very much in the scenes, eyes on you as Rhiannon plays in the background.

And then Jeff is tapping you on your shoulder, leading you around the room to the small groups of people lingering - you shake hands with Mitch and Sarah, the couple against the wall, and the rest of his band, and they’re so nice your smile feels like it’s going to break your face in half. You’ll need to interview them at some point - nothing too intense, and you may not even need to, if Harry’s answers are satisfactory enough - and you can already feel yourself building a strange sort of rapport with the band, their kindness rubbing off on you until you practically glide beside Jeff to the woman bent over Mr. Floral Pants, whose identity you’re fairly certain you’ve already deduced.

It doesn’t make it any more surprising when the woman steps aside where she’s carefully applying powder to the man’s face, and then Harry fucking Styles is staring up at her with a smile and an outstretched hand, suit jacket matching the floral pattern of his pants. His curls are carefully slicked back from his face, skin matte with the powder the woman resumes applying to the side of his face that isn’t turned to you, and you swallow your shock before reaching to shake his hand, Rhiannon turning into Hello, I Love You, playing from a source you can’t identify.

“Nice t’meet you,” Harry says when you’ve told him your name and the magazine you work for - Jeff had already mentioned it, but it is customary to repeat it to whomever you may have to interview. “Y’know, I love Autoamerican - told Jeff, s’the only magazine I’d let interview me backstage. Don’t usually allow it.”

“Really?” your stomach flips as Harry stops bouncing his arm, but it takes just another half second for him to untwine his hand from yours - you’re sure it’s because the makeup artist fretting above him is using her thumb to wipe off powder from his nose, but it still makes your heart thump faster against your chest. “I assumed most people haven’t heard of it - it’s nowhere near Rolling Stone.”

“I love it,” he insists, dropping your hand, and he looks so casual, as if this interaction isn’t blowing up your entire life, and you’re brought back to the many moments you’d spent as a teenager fawning over him in his One Direction days - God, this feels like a dream, and you’re half inclined to pinch yourself in case it is. Maybe you’ll wake up in Mike’s office to him giving you another shitty underground LA band to interview. “The interview with Sublime s’great - read it all the time.”

You swallow thickly, grin spreading wider across your face, and before you can open your mouth to tell him about Francine’s go-to story about how Eric Wilson had flirted with her while she interviewed them for the story, Jeff interjects - “Steve hadn’t even heard of it.”

“Steve’s an idiot,” Harry starts, and you giggle - his lips lilt upwards just a bit. “Hope he wasn’t hasslin’ you ‘bout it.”

“Just a little,” you say, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder just as the makeup artist drops the powder back into the apron slung around her waist, and her manicured nails tilt Harry’s head around for a moment before she seemingly deems his makeup satisfactory before leaving, sending you a tight lipped smile as she goes. “I’d love to ask you a few questions before the show - nothing too heavy - and then I’ll observe the concert and how everything goes, ask a few questions after.”

“Sounds great,” Harry responds, lifting his fist with his thumb up and you didn’t think your heartbeat could grow any faster or louder but you suppose today is just proving you wrong time and time again. “D’you need t’record m’answers? S’a bit loud in here.”

The truth is, you’re sure you’ll have this entire experience engraved in your brain for years to come - you’ll remember every word he utters for you until your dying days - but it is more practical to have a recording. You swing your bag off your arm and open it, digging through the jumbled mess of items inside until you find your phone, and you hold it up with a nod. “Yeah - there isn’t anywhere a bit quieter, is there?”

It takes a minute of bustling - Jeff tells you two instructions to go down the hall into another room where you may find more silence - and Harry promises, accent thick and eyes rolling, to be back in twenty minutes or less, if tha’s enough time for you, ma’am, and you try to trick yourself into thinking the burn flushing up your cheeks is due to the heat of the room.

Down the hall is another door that Harry opens for you, letting you walk in first. It’s a small room, clearly meant for storage, and he shuts the door behind the pair of you. There’s - luckily, or perhaps unluckily - just enough room for you two have at least a few feet between you, and he leans against the wall with an air of casual elegance you couldn’t hope to achieve as you scroll through your phone to search for the voice recorder app.

“Hope this s’good enough - is it?” Harry inquires, leaning his head closer to yours, and you nod. “Good - wish there was a nicer spot for you, but -”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interject, smiling up at him, and he grins back, and your stomach churns violently. You almost feel like you could vomit - when he goes on, you’ll go and have a bit to eat at the table set up with foods that Jeff had wheeled you past when you arrived. Eating seems to solve more of your nerves than you’d care to admit, and you feel like you’re nearly 95% nerves right now. Your fingers fiddle with the voice recorder app, adding a title to the recording while entirely too focused on the sounds of Harry’s breathing above you, and you can practically fear his eyes boring into your face before you press record. 

And, for the most part, it does go smoothly. Harry introduces himself with an ease that only comes with years of practice, so much time spent being interviewed that it must feel like as much of a second nature to him as interviewing is to you. He’s charming and charismatic - flirtatious, even - making jokes and adding lines that you make a mental note to be sure to include in your final piece - whatever direction you go - and you can’t say you’re bothered by the way he leans closer to the phone, and thus closer to you, in order for his voice to be heard more on the recording when occasional noise bustles in from outside.

You don’t need to look at the questions you’d spent weeks laboring over - every question you inquire derives directly from his answers like he’s practically feeding them to you, and then you’re interviewing him so naturally, you could nearly fool yourself into thinking it’s an organic conversation between friends. 

What’s his process to prepare for shows? Well, listening to Fleetwood Mac and eating finger foods, of course - he loves mozzarella sticks. Does Fleetwood Mac make you less nervous for shows? No, he doesn’t get too anxious before shows, now that he’s out of the band. He just loves Fleetwood Mac - he could listen to them at any time of the day. What do you think makes your solo career less anxiety-inducing than being in the band? Different fans let him be himself more. There’s less pressure to be someone he isn’t - do you think he could’ve worn a floral printed suit at a One Direction concert?

And, in the end, twenty minutes hardly feels like it, and by the time Harry tilts his head over the screen of your phone to check the time, you could nearly convince yourself that you’d merely spent a minute with the heartthrob, and it pains you to stop the recording.

“How’d I do?” he questions, cheeky smile indenting the dimple in his cheek, and you feel like you need to dip your face in ice once he goes on stage - your face hasn’t felt anything less than piping hot since the first moment he rested eyes on you, and his kind-bordering-on-flirtatious nature only makes your skin heat more under his gaze.

It isn’t as though you’d have it any other way, though.

“Perfect,” and you send him a smile. “I’ll watch the show - probably eat a bit, too, if I’m being honest - and maybe ask you a few questions. How many shows are you doing in LA?”

Harry reaches past you, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door for you once more, and you slip out with a small smile as he follows, face twisted in what’s clearly a show of being in deep thought. “Four. An’ a few more on the West Coast ‘fore we move out - reckon you’ll need t’come t’a few more?”

“Depends.” He looks at you curiously as the two of you make your way back to the room you’d been in before, and when you enter, it’s clearly in a more prominent state of preparation for the show - there’s more bustle and movement between every band member and Jeff, who looks entirely relieved to see you two come in as She’s a Rainbow thumps softly, volume clearly turned down on whatever produces the music. “If I feel like I’ve got enough material from this show, then that’ll be it - I usually just do reviews of specific gigs, and this is a lot broader - so I really don’t know.”

Harry nods, and you feel a flutter in your heart at how intently he seems to be listening to you, like he really cares, and you’re sure it’s a facade - he probably has a million other things on his mind as Jeff descends upon the both of you, whisking him away as he calls goodbye! to you - but still. When was the last time you’d felt listened to? By Mike, or by the security guard outside, or even from your own parents when you try to convince them over and over that you have a plan, that your degree wasn’t a waste of time when you could’ve been a doctor -

Well, Harry’s a gentleman, you decide, sliding your phone into the back pocket of your flares as you reach in your bag for your notepad. You can tell they’re preparing to go on soon and so you descend against the wall, grabbing your pen from deep inside the confines of your bag to scribble the essential notes of what you’ll need - it’ll make it easier when it’s time to write, rather than listening to the entire 20 minute interview again to try and find the important sections to include.

His responses to your question still burn fresh in your mind, and you began scribbling your bullet points on the small notepad in your hands. It’s decently easy to block out the chatter of the room you’re in along with its music, volume turned down further until it’s hardly audible, and it really is a skill you’ve mastered, though you suppose you’ve had to - trying to take notes for articles about gigs occurring in buildings so small that their noise reverberates off of every surface has made you a master in tuning out noise surrounding you.

You are aware, and acutely, at that, when the band starts exiting through the door beside you. They don’t look nervous, returning your encouraging smiles with ones of their own, and you watch them pour out the door with confidence practically radiating off of them. Well, that’s something to mention, isn’t it? Most of the bands you’d interviewed were practically vomiting with nerves -

Harry takes up the rear, fingers running through his slicked back hair, and you can’t tell if it’s a nervous habit or if he’s simply trying to let his curls fall in front of his eyes more. Jeff walks in front of him, giving you a smile as he leaves, and the singer stops beside you.

Your breath just about catches in your throat as you look up at him, and he’s staring down at you with a decidedly ambiguous look in his eyes, and you smile at him. “Good luck out there.”

“You’re gonna come and watch?”

You nod. “Eventually - I’m gonna eat something first, finish my notes. Maybe give myself a tour of the backstage in case I decide to include it.”

“Sounds good t’me,” Harry says, but he doesn’t make a motion to leave, and then his eyes roll down your body and is he fucking checking you out? Because - no - that’s crazy. That would cement into your brain the knowledge that this is a dream, and not reality, because there’s no fucking way Harry Styles is checking you out, eyes roaming from your eyes to your stomach to your - “I like your pants. Where’d you get ‘em?”

Ah. Of course. Fashion icon, he is, inquiring about the pants you’d chosen specifically because they looked like something he may like. “These?” You glance down as though you’d forgotten what pants you’d donned, as though you hadn’t spent hours in front of your closet envisioning what outfit you could wear to impress him. “I think they’re from Zara. Got them a couple years back.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Why, thank you -”

“Harry!”

Jeff’s voice calling from outside the room snaps you both out of your conversation, a slightly embarrassed grin spreading across Harry’s face that you’re sure is mirroring your own. His cheeks are tinged pink and he clears his throat.

“Sorry - gotta go - make sure y’try the mozzarella sticks, ‘kay? They’re good,” Harry tells you, and you grin, drumming the pen clutched between your fingers against the notepad in your hands.

“Will do,” you reply, and then you lift your hand and point to the door, raising your eyebrows with a smile. “Go break a leg - and then be ready to talk about it when you’re done!”

He doesn’t say anything else - just gives you a thumbs up and slips out the door, and you can hear his frenzied apologies to Jeff as their voices fade away, surely preparing to get on stage and sing his heart out and blow the fucking stadium away, but you can hardly focus on it. Because - God, you really don’t want to sound like a narcissist - but he was joking around with you, complimented your pants, and he did technically check you out, even if it was just to see your pants. 

Was he flirting with you?

Surely not. No, that would be absurd. He’s probably just bored - maybe entertaining random people backstage is his way of dealing with his nerves.

That makes a bit more sense.

When you glance back down at your notepad, the page half filled with scribbled bullet points of things you’d sworn to remember, and when you click your pen open to continue your list, you find that you can’t quite think of anything else to write. All you can think about is the mozzarella sticks waiting for you, and then standing in the wings to watch him sing his heart out to a crowd of adoring fans that you, at one point, would have killed to be apart of -

You shove your pen and pad back into your bag with a determined spin of your heels. Food first - contemplation second.

 ~~~

 The show is - needless to say - amazing.

You’d feasted on slightly-cold mozzarella sticks that were, even in their lowered temperatures, immensely good, and clearly garnered all the affection Harry had for them. The food table was nearly completely empty, crew members repeatedly coming up to fill plates with vegetables and snacks, and so you simply gathered the last three sticks of celery once you were done with your sticks before taking a leisurely stroll along the backstage area. Celery firm between your teeth, you pulled out your notepad and your pen once more and jotted notes of what you could possibly include in the article to jog your memory later -

It takes a while, admittedly. You don’t want to leave anything out, and eventually you have two pages filled with notes in your handwriting that would surely be illegible to anyone else who happened upon them - and, sure, your pages are small, but still. Two pages is a lot, and you’re sure most of it won’t even make it into the article but you don’t want to risk forgetting any important information.

A trip to the bathroom - perusing the food table again to pick up the last few carrot sticks - and the show is nearly halfway over, so you decide it may be time to slip into the wings and watch. Take notes, possibly, but mainly just listen and absorb the music and the atmosphere and exactly how the fans react to his every move. That’s what the people want to know, isn’t it? It’s what you would want to know - so you slip past the lingering groups of people into the wings of the stage, where you get a clear view of Harry and his band, singing his heart out to a tune you know to be Kiwi.

It’s ear splitting, truly, in a way that none of the other gigs you’d witnessed had been. But it sounds good - better than good - and he’s as charismatic on stage as he is off,  waggling his eyebrows during the more suggestive lines and undoing the button of his suit jacket, and the latter garners a deafening scream from the adoring fans in the crowd. 

No, you won’t need to take notes, at least not yet. You’ll remember this forever, won’t you? Watching him work the crowd like he was born to do it, like it’s a second nature and you’re sure it is, at this point. It’s all you can do to stand there, watching him, and you’re sure you look no different from the other fans in the crowd, your eyes wide and lips parted in absolute awe of him -

His head turns to the side, briefly, as if he can sense your eyes on him above anyone else’s. In reality you’re sure he’d simply turned his head to flick a sweaty curl out of his face but it’s never a bad thing to dream right? And your gaze locks for just a moment, his eyebrows raising when he sees your face, and heat burns at your cheeks before his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his right eye shuts in a quick wink before he’s turning back to the crowd as if his attention had never left them.

Shit. You nearly drop your damn carrot. God, he’s a fucking tease, and you’re not even sure he knows it - that this experience will never leave your brain for as long as you walk this Earth, watching him wink as he stared into the depths of your fucking soul, clad in a gorgeous suit with his gorgeous hair and -

Harry truly is a sight to behold, and you’re more than content to watch him forever.

Forever ends up being another half hour or so before you’re made entirely too aware of the fact that you have to pee - not insanely bad, but enough to make you shift uncomfortably from side to side before sighing, turning and making your way further backstage in your search for the bathroom. In your determined tour of the backstage you’d forgotten to search for the restroom, and you wander about for nearly five whole minutes before getting to it -

You do your business. There’s not much more explanation needed.

It’s when your washing your hands, though, water freezing cold against your palms, that you become slightly aware of a myriad of noises occurring outside the restroom. At first you choose not to focus on it, shoving your hands beneath the air dryer to ease your soaking, cold hands, and the noise of violent air assaulting your palms drowns out the scuffling sounds from outside.

When the dryer turns off, and you reach down to wipe your damp hands on your pants, the noises haven’t stopped. And, sure, no one could expect it to be completely silent backstage, but whatever you’re hearing isn’t the normal laughter and chatter and muffled music that you’re used to hearing -

It sounds like someone is fighting, and your hand freezes in its place on the cool metal doorknob. You lean forward, scrunching your nose as you plainly try harder to hear what’s happening -

But, Hell. You have a job to do - you need to get back to the wings to watch the remaining few minutes of the set before Harry leaves and, subsequently, returns for the encore, and you’d intended to write with detail about his closing repetition of Kiwi. So you grab the doorknob, swing the door open and step out, and freeze nearly immediately once you’ve exited.

There is a fight - not as violent as you’d expected - as the security guard from inside scuffles with Steve, who looks positively wasted in a way you’ve come to know all too well, doing gigs in LA. His face shines with a sheen layer of sweat, skin glowing in the artificial light, and his fists move slowly to pummel into the other security guard’s back. It’s, truthfully, a bit pathetic to watch - he isn’t putting up much of a fight against the guard trying to hold him, and your mouth parts with poorly-concealed confusion at the display in front of you.

You’re not sure what to say - or do - or think - standing in the doorway of the bathroom as you watch the poor excuse of a fight, Steve nearly toppling to the ground as the other guard tries to contain him.

“Come on, Steve - don’t be like this -”

Then the other security guard looks up and sees you, and the expression on his face nearly makes you burst into laughter, but you contain it with a bit more difficulty than you’d like to admit. He looks annoyed, like he’s absolutely done with his coworker, and also slightly embarrassed. Clearly, he’d dragged Steve into the hallway containing the bathrooms with the hopes of nobody seeing either of them, and you’ve interrupted his bid for privacy desperately. “Sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, grabbing one of Steve’s flailing fists in his hands. “Don’t mind us - he’s drunk - just trying to contain him.”

You’re doing a damn good job, you want to say, but you bite back the retort with a small nod and a whisper of a smile on your face, walking with your back to the wall past their display in the hopes of Steve not seeing you. He hadn’t been particularly nice to you when you’d first seen him and you can tell he’s in a much more heightened state, now - he’d been drunk when you’d seen him before and you can tell it’s only gotten worse.

Maybe you should’ve told Jeff the guard was drunk?

Well, it’s counterproductive to dwell on the past.

You’re not so lucky, though - you’ve barely made it down five steps down the hallway before Steve lifts his head, pupils blown and skin even stickier looking than before, and he gives you the same disgusted look as though you’re something his dog had left on the grass. “Hey - hey - Jim - do you know who that is?”

And the other security guard - Jim - just rolls his eyes. “No, Steve, I don’t - stop making a fool out of yourself.”

“She works at - at - Eat to the Beat - Parallel Lines - what is it?”

Do you answer him? You don’t quite know. You just swallow thickly, forcing yourself not to don the smile that’s urging its way onto your lips as you hear roaring screams from the crowd that alerts you to the fact that, if Harry isn’t done with his set yet, he’s close, and you need to watch the end. “Autoamerican. Those are all good albums, though.”

“She’s snarky - get off of me, Jim -”

In Steve’s final bid for freedom his legs kick out, and his sneakered foot knocks into your ankle, and it’s certainly not hard by any stretch of the definition but it’s enough to catch you off balance, his toe hooking into the loose fabric around your ankles as he brings his foot back to kick again. One kick did it, though - you tumble to the ground, legs flying out from under you until you land on your ass on the hard floor, your bag slipping off your shoulder, and its contents scatter across the ground.

Fuck. That hurt, more than you’d care to admit, as you brace your elbows behind you to stop your head from knocking into the ground. Your ass hurts and you can see Steve’s leg bracing backwards for another kick, and you push yourself backwards so his foot merely pushes against the air.

You can already see Jim opening his mouth to desperately say sorry when a set of footsteps interrupts his apology - you don’t have to look to your side to see who it is, the smell of expensive cologne wafting before him like an introduction. You practically feel him before you see him.

Your name falls off Harry’s lips entirely too easily, like he’d been looking for you in the overtly small window of space he has before he has to go back on stage - his hair is messy and his skin is sweaty and he bends down next to you with such sentimentality in his eyes - you almost feel like a child again.

“Are y’okay?” Harry questions, and his hand rests on the small of your back and warmth seems to seep through your body from its spawning point, palm moving in circles against your sweater so gently you can tell he’s scared to go much harder. “Wha’ -?”

For his eyes had just landed on the sight in front of you - Jim managed to pull Steve up, the latter clearly coming to his senses at least a little bit, and his eyes narrow at the sight of you on the floor and subsequently widen as he sees Harry next to you.

“Wha’ happened?” And you can hear anger quivering under his voice like boiling water, ready to overflow, and you instinctively reach up to press your hand against his forearm - you do it to your niece all the time when you can tell she’s on the verge of a tantrum and it always works on her - but she is five, and Harry’s twenty years her senior, so, needless to say, the motion doesn’t do much to soothe him. “Fightin’ back here, kickin’ her - you’re s’posed t’be security guards!”

“It’s okay, Harry -”

“S’not okay -”

And then there’s another set of footsteps jogging over to you, and you look up to see Jeff -

“Har, you need to get back out -” but you can see the confusion set into his features as he stands over the scene, eyes flickering to you and Harry on the floor to Jim and Steve, the former having settled the latter into a fairly calm position. The scent of alcohol is strong and you can practically watch as Jeff smells it, his nose crinkling. “Is he drunk?”

“He is drunk, an’ got into a fight wit’ -”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, squeezing Harry’s arm again as you push yourself to stand, attempting not to wince at the pain in your ass as your muscles tense. He’s looking at you like you’ve just been hit by a car instead of having a mild scuffle with a security guard, eyes wide and concerned, and you shake your head at him. “Didn’t get into a fight, Harry - he accidentally kicked me. It’s really fine - you need to go back out, anyway.”

“She’s right,” Jeff insists, reaching down to tug Harry up as his eyes bore into the sight in front of you, Steve slowly calming himself down until he’s simply red in the face and reeking of booze. “Come on, Har - you need to get on.”

But Harry’s already bending down again, grabbing your pen and your notebook and your phone (you can see a crack in the screen that most certainly hadn’t been there just a mere ten minutes ago) and you could nearly laugh at the display he’s putting on, shoving your items back into your back, if Jeff’s demeanor wasn’t bordering on murderous as he drags Harry up again. You reach down and grab your bag, now fully stocked again with all of the items that had clattered out, and you give the tussling security guards one final fleeting look before following Jeff and Harry as they make their way down the hall.

“Y’sure you’re okay?” Harry questions, slowing his pace so you can jog beside him, much to Jeff’s lingering annoyance as he brings his fingers up to rub at the space between his eyes. “Y’should know - tha’ doesn’t usually happen -”

“I get it,” you tell him.

“No, really.” You’ve reached the wings of the stage, and Jeff leaves the pair of you alone to descend on to where the band stands, clearly waiting for the cue to go on. Harry runs a hand through his hair, and he looks oddly exasperated and you wish you could get it through his head that it really isn’t a big deal - “Someone will take care of the guards, okay?”

“Don’t fire them,” you insist, even though you’re sure he has no say in it. “Not Jim, at least.”

“Jim -?”

“The sober one.”

“Oh.” He pauses, dropping his hands to his sides. “I can’t make any promises.”

“Just try.”

“Will do.”

There’s another brief second of silence before you nod towards the stage where he’s needed - the few lowly minutes between the end of the show and the encore has come to an end, and you’re sure people are beginning to wonder if he’s not coming back. “Go on, Har. There’s people waiting for you.”

“M’going!” And he isn’t going, just staring at you with his brows furrowed, and you raise your own with a confused stare. “Are y’gonna come t’any more shows?”

You pause, nibbling on your bottom lip as you contemplate your answer. “Well - maybe. If I need more information.” “You should,” he tells you, and you tilt your head to the side. “Look, I don’t want your only impression of m’shows t’be that they’re violent an’ crazy.”

“I don’t think -”

“Jus’ one more? In two days. I’ll send you th’address. I really want you t’come -”

Before you can process the request Jeff has stepped forward, hooking his arm in Harry’s and practically dragging him towards the stage, and you watch him prance back in front of the audience like it’s his God given purpose and perhaps it is. You’ve never quite met anyone like him, you don’t think, and you’d certainly had a perception of what you’d imagined him to be like based on the insane amount of time you’d spent obsessing over his band when you were younger -

Your mouth feels suddenly dry as you watch him begin, and the music seems to reverberate beneath your skin, and suddenly - without having to think about it much at all, really - you know it won’t take much convincing on his part to get you back for a second night.

[occasionaloneshots]

I Am Not Okay With This, an Aesthetic Study

I may be the last one to realize these things (Also sorry for the photo quality, they stretched and didn't handle being stretched and resized well. I may come back at a different time and fix it)

So, I've seen a lot of people who get a 70s or 80s feel from the show and they say they only remember that because of scenes that mention smartphones or the scene where Syd questions why Stan would have old VHS tapes. And I think we get that old feeling when following them because they're really trying to nail home the point that Syd and Stan are poor. Because when you're actively looking for those old elements, they only surround the Barbers and the Novaks.

For example, I'm going to compare Dina and Ricky Berry to Stan and Syd as we see parts of all of their houses through out the show (I used everyone's room, except I could only find screen grabs of the girls entering the party for Ricky's house so bare with me there.)

A If you look at Syd and Stan, they have that old feeling, Syd even mentions herself that the houses are old. You can tell that no one has gotten to decorate the basement in Stan's house for long time, the rugs and mix matched lamps and things of that nature look like things his father has collected over the years or maybe something that he found himself at a thrift store. And Syd's room has that same aged feeling to it, the bedding is obviously older though, probably something her parents bought years ago and it ended up being handed down to her, she has an old dining room chair at her desk and none of her furniture matches.

In comparison, though we don't see much of the Berry house but you can tell from the large windows and the shiny exterior we see in the episode that his house is obviously large and seems to be very new, possibly even something his family had built for them. And in Dina's room, we can see that all of her furniture matches, most likely a set that was bought together. And while her room doesn't feel like a 2020 aesthetic Pinterest room, it doesn't feel aged like Syd or Stan's. It looks like a early 2000s child's room that has been changed to keep up with an aging child.

Even when you look at their clothing, Dina and Ricky look like the people I went to high school with around the time this show was filmed. The high waisted jeans and primary stripes that we see on Dina for most of the show were something that was really trendy (at least in my area) back in 2019. And Ricky's hoodie + jean jacket combo that we see him wearing in the first episode and last episode are things that you saw a lot online or at schools in 2019. They're dressed like they're from the late 2010s. But when you see Syd and Stan their clothes are also noticeably aged in comparison, their clothes look more like hand-me-downs or like they were bought second hand than their counterparts in the school. Even with their formal wear, Stan's patterned button up and blue suit (as well as that green button up from the episode 4 montage) all have the feeling of 70s and 80s that people are picking up on and it honestly feels like something his father kept (or possibly paternal grandparents kept them)and handed down to him. And while Syd's dress doesn't feel as old, it's obviously older than Dina's (probably something her mom picked out a year or two before). It also feels outdated compared to Dina's (Which reminds me of homecoming dresses I saw my freshman year).

Basically What I'm saying is that, the show feels old because we're watching it from Syd and Stan, not one of the characters who are better off financially. The aging in the show was most likely a way to show a financial difference in the characters and not actually a true nod to a time zone (Though Stan does seem really into things from past decades, that wouldn't make his stuff feel straight out of the decade like it does because most people with an 60s/70s/8s/90s aesthetic irl don't feel that on the nose.) And personally, I think it did a really good job at showing that without being like "it's all broken because it's old" in a cheap way that I have seen shows and movies do.

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

Headcanons for dew, rain, mountain and the papa’s s/o (feel free to leave out the ghoulies if you want <3) revealing that they have a glass eye after they’ve been dating for a while, but with a silly spontaneous taking out of the eye. (I recommend watching a video on how glass eyes work first though <3)

Thank you so much for recommending the videos, they really helped! I mostly went with your request of having the reveal be a silly prank and mixed it in with a few other scenarios, I hope that’s ok! And heck yeah, I’ll be happy to add the ghouls to it! Please enjoy! :)

Also feedback is always welcome!

Ember, Rain, Mountain, and the Papas React to their S/O removing their Glass Eye for the first time

Rain: Your ghoul lover had known about your eye since you first became an item. But it was becoming clear more and more often that he was very curious about your eye. He was a quiet and polite ghoul by nature despite his massive curiosity, so you knew it would take some time before he approached you on his own with questions. Not that you would have minded! Rain was respectful and you trusted him to be the same when it came to your eye. When one day you had taken it out to adjust after it had been bothering you for most of the morning you caught your lover watching, utterly fascinated. But Rain looked ashamed the moment you looked back at him. “It’s ok to be curious, Babe. It’s not a bad thing!” You assured him with a gentle smile and beckoned him over. Rain was happy you weren’t upset with him and did end up asking quite a bit! How to clean it, how does it stay, what is it made out of? You considered it a real bonding experience between you both!

Mountain: The drummer had been more blunt about your eye than anticipated, but it was obvious he meant no disrespect. During a conversation it eventually came up that your eye was fake. Mountain replied with a factual, “oh I noticed. It’s quite amazing.” You were taken aback by his genuine appreciation for the simple prosthesis, and you pressed to know why. Mountain took the time to explain that he found human medicines and inventions incredible. In Hell there were no such things as prosthetics or any medical machinery. When you lost a limb or a body part you just dealt with it. Mountain eventually told you the only time he has seen another eye like yours was one that belonged to a stone ghoul leader. It was an exquisitely carved and smoothed green gem! He ends up comparing the high quality of your eye to the gem and lamented that he would never be able to carve a rock to the degree of which your eye was made! It was a fascinating conversation, as you never considered what happened to ghouls in Hell before they came to Earth. It even made you blush when Mountain admitted he thought your eye was one of the most amazing things in the world.

Ember: The first time you removed your eye in front of the fire ghoul you had startled him! All you said was, “Hey babe, wanna see a trick?” and plucked your eye out. The lack of warning certainly caught him off guard as he jumped like a cat. You laughed HARD when his tail was stiffened straight and he garbled half sentences at you. When his brain finally processed what happened he threw his hands up, exasperated. “You could have just TOLD ME, I thought you were about to do something fucking TERRIFYING!” A few minutes after catching your breath you almost regretted showing him as his enthusiasm started to show. Ever since he found out your eye was fake he INSISTED that your next eye should be all white so you could pretend to be an Emeritus. Ember vehemently claimed it’d be hilarious to watch everyone shit their pants when you come out MARKED BY LUCIFER! Of course, you know how terrible of an idea that is! But hey, he’s got the right spirit!

Papa Nihil: Originally randomly removing your eye was going to be a small joke. It was a prank you liked to do from time to time, and you’d be lying if you said you DIDN’T enjoy the reactions you got. Some people looked confused and others jumped from shock. It always ended in huge peels of laughter from you and your friends. What you could have never anticipated was what would happen was Nihil cackling after the fact. You had expected shock or curiosity, but not the Grand Papa practically laughing in your face. When he saw your confused look he gestured for you to come over. It was your turn to laugh when he removed a bottom row of teeth from his mouth. When you sat down to exchange stories Nihil told you about a wild bar fight he got into back in the 70’s. It resulted in him having a banged up jaw and needing a small row of bottom teeth to be permanently replaced. When you shared your story he was just as happy to listen!

Papa I: You weren’t planning on taking out your eye in front of Papa, but necessity waits for no one. That day you were trying a new prosthesis from your doctor, but it just didn’t seem to work out for you. The eye was a slightly different fit and shape than you were used to and it had been irritating you all morning! Papa and you had taken to the sitting room to read together, but the eye made it impossible! you couldn't focus with the damn thing bothering you. You had enough and just popped to accursed thing out. Moments after your sigh of relief you realized Papa had stopped to watch you, a look of concern plastered on his face. He didn't seem alarmed that you were holding an eye in your hand, more so that you looked so uncomfortable. “Are you alright? Is your eye hurting you?” It took a moment to snap out of your stupor but you shook your head and explained everything. Papa nodded politely and smiled, happy to know you were ok. After you excused yourself you were quick to go back to your old eye. When you settled down next to him again you couldn’t help but quench your newfound curiosity. “It doesn’t bother you that my eye is fake?” Papa set down his book, confused as he removed the reading glasses from his face. “.... why should that bother me?” Honestly, that one question was all you needed to hear.

Papa II: When you first started dating you were immediately open about your eye. It wasn’t a terribly big deal for you, but you felt it fair to let him know. Papa only ‘hmm’d’ when you told him but thanked you for the information. If anything, unless it was bothering you it rarely came up in your day to day life! The only time you’ve ever seen him react to it was when he caught someone staring at your face at a clergy function. Your eye was incredibly realistic but there was always bound to be someone who noticed it was a prosthesis. You were used to it, as you knew people were often curious. Very few people ever made you uncomfortable. Papa on the other hand did not share your sentiment. One thing everyone knew about the second Emeritus is how he absolutely despised anything he considered, in his words, “boorish”. Before you could say anything to the person Papa’s voiced hissed out as his hand clasped your shoulder. “Do you mind, or are you going to stare like a gaping troglodyte.” The sibling didn’t need to be told twice and immediately scurried away. Papa cleared his throat as you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. He apologized for speaking over you, and even looked a little embarrassed at his sudden defensiveness. You, in turn, told him he could make up it up to you by getting you a drink!

Papa III: Your mischievous streaks were only matched by Papa’s. It’s what made you fall for each other, after all! So naturally you decided your big reveal would have to be a good one. You waited until the perfect opportunity arose one night. You both had a fun game of saying or doing the most over the top romantic clichés you could think of. It was like your own little game you only played with each other! Papa's favorite tactic was to bombard you with the cheesiest pick up lines he could think of! You loved to roll your eyes and pretend you didn't love every minute. The moment finally came one night when Papa had fallen into your lap, proclaiming how amazing your eyes were. Papa went over the top to make you laugh- saying how much they sparkled like the night sky and were like gems he wanted to keep like little treasures. You grinned and without missing a beat reached up to your face. “You like them that much? Here-” he gasped as you plucked it out, “you can have one!” It took Papa a few moments before he howled laughing, you joining him shortly. Papa praised you for your excellent comedic timing and it has been your inside joke ever since!!

Papa IV/Copia: The fact that Copia saw you taking out your eye at all had been a rather hilarious coincidence... to you at least! It often slipped your mind when you first started seeing each other to tell him of your eye. It wasn't a huge concern for you and every time you remembered you figured the right opportunity would come. One day when you woke up you decided it was as good a time as ever to clean it. You had been ready to start cleaning it and plucked it out as Copia wandered into your shared bathroom, half asleep. Copia hollered at first when he saw you remove it. He frantically shook his head and rubbed at his own eyes to make sure he was awake. When you both realized what had happened Copia had little time to blush as you doubled over laughing. Eventually, after your giggle fit, Copia apologized profusely for his crappy behavior. He explained that he was still waking up and thought you had just randomly pulled something out of your eye socket. You had to convince him a couple of times that you did not take offense to his reaction. As far as you were concerned, no harm no foul! You knew that Copia would NEVER purposely make someone feel bad. Eventually he came around and accepted that you weren’t mad at him!

[anxresi]

I could line my wall with all the posts Thomas has made about Chloe tonight. (around 50, by my count)

If you wanna read them, don’t bother.

I certainly won’t be sharing any of them

What would be the point?

Because basically, they amount to one thing...

Chloe is bad, and we’re bad people for liking her.

That’s it.

And for anyone thinking that he kids around a lot with his comments...

I’m pretty sure this is something he feels VERY strongly about.

Or he wouldn’t expand so much energy in constantly talking her down.

So no, I don’t think we’re going to get a Chloe redemption.

No, I don’t think she’ll be Queen Bee again. 

No, I can’t see any real change in her behavior.

She’ll just remain the same ol’ hatable Chloe, the ‘evil’ girl that young kids apparently ‘get’ that adults don’t understand...

Yep, apparently we’re ‘dumb’ for wanting her to improve and develop!

To provide a good example for bullies out there that they can be more than just abusers all their lives!

Children couldn’t possibly grasp the delicate subtleties of self-improvement as you grow up!

It’s all so clear now!

Stupid us!

Also, her merchandise doesn’t sell very well.

Another good case for her staying as a villain, I guess.

And she’s compared to a monster and a domestic abuser.

This damaged teenage girl.

Yeah, sounds about right.

And all those tender moments where she showed empathy and love were just ‘fake outs’ all along.

Makes total sense!

And anyone who wanted more from her is just ‘delusional’ and is ‘writing the show in their head’.

Exactly!

Except...

That’s not the way it seemed on screen at all.

When she hugged Miss Bustier

Or had a heart-to-heart with Ladybug

When she risked her life as Queen Bee

Showed genuine concern for Adrien

When she finally appreciated Jean-something

And shared moments of friendship with Sabrina

These did NOT come across as part of an elaborate plot twist

From a show which isn’t exactly known for its complex writing.

They seemed to form part of a ladder...

Which would inevitably climb to a true character shift.

Where this flawed teenage girl could take a long, hard look at her life.

And realize she didn’t HAVE to be like her awful mother.

Or as power-hungry as her father.

She could learn lessons from her favorite superhero Ladybug...

Become a better person...

And an even greater superhero.

She could still keep her sassy attitude.

Just be a bit kinder and selfless, that’s all.

But, nope.

EVERY bit of niceness we witnessed on screen...

None of it was real.

It was all influenced by ‘class’.

Even her childhood friendship with Adrien was nothing.

If he was as poor as the rest of his classmates, she would’ve bullied him too.

Straight from Thomas’s own mouth.

One of the best relationships in the show, gone just. Like. THAT.

He also said to ‘redeem’ her at this stage would be too ‘unconvincing’?

ORLY?

I hate to return to critical mode...

But the show ain’t exactly known for its consistent writing.

One minute Marinette is confident around Adrien...

Next she’s a nervous jumble of words.

It sets up two new ships for Mari and Adrien with great fanfare...

Only to ditch them both two eps later.

(Also, what the **** did they plan to do with Lila?!)

In other words, this isn’t a show that plays the long game

Whether this is to satisfy the networks’ demand to air the eps out of order idk.

The point is that trying to tell us that Chloe’s ‘arc’ was some grand scheme...

Where she’d have a few sympathetic moments only to emerge worst than ever afterwards....

I simply don’t believe it.

Either this is terrible, amateurish writing of the worst kind...

Or Thomas flexed his influence behind the scenes...

And put an abrupt end to Chloe’s development before it really got started.

It doesn’t really matter which reason I guess.

What DOES matter is this petty and spiteful man sees fit to bash her in around 70% of his online interactions right now.

He could just ignore the posts but nope, he goes right in there, full throttle. 

You can just tell how smart he is with his intimate psychological breakdowns of why Chloe is the way she is...

When we all know the actual reason... he just couldn’t be bothered.

Far better to create a whole new character, give her none of the depths that could make a developed Chloe such a pain to write...

And then 'reward’ her with the position of Queen Bee, for being super-sweet and as shallow as a puddle.

And oops, make her Chloe’s half-sister or whatever to further rub salt in Chloe stans’ wounds. 

Is the show even gonna tackle the angst that would arise from Mayor Andre discovering his beloved wife had an affair?

Or Chloe discovering her much-loved mother is in fact a cheat?

What about coping with the SHOCK revelation that she... GASP... has a long-lost sister?

Forget it. All that rich potential for human emotions sounds B O R I N G.

Don’t forget that if there’s a major event in this show that doesn’t include the words ‘Love Square’, the makers just don’t care.

Let’s cut straight to a giant golden Zoe (who now looks like a giant golden Chloe) trying to smoosh her now much smaller sister...

While Chloe pushes Marinette and her parents towards the beast to save herself. 

Because of course she does.

Never misses a trick to make Chloe look bad, does Thomas.

It’s a skill you can tell he’s very proud of.

Anyway, back to Zoe...

Despite my harsh words above, I harbor no ill-will towards you.

Your design is decent and you seem like a stand-up gal.

But I hate to say this...

You shouldn’t exist.

It was completely unnecessary from a storytelling POV to create a sibling for Chloe, and your mere presence will diminish the show.

I can say this with utmost confidence after looking at the situation from every conceivable angle...

Without even needing to watch your eps or know why you were created.

(Although, I have a pretty good idea)

Some people might say WELL GIVE HER A CHANCE!!!!

Hmm... no.

Everything the show needs to be successful with Chloe’s character...

It’s already right there.

She does not need a secret sibling

She does not require a sweeter counterpart

And she definitely DOESN’T need Thomas constantly bashing her to impressionable fans online like she’s the Antichrist personified!

Seriously dude, if you hate her so much why bother creating her?

And if you hate her so much... why spend so long talking about her?

Despite his repeated denials, I think something another user here said is very true...

She DOES live ‘rent free’ in his head.

It sickens him that, despite his best efforts, she still has so many fans.

Not to worry, Thomas.

From what I see, there are still plenty of sycophants who agree with everything you say (even if they actually don’t)

After all, it’s enough for some to get a reply from the ‘great man’ himself

Why jeopardize that by trying to engage with him in a meaningful debate?

Especially when we know how handsy he is with the ‘block’ button.

Anyway, this went on for about a thousand more words than I meant it to.

I guess me and Thomas have just ONE thing in common (Thank God)

This is a topic which we both feel VERY strongly about.

The differently is of course, I have far less power in the process, and preach to a much smaller audience.

Still, I won’t let that stop me ranting away like a loon.

Hey, if it’s good enough for him... ;)

[starrybouquet]

yo should i watch star trek? i've been thinking about watching it but there are so many shows and movies and it's verrry overwhelming.

star trek and ncis have both been in my list of shows to watch for a long time, but i never got around to actually watching them. watching u post about them makes me wanna binge watch them but it's SO overwhelming and idk where to start

Okay, first off, you should ABSOLUTELY watch Star Trek. It's GLORIOUS and absolutely bonkers and thoughtful at the same time. You should also definitely watch NCIS because for a show about murder, it is surprisingly comforting 😂

This post got VERY VERY long because I learned I have a LOT of thoughts about how to watch large amounts of television. Uh, sorry 😂I split it up into NCIS and Star Trek, and then....the Star Trek section is still really long. I hope it's not too much rambling, and that it is possibly helpful?? I feel really honored you asked me about this <3

NCIS

NCIS is pretty simple to binge - I just finished watching it for the first time. Pretty much, I'd run straight through NCIS (the original, not NCIS:LA or NCIS:NO) from season 1-13. A few caveats: I enjoyed s1-s2, but I have some friends who were bothered by a few episodes that were transphobic. I mean it's kind of expected, since the show started in 2003 and some of the characters weren't written as the most accepting people, at least at the start But that doesn't make it easier to watch. If you think that will bother you, I'd be happy to give you a list of episodes to watch/skip. :)

From season 3 onward, I'd really just watch in order (you can skip some of the more gruesome ones *glares at two specific season 3 episodes*). I wandered off sometime around season 13/14 but you can conceivably continue on to season 18 which just finished like a week ago, I think?

Oh, and then you can try the spin-offs. Neither have really been able to hold my attention but you might have better luck!

Star Trek

Okay this one is a lot less simple. Yes, there is SO much Star Trek and asking yourself to binge all of it is very very confusing because....this timeline is a good explanation.

Yeah.

Sir, what?

So! There's no right way to binge Trek. I'd definitely start with a TV show. Yes, there are a lot of Star Trek movies and some of them are fabulous, but Star Trek was born on TV and the TV shows are still the bread and butter of the franchise.

There are maybe five good entry points for Star Trek. If you don't like the first one you try, try a different one, since they are similar but every entry in the franchise has a very different feel.

I'd say there are maybe five good entry points for Star Trek:

Star Trek: The Original Series (1966-1969) The classic, very first Star Trek. Kirk, Spock, McCoy. Absolutely ICONIC. Has a few fabulous, classic high-concept sci-fi episodes and a few absolutely HILARIOUS episodes. If you choose this one, be prepared for a show that's VERY 60s in color and style, thinly-veiled Vietnam War allegories, and a lot of William Shatner.

Star Trek: The Next Generation (1987-1994) My personal favorite. Episodic, absolutely brilliant acting, and the RANGE! Literally has a cross-dressing Wild West romp one week and a deep, "machines develop a sense of self-preservation" plot the next. Some of the very best television ever made. The only problem with TNG is it starts reallllly slow. Most people don't really enjoy season 1, and it really doesn't get good until halfway thru season 2. So I'd recommend watching the pilot, then maybe skipping through a few s1 episodes as they strike your fancy. There are a few good ones but also many duds. The nice thing is it's entirely episodic so you can skip without worrying about losing the main thread of the story. After the pilot, I think the only season 1 episode that's crucial for plotty reasons is Skin of Evil (1x23)? Then starting with A Measure of a Man (2x09) I'd watch straight through. The rest of the series is EXCELLENT and quality is, on average, fairly high. (Okay, you can skip the last episode of s2 since it's a clip show. A writer's strike happened. XD) If you choose this route, be prepared for the slow start. And the VERY 80s sci-fi costumes. :)

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993-1999) I'm not a huge DS9 fan, but I really, really enjoy their comedic episodes. If season-long arcs and a more gritty, politick-y feel strikes your fancy, this is the show for you. Again, this one has brilliant acting (most Trek does tbh) and a LOT of range. DS9 is set during wartime, so it's definitely got a different feel. I like it but don't love it, but this show has changed the lives of a lot of people, I think, so it's definitely a good option. I think DS9 starts better than TNG, and this is definitely one you want to watch in order. Seasons 1-3 are a little more episodic and then the series-long war arc begins in earnest.

Star Trek: Voyager (1995-2001) I have an outsized love for Voyager entirely because of fandom. (J/C fandom has a very large overlap with Sam/Jack fandom!) The premise of Voyager is that it's a ragtag crew (half military officers, half rebel terrorists) trying to get home after being flung 70,000 light years from Earth (which will take roughly 70 years for them to traverse). This is the only show with a female captain and it is TERRIFIC. I'm just saying, if you watch this one, be prepared to ship the captain and the first officer. Because...you will. :) Overall quality of Voyager is, IMHO, not quite as high as TNG. It's again more episodic with some occasional multi-episode plot threads. But the two shows have equally strong captains, and Voyager is definitely a more scrappy ship than TNG's Enterprise. The characters change a LOT over seven seasons, so definitely watch Voyager in order. I think this show actually has one of the better pilot episodes of Star Trek, in a franchise full of notoriously poor pilot episodes.

Star Trek: Discovery (2017-) If you want a "modern" show - y'know, fancy effects and such - I'd roll with Discovery. But it's definitely a controversial entry in the franchise, and one of the less consistent ones, IMHO. But I really like the pilot, and also enjoyed season 2, so you could definitely start here if you're looking for something that's more recent and less, y'know, of whatever era it was made.

For people who love SG-1, I'd probably start with TNG or Voyager? I'm not sure. Discovery is a lot flashier but I think you'll probably enjoy the other four more, if you like SG-1. Totally a matter of personal taste, though.

I hope you got to the end of this, and honestly, if you want to get into either of these shows and are still confused, just message me? I will happily give advice :)

TL;DR

Just binge NCIS from episode 1 onward. If you are very sensitive to transphobia, message me and I'll tell you which season 1 eps to skip.

For Trek: If you love SG-1, I'd start with The Next Generation or Voyager. But honestly, you could start with The Original Series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, or Discovery, depending on what you like in your TV.

[capstoverogers]

A Soul for a Soul - Chapter 2

Pairings: Past Natasha Romanoff/Black!Reader, Eventual Carol Danvers/Black!Reader

Genre: Grief/Angst

Warnings: Mention of Characters' Death, Cursing, Lots o' Sad

Word Count: 3,016

Chapter 1

-----

There was a party raging on the battlefield, because no one didn’t know what else to do, except you all knew Tony would want you to celebrate. But maybe everyone just wanted to put off mourning till morning, didn’t quite yet want to deal with the consequences, for better or for worse.

It was an easier concept to swallow when Thor and his pretty warrior friend with the flying horse disappeared for a moment, then came back in minutes with as much Asgardian beer and liquor as they could manage (which, between the two of them, was a whole damn lot). A friend of Rocket’s - Star Lord - then took the charge, cracking open the first beer and finishing off half it in a single gulp before blasting some mix tape of 70s tunes from his space ship that soon turned the battlefield, this graveyard, into an all-out function.

The largest fire you’d ever seen raged where the compound once stood, courtesy of Zoey, and bodies started to move under the moonlight, freely to the music, helped of course by the copious amount of liquor that helped bury down any sense of sadness in favor of this celebration.

You couldn’t focus, though. You still hadn’t managed to find Nat in this swarm of familiar and strange faces, and she was the only one you wanted to see. Once you had her in your arms, then you could let yourself celebrate - or at least you could try. Even as everyone slowly started to let loose, there was this permeating sense of sadness, as prevalent as the cascades of smoke soaring upward from the fire, as no one could escape the thought of the sacrifice that allowed you all to celebrate like this.

It was like everything was in the way, though, and you supposed you could give a few minutes to these friends who you hadn’t seen in years before you found your wife.

“I can’t believe you’re married!” Zoey was gushing as you stood in a small circle with Bucky, Sam and Steve; the superpowered were wielding Asgardian drinks while the rest of you eyed their bottles enviously. You couldn’t help but grin, showing off the simple, but sleek vibranium band on your finger as Sam pretended to squeal like a valley girl with a hand to his chest and Bucky shot you a simple grin as he held out his metal arm.

“We match.”

You beamed at him, though not with the fervency of Steve, who hadn’t pulled his eyes from the Winter Solider for a second since the battle had ended. Well, except to urgently meet your eyes, seemingly desperate to pull you away for a private moment. You didn’t know why - didn’t know if you wanted to know why - and found yourself avoiding his gaze as it drifted to the crowds of people, hoping to catch the one face you wanted to see above all else.

“I feel like I know no one,” Zoey murmured beside me, also taking in all the people around her. “It’s weird to think that it’s been five years. It felt like…a malfunction. One second I was gone and the very next second, I was here, like nothing happened. Like the world had just…glitched.”

“Like a blip,” Bucky said knowingly. Zoey nodded with a frown, then perked up when the Jackson 5 started blaring from the speakers. She turned eagerly to you, already drifting to where Star Lord had started up a makeshift dance floor.

“We gotta dance!”

Sam was nodding fervently, a little grin playing at his lips as he started to move easily to the beat. You grinned a little, but you were still so distracted, especially as you could sense Steve about to interject, his eyes once again set on you, and you couldn’t get caught in a conversation with him. As much as you truly loved him, they tended to be endless.

“I’ll meet y’all out there,” you assured, backing away before their protests could fully reach your ears. “Gotta find Nat.”

“(Y/N)…” Steve started, but Zoey beat him to it as she nodded with a grin.

“Oh, I bet you do,” she said, eyebrows waggling ridiculously, and man, you missed this. You laughed heartily, then turned away, starting to feel desperate the deeper you got in the crowd. It had been over an hour - where had she been?

You finally caught a glimpse of Clint, who had seemingly changed into his civilian clothes, your heart spiking when you saw that he was talking to someone who his body mostly obscured, but you could tell it was a woman shorter than him. Of course your best bet would be to find Nat with Clint; she’d probably got caught up in the crowd and reunion just like you did, but just like he’d promised before he left, Clint was still looking out for your girl.

Before you could make my way over to them, though, you found yourself colliding straight into Peter’s strong chest. He stumbled back, the profuse apology already tumbling off of his lips, only slowing down when he noticed it was you. All thoughts of making your way to Natasha fled from your mind as you took in your friend’s red eyes, half-empty bottle of aged Asgardian liquor in his hand and the sway in his step.

“How are you, Pete?” You asked, stepping close so he could hear your voice, soft with compassion and concern.

“Drunk,” he hiccuped with a brief, bright smile that reminded you of the fifteen year old boy you had met years ago before it quickly faded. “And sad.”

Peter was always the type to wear his heart on his sleeve - one of the things that hadn’t changed about him, along with his forever gentle and earnest brown eyes. Even as he sprouted up - shoulders broader and jaw firmer and covered in the scruff he hadn’t gotten a chance to shave off yet - he was still Peter. Just a wearier, more mature one, but still always filled with a hope that had helped fuel you all.

As much as your own heart hurt over the loss of Tony, it hurt even more seeing clearly how it was affecting Peter. You’d never seen him drunk before. Granted, it took a lot of Earth liquor for someone like him to even get a buzz, but the way his words slurred off of his tongue was telling.

“I’m sorry, Pete.”

He shrugged, eyes glazing over for a second before his attention drifted to the music. He perked up slightly.

“Hey, is that Zoey?!” He smiled a little in wonder, eyes honing in on The Flame as she figuratively burned a hole in the makeshift dance floor. She had attracted the attention of a drunk Star Lord, who was laughing as she showed everyone up. “Wow. I haven’t seen her in…”

You couldn’t help but chuckle as he struggled to count.

“Five years,” you supplied, your smile more soft than mocking as he turned back to you with an eager nod. “You go say ‘hi.’ She’ll like that. I’m gonna find Nat.”

“Okay!” Peter chirped, seemingly drunk and distracted enough by Zoey to let his sadness fall to the wayside, at least for a moment. He began to stumble towards her, but stopped, something pensive crossing his gaze. “It’s not weird anymore.”

You furrowed your brow at him, “What’s not weird?”

“If me and her went out. S’not weird anymore ‘cause I’m grown up.”

You chuckled fondly at how ironically boyish he sounded. Peter’s crush on Zoey back in the day had bordered on infamous with how completely obvious it was, but of course she had seen him as nothing but a little brother, with the nine year age difference and all.

But you guessed that was a four year age difference now.

“Better get on it before that Star Douche dude does,” you said, nodding to how the aforementioned space punk was dancing a little too closely to Zoey in a way that was almost rhythmic and would have maybe been charming if you weren’t already decidedly Team Peter Parker. You clapped Peter on the back, and you grinned at each other. He started to sway towards the dance floor, his shoulders bouncing to the beat, and you watched him for a second.

“Hey Peter?”

He looked at you curiously over his shoulder. You offered him a small smile.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you said. “I know it doesn’t really feel like it now, but…we’ll get through this too.”

You were happy to see his smile sincere, no matter how small it was. He nodded once, then turned back towards Zoey and the dance floor, finally leaving you to make your way to Natasha.

Except as you got closer to Clint, you realized that he wasn’t talking to Nat, but his wife, who he must’ve fetched from their home - along with their kids - and brought back to the celebration. You furrowed your brow at how even from across the way, you could notice how red his eyes were as his shoulders seemed permanently slumped. Tony meant a lot to everyone, but you hadn’t expect to see Clint that affected.

“(Y/N)!”

You let out a sigh as you recognized Steve’s voice from behind. In a second, his long steps led him right in front of you, this striking mix of urgency and tragedy saturating his blue eyes as he gazed down at you.

“I need to talk to you,” he said in a quiet, serious tone. He took ahold of your wrist, firmly but gently, and you knew you had no chance of pulling away from his grip.

“Can it wait?” you pleaded, your head started to crane around again. “I just really want to see Nat.”

When you looked back at him, something had completely crumbled in his gaze as he stared down at you, and you knew immediately. You think you knew the second you’d stepped foot on the battlefield and hadn’t seen her, hadn’t felt her, but had buried the feeling down deep, because it couldn’t be true.

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” you said, shaking your head as you tried to step back, though Steve’s tightened grip held you in place. “Steve, no.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Your voice stretched and cracked as your eyes started to sting. This wasn’t happening. You were misreading this. Nat was about to come up to you at any second, wrap her arms around your waist, assure you that she was there, that everything was okay.

“To get the soul stone, it required a sacrifice,” Steve said, voice strained and eyes pained, and slowly you started to feel everything crumble around you. “A soul for a soul. Clint tried to stop her, tried to give his life, but you know Nat…”

He tried to smile; it didn’t hit.

You did know Nat. How she always felt like she wasn’t doing enough. How she never felt like she had fully atoned for the darkness of her past. How big and noble her heart was, how she would do whatever it took to complete the mission, if it meant it would save you all.

It’s why you loved her so much.

It felt like your chest was about to collapse on itself. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see through the mess of tears streaming down your face. This couldn’t be real.

You could feel Steve’s arm start to come around you, but you pulled away, shaking your head as he stared at you helplessly. He was one of the greatest heroes Earth had ever known.

But there was nothing he could do about this.

-----

One shot of Asgardian liquor, and you were done. Thor wasn’t kidding about that shit.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Could’ve been ten minutes. Could’ve been three hours. You sort of wished that it was the rest of your life, that Thanos would’ve managed that snap before Tony snatched the glove away from him - then you wouldn’t have to feel.

The next best thing, though? Being fucking drunk. The ache was there, but it was more numb. Your head unconsciously swayed to the music, fainter from where you sat in the dirt, yards away from the party. You fingered your wedding band and felt so fucking empty, but somehow it was okay, because you were drunk.

You wanted to kill Clint. He told you he’d look out for her. You trusted him to fucking look after her.

Then you remembered how broken he looked when you’d caught a glimpse of him and realized that if there was anybody who could understand how you were feeling, how you were trying not to feel, it was him.

You were rooted to the spot, though. Maybe you’d never move again. Why did it have to be Nat who went to that dumb planet to get that stupid stone? It couldn’t have been anyone else? No one knew what you’d have to lose in order to win?

You heard footsteps approaching, and usually your reflexes were sharp (you hadn’t climbed your way up the S.H.I.E.L.D. hierarchy by being slow, after all. You wondered what your job would be now that Fury and Hill were surely back. You wondered if you’d make it past this night), but it took you a long second to pull your head up from where you had been staring at your ring.

You squinted at the strong-stanced blonde hovering carefully a few feet away from you. Her figure was imposing, but somehow you could tell that her eyes were soft.

“Hey,” you coughed up a hiccup, “hey, Carol.”

She looked amused and pitying at the same time as she nodded, taking a slow step closer.

“Hey (Y/N),” she said softly. She glanced down at the bottle perched in the dirt by your feet, chanced a small smirk. “I don’t think that stuff’s made for people like you.”

“You mean us mere mortals?” You slurred with a stupid, bitter sort of grin followed by a hollow chuckle.

Her own grin was drowning in the pity now.

“Yeah. No offense.”

You shrugged. You didn’t care. Nothing like spending the past decade with a bunch of super-humans to make one deeply confront their own mortality. You’d reckoned with your normalcy a long time ago, the fact that you’d never be as great as them, no matter how hard you tried.

“How about sad people?” You said after a moment.

Her brow furrowed, puzzled.

“Sad people,” you reiterated with a slur. “This shit made for sad people? ‘Cause I’m…” You frowned for a moment. “Not sad. ‘Cause sad’s a feeling, and I don’t think I have those anymore.”

You were kind of confused by the understanding in Carol’s eyes, and you realized you knew next to nothing about her. You knew she’d saved Tony, Peter and Nebula from space five years ago, and she was possibly the most powerful being you’d ever seen. You knew she’d known Fury since you were a child and that you liked her. She felt safe without trying, was witty and to-the-point and was really easy to get along with. She’d swing by the compound to check in, every few months, and it was always nice when she did.

“I heard what happened.” You don’t know when, but suddenly Carol was sitting next to you, and you think she was trying to drown you in sympathy as she looked intently, but gently at you. “I’m sorry.

You peered at her for a long second, then shook your head.

“You can say her name, you know,” you announced, strangely angry at the vagueness of her statement, like you were fragile, like your entire childhood hadn’t been marred by loss and struggle. “Natalia Romanova. Natasha Romanoff to us dumb Americans.” You gave a laugh that came out more as a hiccup. “Black Widow. My wife.”

You ran your fingers across your wedding band as Carol watched quietly. You couldn’t really read her gaze, didn’t really care to, but she’d stopped looking at you like you were the most pathetic creature in the world, so that was nice at least.

The two of you were silent for a moment. You kept playing with your wedding band. You and Natasha had been married for one month, two weeks, three days. You thought you’d have forever. Everything burned. Your eyes, your throat, your chest.

“I lost a wife too.”

Your head snapped up. Carol was staring off towards the party, the fire still going strong.

“The same one, three different times,” she continued with a dry chuckle. “I won’t lie, it’s different than your situation, but…”

She shrugged, turning her head towards you with a slight smile.

“I know what it’s like, feeling like your entire life has been ripped away from you and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m the biggest bad ass in the universe,” she gave a self-aware smirk, and it actually made you grin a little, “but I still couldn’t get her back.”

Helpless. That’s exactly how you felt. You’d always been able to get what you wanted, even against the most seemingly insurmountable odds - you had grown up an orphan in the hood, for Christ’s sake. But now there was this, and you knew you couldn’t get what you wanted this time. As hard as you tried, as much as you worked, what could you possibly do in the end?

You wanted to cry. You just hiccuped instead, then appraised Carol curiously.

“She didn’t die three times, though,” you said with drunken certainty. “Your wife.”

“No. Just the last time,” Carol said simply. Her words surprised you; you’d assumed maybe Carol’s wife had been snapped away but was back now. “I lost her a long time before that, though.”

There was steadiness, a resignation to the sadness that tinged her otherwise cool voice.

“Oh.” You shifted a little. “Sorry.”

She shrugged, meeting your eyes again.

“Me too.”

Taglist: @afuckingshituniverse