#I tried to find plus size models but couldn’t find any in the style of dress I was looking for 😒 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 4 years

Text

tangled up in blue

pairing: harry styles x plus size!reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of anxiety, kinda angsty

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: harry has a rude encounter with a fan

author’s note: sorry for another rushed ending, but other than that, i hope you enjoy xx all the love

masterlist

—

It’s his first day off in weeks, and he is taking full advantage of it. After such a stressful few months, he wants nothing more than to spend this short break with his girlfriend.

It’s two in the afternoon before he gets out of bed, and that’s only because the weak little grumbling in his stomach became too much to ignore. With no real food in the house, Y/N called in an order to their regular place, as long as he is the one who picks it up.

He decides to walk, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away from his home, but when he catches a couple paps trying to get pictures a little ways down the road, he knew he should have driven. He’s glad Y/N stayed home, since photos of her rarely get out, and he knows that she wouldn’t have been comfortable with it.

He sighs, trying to not let them ruin his first relaxing day in a while, but it’s hard. Harry likes his privacy, and sadly, he chose the wrong career. He would never say that he hates what he does. He loves being able to bring joy and kindness to people who really need it, even if it is just for a couple of minutes.

He just wishes he could have some more space and privacy and freedom to do his own thing. He wishes he could go out on his day off without being stopped or having people trying (and failing) to take a sneaky picture of him, which, again, is an absolute invasion of his privacy.

He would never snap at anyone, well, no one except the paparazzi, not only because he was taught early on that he shouldn’t do that, but also because he wasn’t that type of person. While he still may not be used to the significance of his stardom, he still understands that he is a role model to many people, and he needs to act as such.

“I have an order to pick up,” he says to the hostess, who just stares at him for a second, jaw dropped slightly. It’s not the usual woman who gives him his orders, so he gives her a moment. She bounces back rather quickly.

“Uh, what’s the name?” She asks, trying not to draw any unwanted attention toward him, which he appreciates.

“Y/N.”

She taps away at the register, tells him the total, and he pays.

“I’ll go check and see if your order’s done. If not, it should be just a couple of minutes.”

“No problem.” He smiles.

“Harry?”

He turns to see a nervous looking girl with a bright tee knotted around her middle and a pretty pearl necklace tight around her neck. She brushes a tuft of brown hair over her shoulder, fiddling with her fingers. She’s only a little shorter than him, but she still doesn’t meet his eye.

“C-could I get a picture?”

He honestly doesn’t want to.

He knows that one photo will lead to dozens more, and he just wants to get his food, go home, and cuddle up with Y/N, but she looks sweet, and the hopeful look in her eyes makes him cave.

“Sure,” he says weakly, taking a quick photo.

“How’s Y/N?” The girl asks when she puts her phone away, desperate for a little more time with him. A beaming smile takes over his features, and he sits on a stool at the bar, feet tucking behind the bottom bars. It’s not very often he gets asked about her, but whenever he does, he takes full advantage of it; that is, of course, if the person seems genuinely interested and not just asking him for the sake of conversation.

The public was a little less than understanding or supportive of their relationship when it was, forcibly, made known. Being friends and neighbors since childhood, Y/N has been a present figure in the early parts of his life. They grew further and further apart after he left for The X Factor, to the point where they didn’t even speak to each other. It was tough because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the life that he led, and he couldn’t just give up everything he worked so hard toward.

They reconnected some years ago when he was visiting home, and she had a break from uni. It was a slow build to what it is today, mostly because Y/N was hesitant about everything that came with being with him, like distance between them, negative publicity, and, of course, his fans, but, as she always said, he made everything worth it.

When their relationship was leaked in the press, they had to prematurely address the rumors. Not that Harry is embarrassed or ashamed of her, quite the opposite, really, but he just had one too many relationships fall apart due to the pressure the media put on them. He didn’t want to put Y/N through that; he didn’t want to see her to realize that, perhaps, he wasn’t worth the negative attention.

“She’s great,” he says. “We’re gonna go hiking later this evening, hopefully get a good view of the sunset.”

“That’s nice,” she smiles, happy that he’s happy, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is actually

His smile fades when a girl behind him scoffs.

“That’s surprising.”

He wants to believe that she’s not commenting on his conversation, but he knows better than anyone that she’s listening in; hell, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the diner the second he stepped inside, but just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean that he’s not immune to the voices and the stares. He’s gotten pretty good at being able to ignore them, and he tries his best to do the same with her.

The brunette, who also seems to have noticed the girl behind him, flushes red, pity apparent on her features. He gives her an uncomfortable, closed mouth smile, trying to focus back on their own conversation.

“I mean, have you seen her?” The girl behind him continues, laughing lightly.

It makes his chest ache, anger settling deep in his stomach, burning and vengeful. Never has anyone made such blatant comments about her; they normally say that sort of stuff behind the safety of a screen and certainly not right in front of him. He knows what people say about his love. They make negative comments every little thing about her, the biggest one being her weight, and he never says anything because Y/N thinks that it would make everything worse, but she’s not here to hold him back.

He turns to face the girls behind him. The one whose back is still facing toward him, leaned in close to the other, as though that’s enough to hide what she’s saying.

“I beg your pardon?”

They’re both young, but surely old enough to know better. One of the girls, with brown hair with a pink strip in the front, blanches when he catches her eye, an apologetic look on her face; she looks close to tears, even, stuttering hopelessly.

“Dee—”

“I didn’t expect him to be a chubby chaser.”

“Excuse me?”

The girl with bright red hair, Dee, he assumes, finally turns to face him, a shameless smirk on her face.

“I am so sorry,” the brunette begins, but her friend, fueled by desperation and spite, cocks her head to the side, chest puffing out beneath a “Treat People with Kindness” shirt, the rainbow colored words taunting him.

How ironic.

“I mean… am I wrong?” She asks, looking at him expectantly.

“How dare you?” He seethes, standing fully, towering over her seated figure. He knows he shouldn’t be giving her the slightest bit of attention. That’s exactly what she wants, to get a reaction out of him, and he’s playing into her game, but he honestly doesn’t care. A heated red paints his skin, trailing up from his neck to the tip of his nose. He can barely breathe, let alone speak clearly, frustration and anger choking him.

He struggles to find his voice, but when he does, he can’t stop them from spilling out, malice and disgust dripping with every word.

“I have never been so disappointed and ashamed in someone who claims to be a fan of mine. How can you wear that shirt while passing judgement on someone I love very much, who you have never seen or met? And I pray that you will never meet her because she doesn’t deserve such vile things being said about her.”

He turns to see the hostess with a large paper bag in a stunned silence, and he takes it from her wordlessly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the sweet girl, ashamed that he snapped like he did, but she gives him a proud smile and moves, so he can leave.

—

Someone apparently recorded the encounter, and the video is trending on Twitter by the time he gets home. Jeff is the one who told him about it, sending him a link and a long message about how much of a PR nightmare it’s going to be. Especially when the reception is less than positive. While some think he was being too nice, others are saying that he shouldn’t have lashed out (their words, not his) at someone who is a fan and supports him, but Harry knows that there is no winning. Everyone always finds something to say about things that are clearly none of their business. He even saw a few comments about Y/N, how she should fight her own battles and not have Harry do them for her.

They make him feel nauseous.

“Hey, babe,” he says as he enters their apartment, Munchy, Y/N’s cat, weaving and purring between his legs. Whenever he gets home, he can feel the stresses of the day shrink to nothing, and he’s finally able to relax. A smile creeps over his face when he sees her, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. She hasn’t changed out of the boxers and the large yellow tee from that morning, but her hair is still wet from a shower, the scent of her fruity soap strong.

“Hey,” she says softly, and he leans in for a kiss, only for her to turn at the last moment, lips unfortunately pressing to her cheek. She takes the bag from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, tugging the takeaway boxes from the bag, not even offering him a glance.

He knows that she’ll tell him what’s really wrong in her own due time, so he can’t push her; that makes it worse for everyone involved. However, he has gotten pretty good at coaxing it out of her. All it takes is a little patience and affection, and she’s putty in his hands.

He presses kisses to her temple, tracing his lips down the length of her tender skin to the shell of her ear, nibbling playfully. He dips his hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stomach tense beneath his touch. After such an exhausting day, he just wants to be with her, feel her warmth and love. He’s never really been able to find comfort or safety in any of his past lovers, and when he found that in Y/N, he never misses an opportunity to shower her with affection, teasing and biting at her skin. He just wants to melt and forget about his problems, to just be there, in the present, with her.

His little bubble is popped when she shoves his hand away, probably harder than she really meant to, but it hurts him, nonetheless. She turns and gives him a weak little smile, her eyes, glassy and unable to meet his gaze. She looks like a shell, nervous and empty, and he knows exactly why she’s acting the way she is. She must have seen the video and probably the nasty comments people left about her.

“Baby—”

“Let’s eat, yeah?” She changes the subject, pulling out some silverware from the drawer. “This one mine?”

“Yeah, your usual,” he says softly.

They eat in an awkward silence, old sitcom reruns playing in the background, tension thick in the air. He can’t focus on anything but her breaths, shaky and shallow with anxiety. He knows that this entire situation is weighing heavily on her mind, and he needs to get everything off his chest. He wants to pull her into his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her to not listen to anything anyone says, that she’s it for him.

It's going to happen, all in due time; he’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t go at her pace.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters suddenly, picking at her food. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want you putting your career at stake by standing up for me.”

He understands; he knows what it feels like to constantly be worried about what other people think, to have it impact every single decision you make. He’s mulled over everything he’s done for the past decade, but, at the same time, he’s her boyfriend first. He could honestly give a damn about his public image if it meant he had to stand by a listen to people say those nasty things about her.

“You would do the same for me,” he says, and she sighs.

“It’s not the same thing.”

“I don’t understand why we're arguing about this,” he says abruptly, placing his food onto the side table and turning fully toward her.

“I’m not—” She breathes out quickly, standing up. She tugs her clothes down, loosening them, and she crosses her arms, feeling vulnerable for some reason. Harry has never passed any judgement to her for the way she looked, knowing full well that she’s struggled with her weight her entire life, but this entire situation is making her feel insecure and weak and anxious. She feels like he is going to think that she’s being too sensitive about it, melodramatic about the severity of their comments.

“I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t think you understand that there’s going to be a lot of backlash for this.”

She’s embarrassed that he even needs to stand up for her. He should be with someone who is used to being in the spotlight, and, most importantly, he deserves to be able to go out with someone without people commenting or staring. He shouldn’t be with someone who makes people wonder why he’s with her, of all people.

It’s not only her physical appearance that people comment on; she’s seen fans talk about how Harry doesn’t go out anymore, how she is never present at any concerts or any other special events, even though they don’t know she has severe social anxiety and a career that keeps her from being with him all the time. She truly wishes she could be all of those things for him, but she can’t, and that’s what breaks her heart the most.

Harry deserves nothing less than the world, and he settled for her.

And with everyone else in the world questioning why he chose her, of all people, why wouldn’t he think the same?

“There would be even more backlash if I had just ignored it, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, “but, it’s not like it’s going to stop people from saying—”

She can’t even say it, their all too familiar words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. No matter how many times Harry tells her to pay no mind to their comments, she can’t help it. She truly hates how much other people’s opinions about her impact her, with paralyzing fear and doubt filtering through her thoughts on a daily basis, but she can’t help it.

“Saying what?”

“You know,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who say that I don’t deserve you. There will always be people out there who think I’m ugly o-or too fat for you and—” She chokes on her words, tears finally breaking through. A weak sob leaves her lips, faint and broken. “It’s not like it’s not true, so there’s no point in fighting it if it’s going to ruin your reputation.”

She starts to pace, one hand tucking into the curve of her waist while the other pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming.

“Whoa, hey, okay,” he stutters, standing. He holds onto her arms, hands rubbing over her cool skin, trying to comfort her, but she weakly pushes him away again, rubbing her nose. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt and wipes away her tears, leaving it wrinkled and wet. She sniffles, struggling to keep the panic from growing any further in her chest, heart racing painfully.

She moves into their bedroom, and he follows close behind, their food long forgotten as she tries to control her breathing.

“What’s this really about?” He asks. She pauses, her shoulders visibly sinking, and she sits on the foot of the bed, hooking her feet on the footboard. She cradles legs to her chest and tugs her shirt over them, forehead pressed against her knees.

She’s exhausted at this point. Ever since she saw the video and the comments, she’s been torn. She’s grateful that Harry said something; it made her hopeful that maybe it would make them stop, even if it was for only a day, but when she saw people actually defending the girl who said those terrible things about her, all of that pride was pulled away, leaving nothing behind other than debilitating anxiety and bone-chilling fear.

She just wants the day to be over, as if that will make everything go away.

She knows that they need to talk about it, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what this conversation could lead to; he could realize that he doesn’t want to deal with everything anymore or that he doesn’t want to deal with the strain that it puts on his relationship with the public.

The bed shifts as he kneels beside her, hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Y/N, please, don’t shut me out,” he whispers. She whimpers when he kisses her temple, an attempt at trying to ease her out of this miserable hole she’s dug for herself. She finally looks up at him with swollen, burning eyes, tears threatening to fall.

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that I’m not worth all of this. You shouldn’t even need to say anything to people.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have to say anything to them, but that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I have to say things because of all of the judgmental people in the world, who body shame the woman that I love, a woman who they know absolutely nothing about.”

“I don’t want you to start believing them, and I just don’t want you to regret me.”

“Why would I ever regret you?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” She snaps, her lips quivering. “I’m not like the others.”

“That’s what I love about you.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” she cries.

Hurt passes over his features, and the words die on his tongue. A pinch of fear starts in his stomach and spreads up to his heart, which races painfully, chills rushing through his spine.

“What are you saying?”

She doesn’t answer; she can’t. She didn’t mean for it to slip out. It’s usually just a passing thought when her insecurities come at full force. She’s never actually said it aloud, for fear of its repercussions. She doesn’t want to lose him. Even if she isn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle, he is worth absolutely everything.

“Y/N,” he says, cupping her cheeks. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, but more fall to replace the ones he tried to clear. He hates how much this has affected her, and he hates that it’s his fault, too. She holds onto his wrists, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin, from his calloused hands to his elbows, their gaze never breaking.

“I love you. Nothing anyone says will make me feel differently. Would you still love me if I gained a ton of weight or if I was just skin and bones?”

“Of course,” she says quickly.

“This is no different,” he smiles. “I do regret many things in my life. I regret some choices I’ve made, I regret things I’ve said, and I regret being selfish. But you?” He shakes his head. “You will never be one of my regrets. You are beautiful inside and out. You make me want to be better, you make me look forward to every new day, and you give me strength.”

Her heart swells at his words. Harry has always been a very emotive man when it came to her. He was never ashamed to let her know exactly how he felt, probably because of the years where he felt hopeless and couldn’t express himself fully. He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against hers, and she can feel her worries tapering off with every shallow breath.

“My love, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against hers. He brushes away her tears, leaving her skin sticky. “Not one fuckin’ clue about the nights where I wanted nothing more than to be just with you, to be able to see you and laugh with you. Remember the night before my audition? And I asked if I could kiss you because I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to seem like an absolute dud.”

She nods.

She pondered over that night for years. He was rambling and nervous, but she didn’t hear anything after he asked if he could kiss her, her mind going completely blank. Of course, she said yes. She had a crush on him for years, how could she say no? Even if it was just once, if it was just one fleeting moment in her life, she held onto it with everything she could.

It was her first kiss, too, and she was so nervous with trembling hands and clammy skin. It seemed too good to be true: the boy she’s liked since as long as she could remember was going to kiss her; perhaps, there was hope for them after all.

When they pulled apart, his hair messy and cheeks rosy, she thought that he was going to kiss her again. From the look in his eyes, he seemed like he was completely enamored with her, at a loss for breath with a soft gaze, but he didn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her because all he said was “thanks”, and he laid back down, on his side, not even facing her. The hope she felt was crushed. Then, he left the next morning, and they never spoke about it again. The memory of that night leaves her heart aching.

“Bullshit, all of it. I jus’ wanted to know how your lips would feel against mine, how soft and warm your body would feel. For months, I would think about that night, and I wished I could go back and tell you the truth, that I loved you. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back in my life, to have you here, by my side, to hold and love.”

As she gazes into his eyes, she can feel the truth in his words, the dedication, and the pain, most of all.

He doesn’t want to lose her like he did all those years ago.

He felt the same during those years apart, hopelessly wandering into the arms of various lovers to try to replace what he felt for her. He’s spent nearly an entire decade, searching for that one person to fill the void in his heart that Y/N claimed when they were just kids, much like she had with him. He yearned for a person, who would support and loyalty him just as she had, but they never cared as deeply as he did, nor did they feel and love just as strongly as he did.

“I love you for everything you are, not just your heart or your mind but also your beautiful body, babylove. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.”

His lips tease over hers, just barely touching before she finally catches his lips after such a painstakingly long moment of silence after his confession, and they both are overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute relief, like they’re finally able to breathe.

He guides her onto her back, his knee nestling between her legs, blue sheets bunched up around her waist. He gently eases his hand below her shirt, fingers faint on the soft and pliant skin. She combs her nails through his hair, scratching and teasing. Her body alive and heated beneath his touch, they melt into each other, forgetting everything wrong with the world and focusing solely on each other, the pinch of teeth biting lips and the rush of chills down her spine. He feels up her thighs, tender touch on her soft skin, but she pulls away from him, fingers still latched in his hair, hesitation clear on her features.

“Please,” he whispers. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He kisses her beneath the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath leaving her heart racing. “Wanna make you feel loved, make you feel as beautiful as you are.”

There’s not many things Harry can find safety with. Since his life in the public eye, he’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. It’s difficult to find considerate strangers, safe refuges, and genuine friends, but he knows that he can always find solace with her, in their home, together, blanketed in warmth and tangled up in blue.

—

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #ellie writes #ellie writes fluff #ellie writes angst #gif not mine #credit to owner

603 notes · View notes

theasstour · 4 years

Photo

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱 𝓸𝓯 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓼 𝓫𝔂 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓻𝓸 𝓑𝓸𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓲

𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓮 | 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 21k 𝓝𝓑: 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮, 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽

A/N: my baby @shepherald... grazie mille my dear one! i’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for bb, and i’ll never be able to put into words how much you mean to me! i love you so much! thank you!

A/N2: so, this is it! last chapter of bb! it honestly doesn’t seem real, and i’m so sad i have to let painter!harry go cos i’ve grown quite fond of him the year i’ve spent thinking about him and this fic! what bb represents is what makes this fic so special to me. i - a plus size woman - never felt like i belonged anywhere. i assumed i was unloveable from never seeing a bigger person like myself in a book or a film where that person was deemed attractive. they were always the clown, or ‘the fat character’, or their entire storyline was based around them needing to lose weight. i’ve gotten pretty fucking tired of never seeing myself represented properly in fiction or irl or ANYWHERE for that matter, so i decided to take matters into my own hands, and i cannot begin to tell you how LIBERATING and AMAZING it felt! to each person who reached out to me saying bb made them confident, made them feel like they weren’t alone, opened their eyes to what life as a bigger person is: i love you all. this is the exact reason why i wrote bb. fat doesn’t equal ugly, it doesn’t equal unloveable, it doesn’t equal any negatively charged words. fat equals beautiful, it equals human. and anyone who ever tries to tell you otherwise can choke lmao. enjoy this last instalment of bb, i love you all so much x

Sunday, 1 March 2020

Y/N had always thought that the biggest changes were those you didn’t pay immediate notice to. Like the changing of the seasons, aging on your birthday, when the clock struck 12 and a new day began. Changes that were caused by time; that could not be prevented. Loads of changes couldn’t be prevented, but it was impossible to escape time. Manmade to make life simpler to live, and yet it’s what kills us in the end. However, Y/N had come to learn that some changes – the biggest and worst of them all – pained you so much, they didn’t fully leave your body. Like a volcanic eruption, they’d come every now and again, but would leave you scorched and burning for days. She chose not to think about those changes.

But it was hard when she was out shopping with her younger sister and said younger sister would not stop bloody chattering. The first day of spring had brought nothing but clouds and the occasional fall of some rain. Y/N wasn’t impressed. Wasn’t a new season supposed to bring something else? So far it just felt like any other winter day in south England.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

Looking up at Portia, it was painfully obvious Y/N hadn’t been paying attention to anything her sister had been saying.

Portia raised her eyebrows. “Are you taking the mick right now?”

“What?!”

“You’re not even listening to what I’ve been saying.” Portia scanned her Oyster card and walked on into Haggerston station, leaving Y/N sighing behind her. Y/N scanned her own card and followed, knowing that her sister would not stop being annoying unless she asked what she’d been talking about. The second she began talking again, she’d forget Y/N wasn’t listening to begin with.

The two were on their way to Victoria Station, Portia was going back home after having stayed with Y/N in her shared flat in Hackney for two weeks, having had some modelling jobs to attend to. And now that she was done, she would be going home to their mother and staying there for a week until she had to come back down to London for some more jobs. Y/N was getting rather sick of her little sister staying with her when she could easily find her own flat, but she figured she’d bring that conversation up another time. A time when she hadn’t pissed her sister off already that day.

“Tia,” Y/N said as they reached the Southbound platform, the windy remnants of the storm that had just been making it freezing to be taking the Overground and wait outside for the next tube to arrive. “What were you saying?��

“Do you even care?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

“This bloke I’ve been going on dates with while I’ve been here, right,” Portia started crossing her arms over her chest as the tube started approaching, knowing that a gust of wind would accompany it. “He’s got this friend that’s been eyeing me up the two times I’ve met him. He’s fit and everything, but I’m seeing Azeem, you know.”

“Tell Azeem his mate makes you feel uncomfortable and he’ll do something about it till next time you meet.”

“But he doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable, that’s the thing.” Portia sighed as the two girls walked up to the yellow line, waiting for the train to stop so they could get on. “I just think it’s annoying.”

“That men find you attractive?”

“That the fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have.”

“Oh, my days, Portia.” Y/N mumbled, getting on the Overground and sitting down in one of the orange and brown seats. Portia sat down next to her, putting her bag on the ground beside her feet.

“What, Y/N?”

“You just sound like a bellend.”

“How?”

Y/N gave her a look.

“How?!”

“’The fit one’s are always the ones I can’t have’? At least you’re dating someone, and they’re interested in you.”

“And Azeem is delicious, but his mate’s got…”

“Got what?”

Portia sighed. “Got nice arms.”

Y/N leaned her head against the wall behind her, it swayed with the moving coach.

“I know it’s not all about looks.”

“It really is not.”

“But I still can’t help myself.”

“You’re such a prick.”

“Don’t be rude.” Portia nudged her sister’s shoulder. “If you’d just go out and date people as well, you’d have the same problems.”

Y/N huffed, looking at Portia. “Doubt it.”

Portia rested one leg on top of the other, examining her nails. “You’re so boring sometimes.”

“Cheers.”

“No,” Portia glanced at Y/N again. “But isn’t it boring to just be sat inside all day?”

“Oh, it’s incredibly boring to get an education.”

Portia rolled her eyes.

“Go out of my mind going to lectures, writing my dissertation, doing other assessments, and applying to thousands of jobs a day.”

Portia crossed her arms, looking ahead.

“So boring.”

“I know you pride yourself on the fact you’re gonna be a vet.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

Portia sighed, refusing to answer. The two kept quiet after that. Y/N knew in order to make Portia shut up, she just had to bring up her education. Portia was fully aware that Y/N was the smartest one out of the two of them – quite frankly, the smartest one in their entire family – and if Y/N rubbed it in, Portia would keep quiet. Reminding her sister how she’d gotten into the University of her dreams and was doing great, was a low blow, Y/N knew that. But at the same time, Portia just pissed her off so much sometimes that she simply could not help herself.

The two got up as they reached their stop at Canada Water, and walked off towards the Jubilee line once the tube doors opened. Portia’s bag kept bumping into Y/N as they walked, and though she would normally tell her to piss off, to keep her bag closer, she didn’t know. Giving Portia a reason to start shouting at her in the middle of a tube station was not ideal. She was mad enough as it was.

They got on the escalator, Y/N was just about to tell Portia what direction to walk in once they reached the bottom since her little sister always forgot, but Portia gasped before Y/N got the chance. Looking up at her sister, Portia’s eyes were wide, a small smile lingering on her lips. She pointed to the digital posters that lined the wall along the escalator, making Y/N look to her right to see what had gotten her sister all excited.

It was the colour that stood out first. She remembered the exact shade of it. The painting stood out second, then the colour of the person’s hair, the shape of their body, the shoes. The landscape, the warm colours. It was her. It was the same day she’d found Viola. The same day Harry had supposedly… No, she couldn’t even finish that thought. She’d tried not to think of him for months now. As they passed another one of the posters, she looked at it again. In white and bold letters, the text on the poster said ‘H. Styles’ exclusive and limited new exhibition. 11:00-18:00. 23rd February – 1st March. Dover Street, Mayfair. £10 admission.’

“Y/N, what the fuck?” Portia said, tapping her finger against the screen multiple times as they passed yet another one of the posters. “What the fuck?”

The exact same statement was going on repeat in Y/N’s head as well. Seeing the painting, seeing herself on that poster, it brought back so incredibly many memories from a time she had tried to forget.

Ever since they had parted ways, Y/N and Harry had only talked on a handful of occasions. They would text one another – very early on, Harry even called her twice (only after making sure the time zones weren’t fucked and she wasn’t asleep) -, and they did so for a long while, but then Harry’s answers got shorter and shorter, and Y/N felt like he might be falling out of love. She didn’t want to ask him in case she was reading too much into things, afraid of what the answer might be. She was still in love with him, would probably be so till the day she died, but she didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he wasn’t feeling it anymore.

As time went on, their text conversations got less frequent, and by Christmas, they weren’t talking at all. Y/N had tried to forget about him, thinking that he might have just viewed what they had as an intense summer romance and that was it. After all, he was a passionate and artistic man, maybe he fell in love with the thought, image, and what she represented to his summer more than her person. It all hurt to think about, which was why she rarely allowed herself to think about him at all. She hadn’t seen him in almost seven months, she was terrified of what that distance had done to them. To his heart. Because hers still longed for his in every way a person could yearn for another. It proved hard living apart from a person whose name you had etched onto the organ that kept you alive.

They reached the bottom of the escalator and the two girls stepped off, Y/N blinking a few extra times because she simply could not hold tears back when she was thinking about Harry. Portia walked beside Y/N, mouth agape.

“Y/N,” she said. “We have to go.”

Y/N sniffled, pretending it was because she’d caught a cold. “Why?”

Portia glanced at her as if she was insane.

“What?”

“Don’t even start, Y/N. We’re going. I need to see those paintings and so do you.” Portia walked onto the Jubilee tube, Y/N following straight after. They held onto a pole, and when Y/N averted her eyes to the advertisement on the walls of the coach, she saw Harry’s poster again. They were everywhere, how hadn’t she noticed them before?

“Dover Street.” Portia said. “Right by Piccadilly, innit?”

“Yeah.”

“Brill, we just jump off at Green Park and walk for like five minutes and we’ll be there.”

Y/N sighed, suddenly feeling like she needed to throw up.

Portia grinned, looking at Y/N. “I’m excited now.”

“Portia, this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a splendid idea.” Portia corrected. “I need to see all the paintings. I’m sure they’re amazing.”

Y/N had never told Portia she hadn’t seen the paintings herself, that Harry hadn’t let her. But then again, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told Portia about last summer and H. Styles. Her heart was beating way faster than normal, she was suddenly sweating. The notion that Harry might be there was overwhelming, that he had probably been in London for a while now but not contacted her made her entire body ache in a way it had never done before. Though Harry being at his own gallery didn’t make sense on any other days than the opening one, Y/N was still sick thinking about meeting him. He wouldn’t be there, but she still was wary of going.

“What’s gotten into you, you look faint.” Portia pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

“I think it’s a really bad idea to go to that exhibition.”

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Portia groaned. “These are paintings of you. You’re literally the star of the whole thing.”

Y/N shrugged.

“Besides, I don’t think we have to pay a tenner since you literally spent all summer with him so he could paint you. Free admission equals ‘why the fuck not’.”

Would Harry even want her there? They hadn’t talked after all; he hadn’t told her he was in London. Maybe he didn’t want her to come see the paintings. Maybe he just wanted her to stay away.

She hated how much she was overthinking this. The last thing she wanted to do was step on Harry’s toes, especially now that they hadn’t spoken in a while. Especially because she loved him and was afraid he didn’t anymore. However, realising the reason she was overthinking in the first place, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was because Harry meant so much to her. Never could she face him now without knowing if he felt the same way about her.

Portia dragged Y/N off at Green Park, walking towards the exit with an excited gleam in her eyes. Y/N’s stomach hurt so much she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to lay down in a foetal position and die. This was all so sudden, so overwhelming. They exited the underground, and as they reached the outside again, the sun was shining and the wind didn’t seem as horrible. It didn’t ease Y/N’s nerves one bit, though.

It took them a total of three minutes to reach Dover Street, and the exhibition was one of the first things that caught Y/N’s eyes. The entire front was made of glass, covered in a baby blue sheet that read ‘H. Styles’ new exclusive exhibition.’ Portia gripped Y/N’s arm, squealing before she looked both ways and crossed the street. Y/N knew Dover Street was known for having numerous contemporary art galleries, but looking down the street, none stood out as much as Harry’s. It was impossible to view any of the paintings through the windows, undoubtedly leaving people wanting to pay the 10 quid to do just that. Y/N was torn between actually wanting to walk inside or sprint back to Hackney.

“Why’re you hesitating? Come on!” Portia took Y/N’s hand and opened the door with the other, forcing Y/N in first.

The reception was dark, absolutely everything covered in black from the floor to the ceiling. There was nothing on the walls, nothing that stood out. But in the middle of the room stood another black wall, covering the proper entrance to the actual exhibition. In front of it stood a reception desk in the same colour, and behind it sat an old man, but he was accompanied by a figure Y/N recognised right away. Portia walked straight up to the desk, a huge smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the old man said, smiling right back at her.

“Hi, my sister and I would love to just enter the exhibition, please.”

“20 pounds, then.” Jamie said, standing bent over a pile of papers that they were signing and reading over.

“No, you don’t understand,” Portia started, turning around and beckoning Y/N over. “My sister is a good friend of H. Styles.”

Jamie looked up, their eyes immediately landing on Y/N. And just like that, she was brought right back to last summer and everything Jamie had told Harry on one of her last nights there. So many memories washed over her that it made her a little dizzy. The car rides where she and Jamie would sit in the backseat and discuss animals, life, or anything else that would’ve caught their attention. The other times when they’d wait for Harry to get ready downstairs. She didn’t know how to act. Did she give them a hug? Did she smile? Did she say something? This was exactly why she didn’t want to go.

“Y/N,” Jamie said, standing up straight.

“So you recognise her!” Portia was elated. “Can we just walk on in then?”

Jamie and Y/N didn’t break eye contact, both at a loss for words. It was clear that something went down between them, that there was something unspoken in the air of the reception hall. Y/N looked away, not wanting to have Portia ask her about Jamie once they entered the gallery. She didn’t want to tell her; didn’t want to recount anything from her time in Italy.

“Yeah,” Jamie hastily reached for two brochures, locking eyes with Y/N again as he handed them to her. Portia raised her eyebrows, catching on that something was going on. She looked at Y/N. “Don’t take any photographs, if any of our guards see you do so, you will be asked to leave and pay a fine. Other than that, I hope you enjoy.” Y/N knew they were talking to both her and Portia, but by the look in their eyes, she felt as though they were talking to her alone.

“Thank you very much.” Portia smiled, taking one of the brochures and walking away from them.

Y/N looked at the brochure, just as baby blue as the sheet that had covered the front of the gallery, the same writing on it as well. Her eyes met Jamie’s again, and there was something about the way they glanced at her that was so sad. Somewhere in the wrinkle between their eyebrows Y/N saw an apology of sorts. Regret so deep and intense that she could feel it herself. They didn’t say anything, but Y/N felt the agony; saw something in their eyes that she hadn’t experienced herself, but that they needed her to see. She gave them a small smile before following Portia and walking around the wall behind the reception desk, keeping her eyes on the brochure in her hands.

If meeting Jamie had her shaken up this bad, she didn’t even want to begin to think what an encounter with Harry would bring. The leaflet was shaking in her hand, begging for her to open it. What would it even hold? Copies of the paintings? No, if they weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, why would he have them attached in leaflets for anyone to see?

“Oh, my word.” Portia said, making Y/N look up.

The entrance to the gallery had her halting. Just like everything else, she recognised it right away. All over the wall was a painting she’d seen on her first week last summer; seen on one of her last days when she’d shown it to Harry.

“When I first moved into the flat, I found a painting in this wardrobe.” She pulled it down, taking a glance at the autumn painting depicting a gravel path leading nowhere into darkness. Turning around, she walked back over to the bed, handing the painting to Harry. “That’s only one of like, two of your paintings I’ve really seen, other was one of the sea back in your house. Mind if I ask what inspired this one?”

A projector planted it on the dark surface, welcoming the guests to the gallery. A gravel path leading off far into the dark distance, tall oak trees surrounding it, filled with the rich colours of autumn. Though it was filled with yellow and green, two colours that would normally have positive connotations, Y/N couldn’t help but get quite the opposite vibes staring at it, just like all the other times she’d seen it. There was something about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Like there laid a secret at the end of the path; an explanation in the black of the unknown.

“It’s the drive to my house back in Manchester. The drive up to my childhood home, or… this is facing the other way.” He explained, dragging his finger gently along the gravel path. “It’s what you see when you’re leaving.” He shifted the attention of his finger to the trees of different colours. “Autumn, the dull colours…” he trailed off, as if reliving a memory he’d almost suppressed; something he’d pushed so far into the back of his head it had almost vaporised and disappeared into nothingness. “This was when I left home, when I first moved to London.” He pointed at the darkness at the end of the gravel path. “That’s the end of the road, I couldn’t make it out clearly. My future, I mean. It’s all supposed to represent uncertainty.”

Portia looked over her shoulder at Y/N, squealing. The darkness at the end of the painting was a hallway, a dark corridor that seemed to be leading off into nowhere. Her sister stood there waiting for her, reaching her hand out so they could walk through the darkness together. But Y/N needed to take a moment and just look at the wall, because it was one of the very first of his paintings she’d ever seen, and now she was about to see all of the other paintings he had refused to let her see. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, took Portia’s hand, and the two walked into the dark hallway. Y/N felt her grip on Portia’s hand tighten for each step they took

“Why didn’t they just put some bloody lights in here?-“

But just as Portia said that, the exhibition was revealed to them. It was black. Dim white lights lit up the room on the walls and ceiling, illuminating the floating balls that were lined up down the room. Looking at the walls first, Y/N realised the light appeared as stars. Dotted along the walls and ceiling, lighting up the room and revealing the huge round objects that appeared to be floating, but was held from the ceiling and the floor by metal poles. The first one was completely dark, and as the two sisters walked on closer, Portia gasped a little.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“How many planets are there in our Solar System?”

Y/N frowned, but as her eyes met Portia’s she understood immediately. Taking a step to the side, she looked down the room, seeing that there were quite a few others visiting the gallery as well. Harry was an immense painter, after all. Everyone knew who he was. However, Y/N couldn’t focus on the other people in the room with her, she started counting the different sized round objects that were nicely lined.

“Eight.” Y/N answered.

“And how many-“

“-Eight.”

Portia squeezed Y/N’s hand, eyes wide with some kind of realisation. The sisters looked at one another for a minute before Portia opened her mouth to speak again.

“Why the fuck has he done that, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “Dunno.-“

“-You do.” Portia said. “That’s why that person back there looked at you all intense as well, wasn’t it? What happened last summer? You never spoke of it.”

Y/N sighed, closing her eyes. “Portia, it’s… it’s incredibly complicated and… and it’s a long story.”

Portia groaned, clinging to Y/N’s arm. “I don’t care, Y/N. I want to know. For fuck’s sake, look around you,”

Y/N opened her eyes, doing as her sister told her to.

“It’s so painfully obvious, Y/N.”

Y/N refused to believe it was. She didn’t want to believe that what Portia was insinuating was true, because it would mean the last few months had been for nothing. It would mean the countless hours she’d cried, the times she stopped herself from thinking about him, from yearning for him, from going back to a time spent with him and cursing herself for doing so; it was not worth it. Trying to forget him had meant nothing.

Portia tapped Y/N’s arm, catching her attention. She gestured at the painting they stood in front of, giving Y/N a little smile. Y/N looked at it, and she was immediately taken back to the exact moment of it.

There was a hole in the planet in the shape of the canvas, white light washing over it to reveal it completely to the gallery visitors. Portia opened the catalogue as Y/N studied the painting Harry had never let her view. His first painting of her.

“Miss Sweeney,” Harry said, pointing at the hill. “You-“

“-You can just call me Y/N.”

“You need to stand far away.”

Shocking. But there was no use making that comment. She took her cardigan off, putting it along with her purse in the backseat of the car.

“You will find a tree further down if you just walk straight ahead, it’s got a blue ribbon on it. Stop there with your back facing me. And don’t move until I tell you so.”

As she started walking down the hill, she could feel Harry watching her, studying her every move and every surface of her body. She supposed he wanted to make sure she found the ribbon, as well as to see what he was working with.

An abundance of colours surrounded her; green, grey, yellow, brown. She could barely make out the baby blue dress amongst the nature swallowing her, there was no way of knowing the colour of her hair, the proper colour of her skin, or any of her characteristics. The only thing that stood out was the colour of her dress, but even that wasn’t as prominent as she remembered the colour to be.

“Won’t that smear the paint everywhere?”

Harry looked at her, those two familiar lines appearing between his brows. “How?”

“Shouldn’t it be left to dry or something?”

“It’s dry.”

She frowned back at him. “Already?”

“I finished a while ago, left it to dry for around an hour.”

The memory made her smile some, regardless of how infuriated she remembered being. It was the fact that they had started out like that; polar opposites with absolutely nothing in common. Two people who couldn’t see eye to eye on anything. That fact was easy to note in the first painting, seeing the insignificant role she played in the actual painting. The Tuscan landscape could’ve done fine without her presence in it, she wasn’t even placed in the middle of the painting where nature parted to reveal Fosdinovo, but somewhere to the right of it, in the middle of the trees.

Portia tugged at Y/N’s sleeve, motioning for her to follow her to the next painting behind the first one. It was the same as the first one; a rectangle shaped hole in the dark planet, lights surrounding it to show it off. She smiled again.

“It’s beautiful here.”

“Do you see that rock over there?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Sit there facing me.”

She knew there was no use saying anything back, so she simply walked over to the rock and sat down like he wanted her to. It wasn’t comfortable to sit on, and she didn’t think she’d be able to sit there for two hours straight. Then again if she decided she needed a break, the painter would undoubtedly show his annoyance in some way. He instructed her to straighten her legs, crossing them at the ankle, leaning back on her hands. He said he wanted her to “be looking directly into the sun.”

“That could literally ruin my eyes.”

“Art goes beyond comfort.”

“I want to be able to see said art.”

Y/N felt like she was transported right back to the moment of the painting, like she could feel, see, smell everything. Though she had known that would probably be the effect once she saw the collection, she hadn’t been aware it would be this intense. The notion Harry had painted these of her; that he had painted them before, during, and after everything happened between them, it struck her. He’d been working on these for so long; she had been a forced part of his life for so long. Maybe that was why they’d stopped talking. He’d gotten tired of her. Gotten enough of her.

The colour of her dress was the same as the previous painting; it stood out, but not in a contrasting way like you thought the colour of baby blue would when surrounded by woods. The white sunlight lit up most of her surroundings, making them blend well with the dress, but then again, she could recall quite clearly how bright the sun had been that day. Though she had hated the heat of the Italian weather in the beginning, towards the end she’d gotten kind of used to it. It was almost cold coming back home to a normal British summer.

Y/N groaned, positioning her head like he wanted her to. “Went to this baker Wednesday.” It just slipped out. She had genuinely not meant to say it, but now that she’d already mentioned it, she might as well go all the way.

Harry didn’t respond.

“Said you were known around town as the grumpy Brit.”

She didn’t see him stop painting, but she could tell he halted a little. “Who said that?”

Trying not to smile as she had somehow managed to capture his attention. “Does it matter?” Y/N didn’t know why people wanted to know what someone else thought of them. It was out of their control. Then again, she supposed, she’d brought it up so it was partly her fault he asked in the first place.

Harry huffed.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“What was the –“ Y/N imitated his exasperated huff.

“Whoever said that,” Harry said, bending down a bit and disappearing completely behind the canvas. “They’re a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N nodded her head, pursing her lips before she clicked her tongue loudly. Harry glanced up. “Great argument.”

It was weird how there had been a time prior to how she was feeling now. That at the time of this painting, she hadn’t been in love with Harry. The hands that had created this artwork hadn’t yet touched her; hadn’t yet loved her. She wanted to reach through the glass that separated the canvas from them; wanted to feel the paint and the memories that came with it.

But Portia was impatient, having already started walking around the planet to the next one. She looked down into the brochure, a furrow to her brows and concentration on her face as she read something on it before taking in the third painting. This was the one Y/N almost remembered best. This was the one that changed her and Harry’s relationship in a way neither of them was made aware of till after. You don’t realise the pivotal moments in your life till after they’ve happened, but as they’re happening, you don’t understand their incredible impact. Harry nor Y/N knew how big of a role Viola would play in their lives. What her presence would do to them.

“Is that a smile I see?” she teased. “You got a rise out of me, and now you’re pleased with yourself?”

He bit his bottom lip, shaking his head without looking away from the painting before him.

“Right then.” Y/N said, eager to get the conversation going again. “What’re you best at? There’s a lot of stuff you can do with gymnastics, innit?”

Harry wasted no time. “Swing bar.”

Y/N’s eyebrows immediately shot upward. Trying to be subtle, she let her eyes fall to his muscular arms, his broad shoulders and the curve of his slight biceps. The tan he’d gotten did wonders to the outline of his muscles. Stop, stop, stop-

“Explains the arms.”

Oh. My. God. Immediately she felt her cheeks heat up. And her blushing got worse when Harry looked up at her. He huffed.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been checking me out.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have not.”

She walked closer, feeling her bottom lip start to wobble as she saw the painting. Harry had depicted the cliff, the ocean, the forest, the atmosphere of that clifftop perfectly. It was exactly as she remembered it. Just looking at it brought her back to finding Viola, to watching Harry pet her to calm her down, the closeness in the back of Gioele’s car. How willing Harry was to help. How good he’d smelled. How hot his skin had been against hers. That was the first time she’d ever seen him smile; first time she’d seen him happy. It was the first time she saw him show compassion; saw him worry. She hadn’t known then, but she knew for certain now, that if Viola hadn’t stepped out of the woods at that second on that day while Harry and Y/N hadn’t been talking, then none of this would’ve happened.

“What?” His voice was a whisper, the small word leaving his lips like a simple puff of air that hit her jaw, sending a storm of goosebumps up and down her back.

“Your…” she started, swallowing thickly before looking down at the cat in her arms. “Your moped.”

“I’ll get it later.”

She hated that he sounded like he wasn’t faced by the close proximity at all.

“What if someone steals your painting?”

Looking up at him, she realised once again how close they were. They might have been close earlier when he helped calm the cat down outside, but this… this was close. She felt his hot breath against her lips, in her nose; felt his eyes on her like there was nowhere else to look in the car; felt everything too much. He was… so handsome. So incredibly good looking. There was undoubtedly sweat along her hairline and cupid bow, but she literally could not reach up to remove it right now. She was unable to move, not only because of the cat, but because of Harry.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N,” Portia said, pointing at the painting. “What’s that?”

Y/N walked over, looking at what Portia had asked her about. Though she didn’t see it at first, having mistaken it for a dark rock or something alike, Y/N gasped a little when she realised what it was. Small pointy ears, fur a dark brown with some striped black and desert brown and a tail swaying upward. The cat was so tiny, hidden amongst the tall grass by the forest, looking at Y/N with big pleading eyes. Y/N had almost forgotten what Viola looked like, but seeing her on the canvas, it was like being back in Fosdinovo, walking the cobblestoned streets with the little kitten following her every step.

“Viola.” Y/N answered, blinking a few times as her eyesight started to blur.

“What?”

“A cat.”

“A live one?”

“I, uhh,” Y/N nodded. “The day of that painting we found an injured cat in the woods and brought her to the nearest vet so I could help nurse her. She’d broken her foot.”

Portia looked at Y/N, raising her eyebrows. “And you called her Viola?”

“Yeah,” Y/N didn’t take her eyes off the cat. “She stayed with me the rest of the summer.”

Portia turned to face her sister. “Where is she now?”

“Dunno.” Y/N sighed. “I… dunno.”

Y/N looked at Portia, giving her a little smile before walking towards the next painting. Looking at Viola and knowing that she’d left the cat in Harry’s house in Fosdinovo, also knowing Harry had most likely moved out of the Italian mountain village, it hurt. She had no idea what happened to the cat after she left. Absolutely no idea of how she was doing or who was taking care of her now. There were many times when Y/N had cursed herself for not bringing Viola back home with her. After all, they had created a little bond between them that Y/N now realised would stay with her forever.

Walking up to the fourth painting, Y/N felt herself halt some, watching as Portia walked right up to it to study it properly. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was because Harry had taught her about how he painted during the summer, if she was getting an eye for these things, or if she was just that observant, but she could swear there was something about this one that set it apart from the other few she’d seen up till now.

It dawned on her that for each painting, her figure had gotten closer and closer to Harry. As if the focus shifted from the nature around her to her alone. From far away in the first one, to taking up the whole lower half of the canvas in this fourth one. Her figure was the first thing you saw. The baby blue dress that only barely covered her bum, her bare legs, her white knee socks, her white docs.

“Don’t bend your knee that much.”

Y/N readjusted her knee.

“No.”

“Then how?!”

The grass shifted behind her, and looking to her right, she noticed Harry walking over. For some reason, Harry getting closer got her heart beating so hard she heard it in her ears and her muscles tensing. He sat down before her, a concentrated furrow to his brows that wasn’t at all intimidating. He just looked focused, deep inside his own head, constructing and planning his new painting.

For some reason, she hadn’t thought of the reason for Harry coming over, only that he was. So when he reached for her leg, she almost jumped.

She blinked as she remembered the first time Harry touched her willingly like that. How he had barked orders at her in the beginning, to coming over and moving her leg like he’d done. It made her thigh seem very cold all of a sudden.

“You’re not being serious right now.” Portia hissed, sliding her finger in the air along with the outline of the mountains at the far back of the painting.

They were dark against the pink, orange, and blue sky, so was the forest, making Y/N stand out majestically against everything else. The hint of a small white outline in the sky showed the presence of the early moon, welcoming the oncoming night. Y/N couldn’t remember seeing the moon that afternoon, but then again, she didn’t remember much besides the fact that she laughed with Harry that day and he touched her bare thigh. But Portia had miraculously seen what had captured Y/N’s attention as well. The landscape in the painting, though it wasn’t blatantly obvious, it resembled her figure. It swayed where her hips did; dipped where her legs did. It did so in a natural manner, Harry had made them seem like actual mountains and not just a replica of her curves, but Y/N couldn’t see anything else.

“The blue,” Portia said, pointing at Y/N’s dress and then at the slight streak of blue in the sky. “Kinda looks alike, does it not?”

Y/N didn’t pay much attention to it. She started walking away, eager to see the next painting, which she knew was a very special one because it might be the one she remembered the most clearly. As she rounded the planet and started walking toward the fifth one, a huge white orb caught her attention. The detail in all of Harry’s creations caught her off guard, but the moon she was looking at right now looked so real it took her breath away. She saw herself standing in the water; saw the baby blue dress; the knee socks and her Dr Marten’s in the sand. It all looked like a photograph, only the moon was abnormally big. But all his paintings looked so real it was almost like if you stripped the display of the glass protection, you could walk right into the world he’d created on the canvas and live there forever.

“What about you?” he asked again, voice low like a mumble.

Y/N hoped he couldn’t tell how fast her heart was hammering, how every nerve in her entire body was on high alert, how every cell was screaming for him to get closer. “What about me?”

“You’re never as alone as your head makes you believe. The moon is always there.” He said, eyes searching her face. “What about you?”

“Will I always be there?”

He just looked at her, clearly thinking that his look was answer enough.

Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, and she hoped the rush of emotions that was running through her didn’t show on her face. Portia looked at her with an open mouth before taking in the fifth painting. Y/N knew exactly how her sister was feeling; that overwhelming need to ask herself and everyone else in the room if this was an actual painting, or something from someone’s most desired fantasy captured exactly as it was and printed onto canvas. And maybe it was. But Harry had taken days, weeks, months to finish these paintings, Y/N knew. She remembered those times when she’d watch him paint and he’d refuse to let her see them. She didn’t know why he didn’t want her to see them.

It was so beautiful it was hard to believe someone had made it; it just seemed too celestial for it to be real. She wanted to touch it where Harry had touched it, feel the strokes he’d made, the lines of paint. There was something about this one that sent a shock of pain through her heart no medicine could cure.

“I’d stay up only to get a small glimpse of you.”

She balled her hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her skin to hold herself back from crying. Because all she could remember was how fast Harry had kissed her back when she’d kissed him, the feeling of his lips against hers, and the taste of peach tea on his tongue. His hands roaming her body, gripping onto her thighs as she hooked her legs around his waist. His body against hers, their cells mingling, the moon shining her white light down on them, and the ocean swaying around them.

Portia walked around the planet and onto the next one, and giving the moon one last glance, Y/N followed her. Y/N couldn’t even remember this one. Maybe it was because everything that happened after the wedding blurred together, or maybe she’d just not thought about it enough for it to take up space in her head. But as she got closer, the idea of her being a model for this painting seemed unlikely.

The canvas was black as night, a huge moon in the centre of it like the one before. A figure was floating in the middle of the white moon, a baby blue gown clinging to its form and floating up behind them like they were sinking. As she got closer, Y/N saw that this wasn’t her. All the other paintings were of her, but this one wasn’t. This was Harry.

His arms were floating at an almost 90-degree angle, the baby blue gown hovering behind his arms and torso, just barely covering some of his thighs and crotch. One of his knees was bent a bit more than the other, and the tattoos he had up and down his muscular legs were very visible, making Y/N think back to a time she’d been allowed to touch them. His neck was craned backward, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly, bubbles of air leaving him and making a hasty return for the water’s surface. She remembered his fright of the dark, how much he hated the ocean, but his facial expression showed one of peace. He didn’t seem afraid; didn’t seem like he dreaded any of it. It seemed like he was okay; ready to reach tranquillity and the ultimate meaning to life. He was surrendering himself, it seemed.

“Y/N, I swear to you,” Portia said, pointing at different places on the painting. “Look.”

“At what?”

“You mean you don’t see it?”

“See what, Portia?” Y/N knew she must sound irritated, but with everything going on and all the emotions she was feeling at once, she simply could not hold her anger back.

“The painting,” Portia directed Y/N’s attention back to the canvas. “Do you see?”

Y/N took a closer look.

“Do you see all the blue?”

And it was like her little sister flicked a switch, and suddenly, Y/N saw it. Blue. Baby blue. It was hidden in the waves along the top of the painting, in the shadows of the water, in and around the moon, in his hair, his body, his gown. Taking a few steps back, Y/N wondered how she hadn’t picked up on the blue right away. It was all over the painting. Most of the details on that canvas were baby blue.

Quickly, Y/N walked all the way back to the first painting. Portia just watched her, unsure what was going on, but not wanting to interrupt something if Y/N had come to some sort of realisation.

The only blue in the first one was her dress, in the second one, the sky resembled her dress some. In the third, the sky, ocean, and a bit of the grass surrounding her held the same colour as her and her dress, and in the fourth the landscape swayed along with her form, the sky, the woods, and certain highlights were the exact colour of the dress. How hadn’t she seen it all the first time around? Because once she took a few steps back, the baby blue stood out starkly against everything else. Marching straight past the fifth and the sixth, Y/N wanted to see the last two. Because the second to last put the finishing touch on everything.

The entire canvas was baby blue. Her form was outlined in white, but none of her features were shown. Her breasts, face, or any other part of her body was not included. But Y/N would remember that exact pose till the day she died and long after that also. Because it was the one where Harry had drawn on her; her arms above her head, her knee bent, leg resting over the other. She wondered if this had been the one he’d painted when she laid on the floor of his loft, but why had he been so incredibly detailed when he painted on her if he was just going to erase it forever? Not include it in one of his masterpieces? It didn’t make any sense.

“You let him draw you like one of his bloody French girls.” Portia hissed, about to burst out laughing when she stopped herself. The room was silent as people walked through the exhibition, neither of them wanted to be thrown out or something to that effect.

Y/N looked at her sister. “Yes.”

Portia’s eyes got wide. “Shut the fuck up.”

“He painted on me.”

“Shut. Up.”

Y/N glanced at the painting again, noting that the only thing on that canvas was the very careful outline of her.

“Exactly how well did you fuck him for him to do that?”

“Portia!” Y/N hissed. “Leave off.”

“I’m serious, Y/N, this seems like the summer of your entire life.” Portia smiled, raising her eyebrows suggestively. “Did he do you good at least?”

Y/N only gave her a look.

“Oh, come on.” Portia pouted. “I just found out my sister has been shagging with my boss all summer, I want the deets.”

“Can that happen another time? I’m a little busy-“ Y/N gestured around her and Portia nodded, clearly eager to be done here so she could hear Y/N explain everything to her over the phone on her commute home.

“You know,” Portia started, holding up the leaflet. “If you’d just bothered and taken the time to look in the brochure, there’s a lot of information about all the paintings.”

Y/N frowned.

“I kind of had my suspicions about the two of you before you even said something just now.”

Y/N looked down at her brochure, reading the front of it again as she walked toward the last painting. She wanted to go through everything one more time and read the leaflet, she needed to know all the details and all the reasons why Harry had done what he’d done. When she glanced up again, the first thing she noticed was how the planet surrounding the canvas was glowing. A dark golden colour, looking a little like the moon, but as if it was on fire on the inside, the surface of it pure gold. She turned around and looked down the row of planets, meeting Portia’s eyes right after.

“The first one is black,” Portia said. “And the last one is golden.”

Y/N felt her heart hammering faster, felt herself begin to sweat.

“With each planet, you slowly fade into-“

“-Venus.” She finished, looking at the last planet she’d been named after. Y/N Venus Sweeney. She was so overwhelmed she felt a little faint, though she hadn’t known what to expect from the exhibition, this – all of it – was not it. She didn’t want to draw conclusions and think this whole collection was about her, but right now, looking at everything around her, it was hard to think anything else.

She still had one more painting to go, so she grabbed the leaflet and walked to stand in front of it. Instantly, she remembered it. She’d seen this one before. It seemed like ages ago, but she had seen this painting. It was the same one Gioele had stolen from Harry’s house and given to Salvatore and Carina as a wedding gift. Y/N had no idea why that one would be in the collection, what had made Harry put it there. She was just about to open the brochure and read what it said about this particular one when she heard a commotion behind her. The screeching of joggers against the floor as if someone was running, some gasps, Jamie shouting something.

Y/N turned around, and she recognised him right away. Her heart immediately started screaming his name. He walked down the row of planets in a haste, frantically scanning the crowds surrounding each quickly till he came to the last one where she stood. He stopped abruptly as his eyes landed on hers, a sigh of relief leaving him in between pants for air. Had he been running? Quickly, he swallowed, trying to regain his composure before he did anything. While he did that, Y/N took him in.

His hair had grown, he must’ve trimmed it some since last summer, but his curls were lush, his hair thick, and just as brown as she remembered it. He was wearing a colour-block patchwork cardigan with all the colours of the rainbow, a white tee shirt with some blue artwork printed on it, washed denim jeans, and his signature pink Converse. He looked healthy, maybe not as tan as she remembered him to be, but he looked good. He looked like the same Harry she had fallen in love with back then; it was still him. He was here. Right before her. After months apart, he was here.

“Y/N.” He said, voice faint as he took a reluctant step forward. It was like he realised what he was doing – getting closer to her when he had no idea if she still wanted that - and was almost about to take a step backward again but stopped himself.

She was unable to say anything at all. One second she had been about to take in the last painting of the collection, and the next Harry had rushed into his gallery and now he stood right in front of her. It didn’t seem real. The months they hadn’t talked, the months they hadn’t seen each other. They all hung in the air between them, pushed them apart from one another; demanding them to keep separated. She wanted to defy their distance, wanted to fling herself into his arms and melt into him like she had done so many times before, but the uncertainty, the separation, and the many curious eyes watching them stopped her.

Harry was about to say something else when his eyes fell on something behind her, clamping his mouth shut.

“Hi,” Portia said. “Don’t know if you remember me.”

“I-I do, I…” Harry’s eyes fell to Y/N again as he trailed off, glancing back at Portia after clearing his throat. “Portia.”

“And you’re H. Styles.” Y/N could hear the smile in Portia’s voice, and Y/N knew instantly she was taking the piss, telling Harry she knew exactly who he was and why he was here. Whispers were heard, as if the visitors all suddenly realised who they were looking at. Someone gasped and someone on the other side of the room started walking closer. Harry looked around him as if he just understood what he’d done by coming here. Their eyes met again, and Harry let out a sigh.

“Can we talk?” he asked, eyes big and pleading. “Please.”

Y/N looked at everyone around them, then back at Harry, hoping he’d understand that she didn’t want to do it in front of everyone else. Taking a few steps backward, Harry began walking towards the exit of the exhibition, making sure Y/N caught up with him before he started walking normally. Y/N glanced at Portia over her shoulder, but Portia was grinning so widely Y/N knew her sister was okay with her leaving her behind for a bit.

The next room they entered was just as dark as the first one, but the paintings were huge projections onto the walls, ceiling, and floor, showcasing all the details each of them portrayed. Harry walked quickly through the room, having seen this multiple times before – having created this -, but Y/N slowed. The attention to detail was incredible; it looked so real, yet it still looked like art. She was never able to really put her finger on it, but then again, she supposed that was what creativity was. The lines between what was certain and what was a craft from someone’s imagination, blurred to the point of doubt, yet it’s human nature to find an explanation for everything; but in art we find an excuse not to have one. Maybe that was what drew people to it; it was real, but not real enough to need reason.

He held the door open for her, leading her to a smoking area in the back of the gallery. Two trees rose up, some dead grass sprung up between the stone flooring, and, thankfully, no one was there. The sun was still shining, and somewhere not too far off, an ambulance siren was going off. It was weird to be with Harry in an environment other than quiet, warm, rural Fosdinovo, it was almost as if she associated him with the peace of the Italian countryside now. But she didn’t mind having him here in London. Not in the least. In fact, she liked it very much.

“Y/N,” he repeated, almost as if he didn’t really know what else to say; almost as if he had to repeat her name over and over and over again to tell himself that she was really here. He just looked at her, studying her intently, probably to make sure she was okay.

“I didn’t know…” she started, blinking a few times. “Didn’t know you were in London.”

“I’m in London.”

“But I didn’t know you were.”

“But I am.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Harry sighed. “No.”

“Why?”

Harry opened his mouth but hesitated. “I… I just… It’s not as if I…” he ran a hand through his hair, sighing again. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

She frowned. “What made you think that?”

“We haven’t talked in a couple of months, have we? Maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

“You think I’d forgotten about you?” Y/N crossed her arms. “I’m not the one who got disinterested and pulled away.”

Harry’s face screwed up into that familiar scowl she had seen so many times before. “I never bloody lost interest, what’re you on about?”

“Seemed that way over text.”

“Those are text messages!” Harry gestured with his arms, very obviously frustrated. “How much can you tell from a text?!”

“A lot!”

Harry groaned. “Y/N, please.”

She stood her ground, looking at him and waiting for him to say something that would change her mind. How had they gone months without talking, months before that with barely any communication, and he didn’t think she’d be annoyed at him for that. She was annoyed at herself, too. It takes two to communicate.

“I don’t want to fight.” He said. “I… I just… I don’t want to fight. Can we just talk?”

“We’re talking.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the ground, nodding a bit before he dared look up at her. “What’ve you been up to?”

Though she wanted to yell at him, tell him that she’d been busy writing and researching her dissertation, that she had been busy missing him, she composed herself. She might be frustrated, but Harry was trying, so she should as well.

“Uni,” she simply said. “And you?”

Harry let out a short breath through his nose. “Figured, stupid question, really.”

She couldn’t help the slight tug at the edge of her lips.

“Been travelling the world, showing off the exhibition.” He gestured back at the gallery. “It’s been wonderful, but I’m glad it’s over now. Can relax for a bit before I start painting for clients again.”

“It’s quite the exhibit.”

Harry nodded.

“Almost a little too extra.”

He let out a chuckle, eyes falling to the ground again. “You think?”

“Wasn’t it hard travelling around with all of that?” Y/N asked, thinking about the huge planets – or rather Venuses – back in the exhibition. Seemed unlikely that they travelled far distances with all of that, but then again, what did she know, she hadn’t talked to him in a long while. And when they did talk, it wasn’t about the transportation of his collection from country to country because he never talked about it.

“No, we drove around most of the time, then by plane when it got to travelling from continent to continent.”

She nodded. “Fair enough.”

His eyes flicked between hers, inhaling slowly. The sun hit the top of his hair, making his locks shine like gold, and Y/N remembered the countless number of times before she’d seen his hair like that in the early morning light, or a bright sunset. Memories are supposed to bring you joy, especially those remembered with fondness, but those are also the ones that hurt the most to relive.

“Are we really gonna chat about anything but what we want to chat about?” Harry asked, face very serious all of a sudden.

“Which is?”

“Us.” Harry said, something in his throat making the word almost sound choked. “And… and…”

She waited, feeling her heart beat harder in her chest.

“And us some more.”

She let out a small chuckle.

“What?”

“Start then.”

She could tell he wanted to frown at her, as if he wanted her to have a certain reaction. But he didn’t, instead he let his shoulders fall a bit, taking her in for a few moments more before he decided to start talking again.

“I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

It hurt every time he said that, as if he didn’t believe that what she’d felt this summer wasn’t half of what he had.

“Tortured me to think about you.”

She took a little step backward, not wanting to listen to him talk on about how she’d hurt him.

“But the thought of you also brought me peace, as it always has. Brought me inspiration and motivation.” He took a step closer to her. “I miss you. I’ve missed you since the day I was brought into this world, I never knew I did till I was without you.”

Those three words radiated throughout her entire body, her heart screaming them right back at his. I miss you I miss you I miss you I-

“Please don’t…” he trailed off, balling his hands into fists as if he was mad at himself for not finding the right words for what he was feeling. “Don’t leave.”

She swallowed, not wanting the hundreds of butterflies and warm feelings in her chest to get the better of her when she answered. “Don’t leave… now? In general?-“

“-Don’t leave me. If not as a lover, as a friend. I need you in my life to some capacity.”

“Harry-“

“-I’m in love with you, Y/N.” His voice was so soft, yet urgent. He needed her to feel the same way, to understand what he was talking about. “I love you.”

Every cell in her body vibrated with the effect of those words, telling Harry she felt the same. In every way one person could love another, she loved him.

“If you even feel a fragment the same, please tell me.” His eyes were so big, pleading with her.

She felt so much all at once, finding the right words – finding words at all – was difficult. Every single part of her tried, her brain working hard and fast so she wouldn’t leave him hanging. But that was exactly what she did. So overwhelmed with absolutely everything today had brought, she couldn’t do anything but feel.

Harry’s jaw visibly tensed with the lack of response. “Or don’t.”

She opened her mouth, brain working a hundred miles a second to find words for him.

“If you don’t, then that’s fine. I won’t pretend it’s not gonna hurt and I’ll need some time to come to terms with it.” He sighed, eyes falling to the ground as if he couldn’t look at her now. “I… I was terrified this would happen.”

She couldn’t just stay fucking silent, she had to say something. Speak you bloody nonce, don’t do him like this. “Harry-“

“-What I’ve been most scared about since we stopped talking is that I played an insignificant role in your life, when you played the most significant in mine.” His eyes were still on the flooring, gripping the ends of his colourful cardigan. “A part you won’t talk about with others, that you keep a secret.”

“I’m not ashamed of this summer, Harry-“

“-I feared you’d never need me like I need you.” He said, voice thick with something resembling torment. “Because I just… I know we have no power over who we end up loving, you meet someone and before you know it, they’re so important to you that imagining a life without them in it is like staring uninspired at a blank canvas. But I’ve chosen to pour every ounce of my love onto you. I’ve chosen you, and I’ll continue to choose you without hesitation and without fail, for the rest of my life.”

She felt her eyes sting, fearing that she’d start crying if he continued on talking. Why was it that before their first kiss, Harry hadn’t been one for talking, but after it he hadn’t dithered? Everything he’d told her since had been so heartfelt and true, she felt like he was putting words to her very own feelings.

The right words wouldn’t come, and she felt like the longer she left him standing there in silence, the longer she let him ramble on, the more catastrophic this would get. Because she felt the same for him, but what she felt was so enormous and she was afraid she’d never find words for it. She wasn’t one for art or expression. She studied science and medicine and animals, she knew all that, but she didn’t know how to tell someone like Harry what he wanted to hear. Most of the time, at least before, he didn’t need her to say anything. Her presence, her touch, her comfort was enough for him. He never expected anything else from her but to reciprocate his feelings. Which she did. Oh, did she love him. More than she thought possible.

“I-“ she started, but cut herself off as she didn’t know where it was going. Harry looked up at her instantly, instant hope in his eyes. “Your exhibit.”

Not the appropriate thing to be talking about right now, she thought to herself, but better than nothing.

“Could you explain it to me?”

He blinked. “Explain it?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling every surface of her body heat up. “Because I knew you were painting me, but I didn’t…”

His eyes lingered on her lips for a second, but he quickly composed himself, a slight redness appearing along his cheekbones. A wave of goosebumps ran up her spine.

“I didn’t expect…”

“Didn’t expect the whole exhibition to be about you?”

She just looked at him, biting her bottom lip.

Harry let out an amused chuckle. “You’re the smartest person I know, thought you might get it right away, to be completely honest with you.”

“It took me off guard.”

“Right, should I walk you through it, then?” Harry gestured at the gallery. “Want to see it?”

She sensed irritation in his voice and sighed. “You don’t have-“

“-Don’t fucking say I don’t have to. You asked about the exhibit. You don’t understand, even though I just made it very clear for you. So, let's.”

He walked toward the door, flinging it open and beckoning for Y/N to walk through it first. Walking first, he stomped straight through the entire exhibition, right past people who were leaving. They all looked over at Y/N and Harry as they walked the opposite way, a few raised eyebrows and some whispering. Portia still stood in the first room with the eight planets, looking up as Y/N and Harry came back. A smile first graced her features, but seeing the look on Harry’s face and how fast they were both walking, she quickly pieced together that something was happening.

“This,” Harry said as they reached the reception, pointing at the wall with the projection of that painting Y/N had found in the flat in Fosdinovo. The drive to his childhood home in Manchester. “You recognise this?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She gave him a look to tell him she didn’t appreciate his tone. He didn’t seem to care.

“Told you the path leads to uncertainty, hence the darkness at the end of it. I didn’t know where my life would lead me and I was terrified. Now,” he pointed to the dark corridor. “What does that lead to?”

Y/N blinked a few times, looking up at Harry when he didn’t continue talking. But he was already glancing down at her, raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face. Though she was tempted to tell him to shove it if he was going to keep that attitude up, she didn’t. She needed to tell him how she felt, that he wasn’t alone in wanting more. She needed to find the right words. But right now, knowing Harry, he’d just get furious with her if she told him now that he was putting the effort in and showing her what everything meant.

“The paintings.”

“It leads to the exhibition.”

“That’s the same thing.”

Harry didn’t respond, he just walked towards the corridor without looking back. Y/N felt her anger bubble up, but she tried to control it as she followed him to the first room of the exhibition.

“Hope you know what the solar system is.” Harry shouted back to her.

She dug her nails into the palm of her hands, gritting her teeth from responding. Portia was standing at the other side of the room, watching them with wide eyes. Everyone else had left, she realised. The gallery was closing, and Harry’s exhibition needed to be taken down so the next one could be put up. This was his very last day showing his collection. Y/N gave her a look to keep quiet, the last thing Harry needed now was Portia intervening.

“Our solar system’s got eight planets-“

“-I bloody know how many planets there are in our solar system-“

“-But to me and my life,” Harry walked to the side of the room, pointing down at the last planet. The full Venus. Her plant. “In my universe, there’s only one.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

“They each fade more and more into Venus. Notice how the first one’s black.”

“Like the end of the painting I found in Fosdinovo.”

Harry’s arm fell to his side, having proven his point on why he’d chosen space to be the theme for his exhibition. He walked on over to the first painting; straight past Y/N, jaw still tense and the look in his eyes enraged. She realised this was torturing him. Going through everything without knowing how she felt, and probably fearing – and believing – the worst. She had to say something.

“This one,” he pointed. “We can barely see you. You were a fucking pain in my arse.”

“Hey!”

“There’s only one dot of baby blue, you’re far away from where I’m standing.”

“If you don’t-“

“-Next one,” he walked onto the second one without Y/N even having reached him and the first painting. “You’re closer to me, still not very close, still not a lot of blue. Only some in the sky. Didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Harry, slow down-“

“-Third,” it seemed he was on a mission, wanting this to be over with as quickly as possible. “You’re close. You can see baby blue in the sky, ocean, your dress, some in the grass. Still not doing it on purpose.”

She jogged over to the fourth as he did, really wanting to take a grip of his arm and tell him to calm down. But she had no right. Not now. But she was still getting annoyed with him.

“Fourth is when I start doing it deliberately. Realised I caught feelings for you, and you can see that in the landscape, how it follows the outline of your body.” Harry pointed just as the lights inside the planets went out. “There’s baby blue in quite literally everything.”

The lack of lights to showcase the paintings didn’t stop him, Harry walked on. She ran after him, about to tell him to slow down again when he walked right past the beach painting with the huge moon.

“The night you changed the moon for me forever. Now I do as you said you do; I talk to her. Every night.”

Y/N felt her heart ache. She wondered, if they were both talking to the moon at the same time, if they were talking about one another, why didn’t the moon whisper Harry’s words into her ear and hers into his? Why didn’t she help them?

“You’re further away in that one ‘cause I realised I’d have to let you go at the end of the summer, didn’t want to get too attached.” A dry laugh slipped past his lips. “Look how well that worked out.”

They stopped in front of the second moon painting, where he was floating in what looked to be the middle of a huge and dark ocean.

“You once told me the moon knows all your deepest secrets and biggest desires,” Harry pointed at himself in the painting. “Here’s me surrendering myself to her.”

“Why’re you in the ocean?”

Harry chuckled, running both hands over his face as if he couldn’t believe her.

“What?”

He looked at her for a few seconds while clenching his jaw. “I used to be terrified of the dark and the ocean. You taught me monsters won’t magically appear just ‘cause you can’t see. They’re just as likely to show themselves in sunlight.” He glanced at the painting again, blinking a few too-many times as he looked away from her. “If you take your time to understand and truly look at this painting, you’ll understand it.”

She was about to open her mouth when Harry said, “And don’t use your ‘I only know science, I barely know how to interpret art’ rubbish.”

“Well, it’s true.” She mumbled, but Harry only clicked his tongue, disinterested in her insistence on not understanding art. He walked on to the next one, the one that was completely baby blue, where her body was carefully outlined in white.

“Here you can clearly tell-“

“-I have a question,” Y/N said, making Harry shut up. “That painting of me… the one where I’m… Where’s that one? I mean…”

Harry stared at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to continue, but when she never did, he mumbled another question right back at her, “You think I’d put a painting of your naked body on display in my exhibition?”

She just looked at him, seeing something in his eyes that was vaguely familiar but too far away to fully grasp.

“I’m keeping that one-“ he stopped himself, swallowing hard. “It’s private.”

She nodded.

“Anyway,” Harry went back to the painting before them. “You represent baby blue to me, so here’s your colour – you -,” he paused for a second. “Becoming everything.”

She looked at him, feeling everything within her wither and bloom at the same time. The painting seemed to take him back to a time long ago, every urge he had to do this as quickly as possible seemed to leave him when he looked at that painting. They still had one left, but he forgot about that, losing himself in a memory. And Y/N lost herself in him. Suddenly, proper lights lit up the room and the stars that had illuminated everything prior, disappeared.

“Harry!”

Harry didn’t meet Y/N’s eyes as he stepped away from the row of planets, looking up at Jamie how had shouted his name.

“Closing time. We need to pack up, mate.”

Harry nodded, looking over at Y/N who suddenly felt her heart pick up speed.

Jamie clapped their hands together. “Come on, you lot, you need to leave.”

For a few moments, it was like the two of them moved in slow motion. Harry took a few steps so he could face the other way, ready to leave through the backdoor, not breaking eye contact with Y/N. Once they looked away from one another, the rest of the world would resume being and they had to leave. Y/N had to say something, she had to tell him. But everything was clogged up somewhere in her throat, she wasn’t able to say anything. This whole exhibit… it was about her. Harry had cared so much about her and he still did. But she couldn’t find the right words. She had to say something. Had to let him know she felt the same way.

Harry’s jaw clenched again before he looked away from Y/N and started walking back down the way he’d taken Y/N before. Everything inside her went into panic mode.

“Harry.” She said, but he didn’t turn around. She started jogging after him. “Harry.”

“Y/N-“

“-Just a sec, Portia!” Y/N continued to follow Harry through the now lit exhibit. “Harry!”

He didn’t turn around still.

“Harry, please.” She took a grip of his arm.

Harry stopped, dragging his arm out of her grip. “Y/N, stop.”

The force of his words took her off guard and it took her a few seconds to compose herself. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, looking behind Y/N at the closing exit door. “What?”

“I… I need to tell you that…” she swallowed, feeling her palms get clammy. “You said earlier that…”

Harry looked at her expectantly, something in the frantic way his eyes moved over her face and the quick breath he took made her think he detected reciprocation in her voice. “Yes?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her heart was beating hard and fast, she was beginning to sweat.

“What, Y/N?”

“I can’t, I-“ She ran both hands over her face, frustrated with herself. She groaned.

“What?”

“I know how I’m feeling, but I don’t know how to say it.”

Harry took a small step towards her. “Say what?”

“How I feel for you.”

He let out a small breath. “And how’s that?”

“Just how you feel about me.”

There was a single second when Harry’s eyes were filled with elation; like he was ready to embrace her, kiss her, and never let her go. Wanted to become one with her right then and there, to never leave her side again. A ghost of a smile grace his features and his shoulders lowered; his entire composure seemed to relax. As if all the anger he’d been carrying around with him in the gallery disappeared. But the next second, realisation sunk in and he glanced away for a second.

“Need to hear you say it.” He said, voice weak. “Know you say you’re not one for words, but there are moments in life when words are everything.”

Y/N felt a drop of sweat run down her back. Her head was spinning.

“I deserve to hear you say it yourself.” Harry said.

“I know! That’s why I’m trying so hard to say something!”

Harry nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “You’re not ready.”

Y/N frowned, sure her panic showed on her face. “I am ready. That’s why I followed you out here, isn’t it?”

“No, Y/N, you’re clearly not. You might feel it, but being vulnerable is hard for you. Admitting to being vulnerable isn’t something you know how to do.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open.

“Your whole life you’ve put up this cold and hard exterior to protect yourself from feeling too much. You’ve had a hard time receiving the love you needed while growing up, and you’ve been burned in the past-“

“-Don’t psychoanalyse me.” She pointed a finger at him. “You know I have a hard time opening up to people completely.”

“You have a hard time admitting to letting your guard down. You do it willingly, but there’s a part of you that just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I said don’t psycho-“

“-I know, I’m sorry.” Harry took a few steps back, as if getting ready to walk away from her. “I’ll wait.”

She blinked. “For what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded, just about to turn around and leave when she called his name again.

“You just begged me to tell you I felt the same way, and I did.” Y/N said, taking a few steps toward him, but stopping herself. “I told you.”

“That you felt like I did.”

“Exactly.”

Harry let out a small chuckle and though it sent a swarm of butterflies straight to Y/N’s stomach, it also hurt because she knew the next few words would send her into a panic. “And thank you for that, but I told you how I felt. Now you need to tell me. Physical show of affection is nice, but proper verbal confirmation that someone loves you…” he trailed off, looking at her in silence for some seconds. “It’s key.”

“Harry-“

“-I love you.”

She fell silent, taken off guard. But the words warmed her so that she was sure she’d never freeze again. He started walking away.

“I’ll wait, you need to figure this out on your own. I know,” smiling he continued, “Now I need you to comprehend.”

Mouth falling open as she tried to force herself to say something, she cursed herself over and over again for having built up that humongous wall around her. Being vulnerable was like admitting that you were weak, and she knew those two weren’t the same thing at all, but she’d associated them with one another her whole life. She needed to stop.

“I’ll wait for you.”

And just like that, Harry left her this time. She was tempted to run after him again, but to what purpose? To have him tell her yet again that he needed her to tell him she loved him when she couldn’t bring herself to? To hurt him again? No, she was going to deal with her struggles to admit vulnerability herself. He deserved to hear her say everything he’d just told her and much more. And hopefully Harry would still love her the way he did now by that time. How terrified she already was that he didn’t.

But if that was the case, at least she’d have taught herself the importance of vulnerability.

Thursday, 10 September 2020

“Smile, baby.” Elaine brought her phone up, snapping a picture of Y/N with her diploma in hand, standing in front of her University.

It was a nice day; the sun was shining through a thin layer of clouds and the temperature was high, but not so high that Y/N was struggling to breathe. All her course mates were milling around behind, beside, and around her, saying their last goodbyes before everyone was to part ways after this. It had been bittersweet saying goodbye to her mates. She knew she was going to see them again and knew she would be happier now that she didn’t have to care about uni, but it would be sad not seeing them and not knowing when she would meet them next. Though she hadn’t really been close with any of them, she still counted them as her friends and would miss their time together.

Portia stood beside Elaine and gave Y/N a little applause, grinning from ear to ear as her sister walked over to them again. “Look at you, all smart.”

“Yes,” Y/N said, doing a little dance with her diploma. “I’d like to think I am.”

“Look,” Elaine begged Y/N over so she could look at the pictures she’d taken of her. “You look lovely, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, the lighting’s amazing.”

“So peng.” Portia said, zooming in on Y/N’s face.

Y/N playfully hit Portia in the head with her diploma, making the two sisters chuckle before they turned back to their mother. Elaine smiled at Y/N, there was a look in her eyes Y/N wasn’t accustomed to seeing on her mother’s face when looking at her. It was something she often directed at Portia, but Y/N rarely got this. Pride. It almost made Y/N’s eyes sting with oncoming tears.

“Come on, girls,” Elaine said, taking each of her daughters’ hands. “We need to celebrate. What’s a good pub around yours, Y/N?”

“Hmm,” Y/N thought for a few seconds. “There’s a Gregg’s two minutes away.”

“Sausage rolls!” Portia exclaimed.

“We’re not celebrating you getting a degree at bloody Gregg’s, are you dim?” Elaine huffed, unlocking the car once they reached it. “We need to get a pint each, and a fancy dinner later.”

“Reckon we could afford a fancy dinner in London, Mum?” Y/N sat down in the car, putting her seatbelt on as Elaine started the car. “I’m skint.”

“Well, you’re not the one paying for the dinner, are you?” Elaine raised her eyebrows at her, driving away towards Y/N’s flat in Hackney. Portia reached into the backseat where Y/N sat, squeezing her knee before she sat back and focused on the city they were driving in. Y/N leaned forward and squeezed Portia’s shoulder.

“Thank you for coming, P. Know you have a lot going on at the moment, but it meant a lot to me that you bothered to come.”

Porta looked over her shoulder at Y/N, studying her sister for a second before she smiled. “Might be busy, but it’s your graduation. It’s important to me.”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up a bit, something they always did when she managed to discuss her feelings. “Thank you anyway.”

“You’re very welcome.” Portia’s smile widened, and she grabbed Y/N’s hand, kissing it before turning to look ahead again.

Y/N smiled herself, sitting back in her seat and looking out the window.

She’d never really gotten attached to London. Maybe it was because she didn’t really have anyone she was close to, or the constant fast-paced lifestyle you had to lead to live there. Y/N had always preferred a slow life, like the one she had grown up knowing in Maldon. Essex was calm, it was what she’d known her whole life and what she wanted to know forever. Regardless of where she wanted to live and where she felt she belonged; she’d gotten a job at North London Veterinary Clinic so she didn’t really have much of a choice in where she could settle down for a little while. North London wasn’t as busy as Central, so she wouldn’t be as overwhelmed as she usually was. She’d have to move and though the thought stressed her out, she was ready for a little change. It would be good for her.

“Do you remember that guy I was chatting to for a little while?” Portia suddenly asked, snapping Y/N out of her reverie.

“Drake?”

“No.”

“That Felix lad?”

“Not him.”

“Ezra?”

Portia shook her head.

“Jackson-“

“-Oh, for fuck’s sake, Y/N,” Portia turned around in her seat. “Do you have to rub it in?”

“That you date a lot of men? I don’t have to do that; you know it perfectly well yourself.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Azeem.”

“Ahh! Azeem!” Y/N nodded her head, giving her little sister a smile. “Remember you talked about him, yes. Ages ago, though.”

Portia seemed to think back to the time she was talking to Azeem, getting lost in her own thoughts for a few short seconds before she blurted out, “Anyway, I met him on a night out like two days ago.”

“You did? What’d he say?”

“Just that it was nice to see me again.” Portia said. “Told me I looked good. And then he walked me home.”

In an attempt to come to terms with how she was feeling and letting other people know, it had been one of the first things Y/N had done. She sat Portia down when she came back to London, told her she loved the fact her sister came down and that they got to spend time together because it brought them closer – and she wanted to be close to her sister since they’d struggled being just that growing up -, but Portia needed her own place. If she was going to spend that much time in the capital, she might as well move there permanently. Elaine had struggled to come to terms with the fact that her youngest daughter would be moving out, especially considering how much time and resources she’d put into Portia and her career. But both the sisters had convinced their mother that this was what Portia needed to do. She needed to become independent. And besides, Portia wouldn’t be alone in London, Y/N lived there as well.

“And…?” Y/N urged, raising her eyebrows to show she was eager to know what happened next.

“He asked me out on a date.”

“He did?!” Y/N grinned. “Why did you stop seeing each other in the first place?”

Portia sighed. “It was hard to not see him very often, we lived far away from one another, and all that. But now that I live in London, maybe it’ll work out.”

“Is he a decent bloke, Y/N?” Elaine looked in the driving mirror back at Y/N. “I won’t take Portia’s word for it. You know she’s blinded by a good shag when she’s got one.”

“Mum!” Portia exclaimed. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that!”

“Say what? What you always tell me? You talk about lads and your sex life constantly.”

“I do not! Oh, my God!”

Y/N laughed, zoning out as her little sister and mother started arguing in the front. They soon reached Hackney and Y/N’s flat building. It felt weird knowing that Thursday next week, she’d be moving out of this flat and into a new one. Though Hackney wasn’t the nicest place to be living in London – or the nicest place to just be walking through – it had been Y/N’s home for five years now. Sure, she spent loads of time in Maldon and Essex, but this was her place in London. But soon, Hampstead would probably be it. It wasn’t that the commute would be horrible from Hackney and up to North London, but she would rather have a stroll to work in the morning instead of using public transit. It was bloody unbearable on the tube in the mornings sometimes.

They exited the car and Y/N rummaged through her purse for her keys, giving them to Portia when she reached her hand out for them.

“Thanks, babes.” Y/N said, getting her diploma out of the car seat before closing the door and letting their mother lock the car.

Portia glanced at Y/N for a little while, a grin spreading out over her lips.

“What?” Y/N asked, gesturing for her sister to unlock the door so they could walk on in.

“Dunno,” Portia shrugged, putting the key in the hole and turning it. “You never call me ‘babe’ or anything like that, but you’ve started recently.”

“Been watching too much Love Island.”

Portia laughed, holding the door open for her mother and sister. The lot of them walked up the stairs to the second story, about to let Y/N change out of her heels so they could go have a pint and then go out to dinner. Though she wouldn’t look as smashing as she did with her heels on, they would ultimately kill her feet and she was not about that life today. She’d just gotten a degree, she was going to feel good all day. So fuck heels.

They reached Y/N’s door and she let Portia unlock that one as well. Her flat was as simplistic as always; one single room with a small kitchen, a bed, a desk, and a door to a small bathroom. Elaine walked over to the desk, sitting down in Y/N’s office chair while Portia bent down and picked up something behind the door.

“Mail.” She said, giving Y/N a few envelopes.

“Thanks.” Y/N took it, looking through the envelopes to see nothing interesting. A couple of bills, some rubbish, and…

“Where are we going after this then?” Elaine asked, looking from Y/N to Portia. But Y/N didn’t hear what Portia was answered because she was too busy reading the small slip of paper that told her she’d gotten a parcel. Everything that was too big to slip through the mail slot was out into a cupboard on the outside of Y/N’s flat. Beside her front door was another, smaller door where her electricity metre was. If she wasn’t in to receive the parcel herself, she’d written on her mail slot to just pop it in there.

She put all her mail down on the kitchen counter before walking outside to check the cupboard. Upon opening it, she saw a single brown parcel, though it looked more like a gift than anything. She reached for it, bringing it out into proper lighting. She read her own address on the front, and when turning it around, she found it a little hard to breathe. Had he…

Y/N walked back into the flat, closing the door behind her and placing the package on the kitchen counter so she could unpack it. She knew Elaine and Portia were talking behind her about something, probably where they were going to go have their pint, but Y/N could not focus on anything but what was right in front of her. Ripping the paper off, a sea of colour was revealed to her and she recognised what she was looking at right away.

“A sunny morning in Essex.” Y/N smiled, looking at him. “The most beautiful sight in the world, if I may say so.”

“Oh, is it?” he asked, putting the brush away and placing his hand on her thigh, turning to face her.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile widened some as he moved closer to her, brushing his nose gently against hers.

“I can think of more beautiful sights than a sunrise in bleeding Essex.”

She ran her hand over it, feeling the strokes of paint she’d put there with Harry’s help. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the paintings in his collection, but it was the most breath-taking creation she’d ever laid her eyes upon. It was something she’d made with Harry. It was art. Picking it up, something fell to the kitchen counter. An envelope.

“What’s that?” Portia asked, but Y/N couldn’t answer.

She put the canvas back down on the counter and reached for the envelope, tearing it open. It was his handwriting and she suddenly longed for him again. Months had gone by, but she thought about him every day. He was always with her, always motivated her; made her want to be better. And seeing something the two of them made a year ago, reliving the memory of them sitting close and creating something beautiful in the warm Italian summer night, it made her yearn in a way she never had before.

‘Complimenti per la laurea, celeste.’

Looking down on the canvas again, she suddenly recognised it. The landscape resembled the one in Tuscany, the one she had walked through and lived in all last summer. And in the corner was a white house, almost like a mansion of sorts, but not as big as some of the houses she’d passed on the countryside. She didn’t remember painting that. In fact, she barely remembered painting anything but the colour of the sunrise. Orange, yellow, blue. Harry must’ve completed the painting after she left.

“Y/N,” Portia said, now standing by her sisters’ shoulder. “Is that one of his paintings?”

Y/N just looked at he canvas, unable to say anything.

“Is that one of his fucking paintings?” Portia gasped, looking at Elaine and back at Y/N. “Imagine how much that is worth!”

“I’m not gonna sell his painting, Tia.”

“No, but-“ Portia gestured at the artwork, squealing. “What’d the card say?”

“Think he’s congratulating me on graduating.” Y/N put the card down, looking at the painting again. The room fell silent as nosy Elaine probably didn’t know which of her questions to ask first, Portia looked dumbfounded at the canvas, and Y/N yet again lost herself in daydreams of Harry. He knew she was graduating today. Sent her their painting. He congratulated her on finally getting her degree. He was still thinking about her like she was thinking about him. One of Y/N’s fears with taking so long to figure herself out, he’d somehow move on. But she believed in him enough, knew how she felt well enough, to know that they’d see each other again.

“You have to leave.” Portia said. “Y/N, it’s been six months.”

“I know.”

“You have to go to bloody Italy right this second.” Portia looked around Y/N’s flat. “Where’s your bag?”

“What about my life here? I’m starting a new job next week, I’m moving.”

“Figure that stuff out next week.” Portia smiled. “You’ve grown so much in the last few months, Y/N. You’re softer now, not so prone to fighting people for not having the same opinion as you, but you listen and you’re willing to change. Not for the world, but for yourself. Harry didn’t tell you to embrace tenderness just so you could admit how you were feeling about him, but also so you’d be nicer to yourself.”

“But I already am.”

“I know, but he wanted you to allow more love into your life. By seizing love and allowing yourself to feel, not only self-love, but the love of others, you allow yourself to live fully and completely.” Portia squeezed Y/N’s shoulder. “Without regret, without apology.”

Y/N smiled a little at her sister, studying her face. “Portia Cressida, when the fuck did you become so wise?”

“Can’t let people know I know shit or else I’ll ruin my dumb image.”

The girls laughed, and Portia rested her head on Y/N’s shoulder, glancing at the painting Harry had gifted her sister.

“Go, Y/N.”

Saturday, 12 September 2020

She remembered Italy to be hot, but something about Italy in autumn was almost unbearable. Everything was still a lush green, nothing had changed outdoors since last year it seemed, everything still looked the same. But Y/N wondered how that was possible when she wasn’t even in the southern part of Tuscany anymore, she was in Veneto, a county further up north. North-west Italy looked as summery in autumn as Y/N would’ve expected it to, and she loved it. Though she didn’t like the sun much, she’d come to appreciate it more than the rain of England. Besides, she could stand the heat if it meant meeting Harry again.

She’d called Jamie yesterday, asked them where she’d be able to meet Harry. She knew she could’ve just asked Harry, but she also wanted to see the surprise on his face when he saw her on his doorstep. So, she hadn’t told him she was coming. Which could either end with them living happily ever after or him saying he didn’t feel the same anymore. Thinking about the latter gave her a panic attack.

She hadn’t brought much with her, just a small bag as a carry-on and the clothes she was wearing. A see-through red, yellow, white, and pink tie dye crop top, showing off her cute black bralette underneath, a washed-out pair of high-waisted boyfriend denim jeans, and a black pair of Dr Marten’s. Though it had gotten a bit chilly on the plane, she knew Italy would be hot, and she had been very right about that. Besides, she needed to look extra cute now that she was seeing Harry again for the first time in six months.

The bus ride wasn’t as bumpy as the one she’d taken to Fosdinovo, the bus was new, and she trusted the driver to know if something was wrong. She hadn’t trusted Gioele to know the same, which she applauded herself for in retrospect. The bus was fairly new and the road to Padua, Veneto was nice. She’d done some research and figured out the reason why Harry might’ve moved up north and close to Padua. It was a city known for art; spectacularly pretty and often overlooked by Venice, a mere hour-drive away. Knowing Harry, he’d probably walk through the quieter streets of Venice to get inspiration or sit on a corner café in Padua to people-watch. She knew he wanted to get out of Fosdinovo, but he hadn’t been able to remove himself entirely from the Italian culture he had immersed himself in. His love for that country was too great for him to ever truly leave.

Reaching Padua, Y/N got off and got a taxi right away. She told the driver where she was going, and though it was a bit out of town and onto the countryside – not to Y/N’s surprise, Harry liked quiet after all – he agreed to get her there. It took them about 30 minutes to reach the house, and when they did, it was a simple gravel path. She obviously had to walk for a bit to get there, but she was glad she got to take in Harry’s new residence in the calmness that was the outskirts of Padua. She could make out the white house at the end of the road, the newly sown trees that lined the path, and knew when they had grown to their full height, they would envelope the drive like a tunnel of green leaves and nature. Y/N smiled a little to herself as she imagined it, knowing that Harry most likely had the exact same thought in mind.

It was nice seeing how he decided to live now, especially after everything that happened in Fosdinovo. Secluded, but a couple of neighbours a few minutes’ walk up or down the cemented road she’d just been on. It was undoubtedly his new paradise. And by the looks of it, the closer she got, it seemed he was still working on the house. White and grand, with huge French windows and sheer curtains on either side of them all, there was still some construction work going on on the outside, though the workers weren’t working today it seemed. It was only 12pm, but maybe Harry wanted them to take the day off to relax. She’d ask him, she told herself, because she was now in the driveway, viewing the red front door, looking in through the windows to see if she saw him. Her heart was hammering so fast in her chest that she noticed her tie dye top vibrating with each beat.

Reaching forwards, she pressed the doorbell, taking a step back so the door wouldn’t hit her in the face when he opened it. Nearly as quickly as it had gone off, she heard something very familiar inside the house. Spending time around animals nearly all the time, Y/N’s puppy radar went off when she heard the tiny barks of a baby dog inside. Immediately, her mouth fell open, and she walked to the closest window to look inside.

Down a white tiled corridor, the light from the massive windows on the other side of the house shining down on him, a puppy came running down on his big paws, his tail wagging so wildly his little bum moved with it.

“Hi.” Y/N cooed when he reached the window, standing on his back-paws to get a better look of her and bark some more. “Who’re you then? What’s your name?”

He sniffed the glass as if trying to get a sniff of her, but he whimpered when he couldn’t. And as Y/N got a good look of the little guy, she realised something very quickly that made her almost fall backward onto the gravel of the driveway. A Scottish deerhound.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Y/N said under her breath, walking back to the front door and ringing the doorbell again. Why was it that Harry had trouble answering the bloody door every time? She stood her ground this time, the puppy still barking at her and watching her in anticipation, ready to jump onto her the second Harry opened the door. But he didn’t. So this time she knocked on his door with her fist, not about to wait around for hours. She knew he was in. A puppy couldn’t be left alone in a big house like this, he’d either have to put him in a cage or take the pup with him.

With no response, Y/N decided to explore the outside of his house. Giving the pup a little wave, she stepped down from the front step, taking in the marble pillars on either side that held a small roof above the front door. The house was incredibly elegant and new. Had he built it himself? She walked around the side, admiring the huge garden and the tall stone fence that secluded it from everything else. There were a couple of trees that stood around a tiny pond, and it seemed he’d taken the time to put a grey stone bench beside it. The rest of the garden was newly trimmed and grand, though pretty empty still. There seemed to be the start of a pretty big doghouse beside another tree, and something else that might be the start of a veranda. Maybe he’d just about moved in. It would explain why everything looked so new, anyway.

It felt like Harry, though. All of it. Elegant yet simple, big but not too much. He was a simplistic person who loved grand things. The thought of him moving into a new house, probably a little anxious to meet new people and to get acquainted with his new life in a new town, it made her smile. He was restless and would move in a few years, but for now, this was exactly what he needed, she knew.

Faint, but Y/N still heard it with every single part of her being, a meow sounded from behind her. Turning around, there stood a striped cat looking over at her. She hesitantly moved forward and Y/N felt like breaking down crying.

“Viola,” Y/N hunched down. “Hi, baby.”

The cat made her way over quite hastily when she recognised who the person was, rubbing herself against Y/N’s outstretched hands. She’d grown, yet Y/N would know this little creature anywhere. She’d often wondered what happened to Viola, because when she left, she assumed Harry would take care of her till he left. But here she was. Had he brought her with him everywhere? She reached down, pressing a soft kiss to Viola’s forehead like she always did, and the cat meowed in response. Y/N giggled, the feel and sound of Viola brought her right back to her time in Fosdinovo. The cat had been there for her every single day, putting a smile on her face. They gave each other a home for a month.

Thinking she might explore more of the grounds, she stood upright, and Viola immediately perked up, ready to follow Y/N wherever she decided to go. Her eyes suddenly landed on a glass house attached to the mansion, and then on the figure standing by the open door leading into it. The inside of the winter garden was fully furnished, unlike the rest of the property that lacked the same attention. She couldn’t believe this. Not only was this Harry’s dream home, it was hers as well.

Their eyes met, and a jolt so intense rocked through Y/N’s body that it shook up everything. She fell in love with him all over again, seeing him there, looking right back at her with a look of startlement and longing and relief. She couldn’t wait any longer, she had to be close to him. Taking the first few steps, she felt the inside of her tummy vibrate as the butterflies inside her came to life again. The closer she got to him, the more every single part of her body tickled, itching to hold him again. And when it seemed to have dawned on Harry that this wasn’t a dream, he started walking toward her as well. The closer they got the more they picked up the pace. It had been too long, they had taken too much time, they had worked on each other for one another and for themselves.

Y/N threw herself into his chest and Harry wrapped his arms around her so tightly she was sure she’d fade into him. Though it had taken them so much to get to this moment, it had taken them a while for a reason. People needed to work on one another and for each other to make a relationship work, it didn’t just magically happen. And sometimes people need to be apart for a little while to gain perspective and mature enough to return. Harry needed someone who could be as open as him, and Y/N needed someone who wasn’t afraid to be himself to the fullest, without apology.

They broke apart, eager to look at one another again. Harry’s eyes moved over her frantically, taking her in again. He was wearing another silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted washed out denim jeans, and barefoot. Something about his bare feet was adorable. And the fact they were basically wearing the same jeans made her stifle a laughter.

“Hi,” she said, unsure how else to greet him.

He chuckled. “What the fuck, Y/N.”

“What?”

“You’re here.” He said, smiling at her. “I… I had no idea. But you’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He took her hand, squeezing it, looking her up and down. “Here.”

She smiled as well, feeling her hand heat up here his skin met hers. When he looked up at her again, eyes glistening, face lit up more than she’d ever seen before, dimples as deep as ever, she felt like tearing up. This was the man of her dreams; the man she wanted to spend every day with till death. And even after that she’d find him in their next life, or she’d find him in her afterlife, or wherever else they’d end up. There was no one else. Would never be anyone else.

“This is a big place.” She said, gesturing at the house and the rest of the estate.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, still looking at their joined hands. “Started building it back in March.”

“Big place for a big lad.”

Harry laughed, looking up at her again. “Need enough space for Viola and Gopher to wander.”

Y/N’s heart did a dreamy sigh. “Gopher?”

“Oh!” Harry pointed behind him at the house. “He was the one barking.”

“The puppy?”

“Yeah.”

She bit her lips together, looking down at their hands. “You adopted a puppy.”

Silence for a few moments before Harry said, in such a soft voice she swore it felt like a caress, “He’s been waiting for you.”

She glanced up again, happiness so overwhelming filled her to the point that she felt like flying. Eyes landed on the house and then back on Harry as he ran his thumb over her hand.

“Don’t you remember that day in the car last summer, when you first met Jamie?”

She didn’t at first, but it hit her like a truck and she almost gasped out loud. Harry only smiled a little at her, having remembered her words this whole time.

“A Scottish deerhound.”

“They’re quite big, aren’t they? Can’t remember how they look, but I think I know.” The phone was in Jamie’s hand, typing the name of the breed into the Google search bar.

“I’ve always wanted one. Always wanted to move to the outskirts of Maldon with two deerhounds. That’s where I want to settle down, I think.” She said. “With a winter garden and a big property so the dogs can run freely.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe Harry had done this.

“Harry…”

“It’s not Maldon, or Essex, or England for that matter,” he said, stepping aside so she could look at the house. “But I tried to make it like you said, with some pieces of me in it, if that’s okay.”

The resemblance it held to the last painting of Harry’s exhibit was incredible, the same painting that had been stolen by Gioele. The painting Harry had an emotional attachment to of sorts. It was because it was this. It was the house. It was the place he hoped she’d settle down. With him.

“Wanna take a look inside?”

She smiled at him. “Please.”

He smiled back, letting go of her hand so they could walk into the winter garden. Viola followed them, strolling in through the door before Harry closed it. He took her into his arms and walked over to the door that led into the house, opening it and letting Viola walk away before closing the door again. They were left in silence, a few of the windows were open to let some air in or else the room would undoubtedly get incredibly hot with the sun shining right in. The roof was shaped like a spire, the whole glasshouse a half-circle, and green plants lined the window wall. Vines hung gracefully along some of the stiles, and in the middle of it all stood a big blue velvet ottoman. The whole place had a gothic feel to it and Y/N absolutely adored it. When she’d pictured a winter garden, she’d just wanted a place she could relax outdoors during wintertime, but this was something else entirely. It had a Harry feel to it, but it also felt like her.

“What do you think?” Harry asked, leaning his back against the windows.

“It’s amazing.” She mused, looking around. “Harry… I’m speechless.”

“Tried to make it into something that I knew you’d like. That’s why I painted it first and had an architect sketch the outline of the house after.” Harry explained. “Hope it falls into liking.”

She looked over at him, for the first time in ages, seeing the hint of doubt in his eyes again. Simply not able to help herself, she walked over to him, hesitating a bit before placing a hand to his cheek. He leaned into her, closing his eyes for a second and letting a sigh of relaxation leave his lips.

“I love it, I haven’t even seen the inside of the house, but I love it.” She told him, studying his dark eyelashes against his cheekbones. “And I love you.”

Harry’s eyes shot open, looking straight into hers. The absolute joy in them made the colour of his irises more radiant, and it was almost as if the sun shone a little brighter. As if the world fell into place; like how it was supposed to be all along.

“I love you.” She repeated, softer this time around.

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice sounded like a whisper; a plea for her to really, really, really feel it – what was between them – like he did.

“I’m in love with you, Harry.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, swallowing hard. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t help it when the sides of her mouth tipped upward. “I know.”

Harry smiled. “Smug bastard.”

She laughed, leaning her forehead against his, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp tenderly. God, it felt good to have him touch her again. It felt good to be close to him. It felt good to not be ashamed of saying ‘I love you’. It felt amazing to let someone else know how deeply you cared for them and see them light up in response because they felt the same way.

“Now fucking kiss me before I go out of my mind.” Harry said, an undertone to his voice that made a hot tingle run up Y/N’s spine.

“How about you kiss me?”

Harry frowned.

“After all, if I hadn’t kissed you in the ocean that night, would we even be here?”

“You take pride in that, don’t you? I would’ve kissed you eventually.” Harry said, and Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. “I would’ve!”

“Yeah, alright. When? The opportunity presented itself a couple of times, but you only had the nerve to kiss my hand.”

Harry gripped her hair hard in his hand, bringing her lips to hover above his. She gasped, looking down at his lips and then feeling it against her thigh. Very quickly, she felt hot all over, and the need to be closer to Harry grew so fast it made her dizzy.

“Got the nerve to fuck you good now, don’t I?” Harry said, voice so deep she felt it vibrate through her bones.

Y/N bit her lip. “What gentleman talks like that to a lady before he’s even kissed her for the first time in a year?”

“You want a gentleman?”

She ran her hands down his torso. “Depends on the situation.”

Harry kissed her jaw, leaving wet kisses down her neck. “Hmm, does it now?”

“Want a gentleman to walk the little puppy with, to make breakfast with, or to take me out for dates.”

“Do you want a gentleman between your thighs, baby?”

She closed her eyes at the feel of Harry’s lips on her, bit her bottom lip as he pressed her body closer to his. “Depends on how well that gentleman knows how to treat a lady.”

Harry chuckled, the feeling of his laughter against her skin was like heaven. “I’ll be a gentleman, the devil, an angel; I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She huffed. “Thought we were doing dirty talk, and here you go turning it romantic.”

“I need you to shut up,” Harry said as his lips hovered above hers. “Because I’m about to kiss you and then fuck you on that sofa.”

She grinned, tilting her head to fit perfectly against his. “Kiss me.”

And he did. Hard and passionately. They wasted no time, slipping their tongue into one another’s mouths, clinging to one another, touching all over. They tasted the other, felt them right there. There were some birds singing outside, rustling of some leaves, but the two of them didn’t care. Harry pushed her backward till her legs hit the couch, but she stopped herself from falling back into it. Instead, she turned them around, pushing Harry back onto the ottoman.

“Let me show you how much I love you.” She said, and Harry let out a shaky breath at her words.

He quickly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, threw it somewhere behind him before he leaned on his elbows. “Nothing you’ve ever said has turned me on more.”

She giggled, taking her jeans and knickers off and straddling his lap. He sat up, attaching his lips to hers once again, grabbing onto her bum, begging her to grind against him. They both wanted some friction, and she knew that if he pressed her harder onto him, there would be wet marks from her left on his jeans. But in the moment, neither cared. They just wanted to be as close as humans could be, wanted to feel ecstasy. She buried her hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, and the heat between her thighs got more and more intense the more time went on. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through her as she felt Harry’s hand run up her back, reaching for her bra. He wanted to see all of her.

She let him, throwing her shirt off and letting her bra fall to the floor. Harry kissed her the second she was done undressing, moaning her name against her lips. She felt her centre ache, reaching for the zip of Harry’s jeans as quickly as possible. She couldn’t bare it any longer, she needed to be skin to skin; soul to soul. Y/N found that the people she had sex with, she formed an emotional attachment to them in a way that was unexplainable. There might not even be real feelings there, but you’d shared an intimate moment with someone, and it was a moment neither of you would ever forget. But with Harry, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a single moment she shared with him when they were like this; it felt like sharing an entire lifetime. It felt like happiness; it felt like the rest of her life. And she knew she was right to have spent time away from him, because she would tell him this over and over and over again, and she wouldn’t be ashamed or feel weak for admitting how much she loved him.

They got Harry’s jeans and boxers off, and as she took a grip of his cock, Harry stiffened. Their eyes met.

“A condom.” He said, reminding her what they were about to do.

She shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Harry gripped her thigh, squeezing her.

“You pay for the pill.”

He smiled, kissing her for a long time. “Fuck me, please.”

Slowly, she sat down on him, gasping at the familiar feeling of him inside her like this. Harry didn’t take his eyes off her the entire time, mouth opening wider for each centimetre he moved inside her. Positioning her feet on the floor, she started moving her hips over him. He instantly moaned, not able to help himself because it felt so good. He moved his hands up her thighs, her sides, her back, wanting to feel every single little part of her. Wanted her to know how much he appreciated every little thing about her. There wasn’t a single part of her body, of her soul, of her existence he didn’t love. She felt all his emotions in his touches, in the kisses he left along her collarbone, in the soft way he moaned her name.

She tried to push him down onto the ottoman, wanting to have him watch her as she rode him, but Harry stopped her. He shook his head, curls tickling her jawline and cheek.

“No,” he simply said, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m staying right here.”

And though he hadn’t meant it that way, Y/N still took it as him telling her he’d stay with her like this forever. After all, she’d been the one to leave him in the first place, but they were here now. Never was she going to leave him. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, the truest thing in her life, and her best influence. Had she ever been happy before she’d met him? Had she known true happiness till now? Because right now, feeling Harry’s bare skin against hers and hearing him repeat her name, she wasn’t so sure the happiness she’d felt before him could be counted as just that, happiness.

Harry squeezed her hips. “Like that,” he moaned, burying his face in the cook of her neck.

Nothing mattered besides the magic they were creating between them; nothing mattered but Harry and eternity. The soft skin of the inside of Y/N’s thighs against Harry’s hips and sides, pressed to him, sweaty. His tattooed body against her bare one. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

The burn in her core was really starting to build up now, and she knew it would burst any second. Harry moved his face so it was right in front of hers, studying her moving form above him. Her sliding hips, her desperate hands, her exclamations of pleasure. The butterflies in her stomach went crazy, all of them flying wildly in a single circle to intensify the oncoming orgasm. Harry’s hips moved more with hers, staring at her as she closed her eyes, digging her nails into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Harry said, hands trembling against her back.

She didn’t know why that almost brought her to tears, but it did, and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying. No one had ever made her feel as stunning as Harry. Though she was confident in her body and on her own, being with Harry made her feel on top of the world. His love, his encouragement, his compliments, it all made her feel so incredibly good about herself in a way nothing ever had before. She had no idea how she could ever thank him for that.

Their hips moved rhythmically, hard against one another, desperate for release. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. Y/N wanted to melt into him and have the two of them sitting like this forever. Wanted to feel him close, feel his love, feel his skin. Having him inside her like this, feeling him grip her hard, whimpering against her lips, moan her name; she felt powerful, beautiful, strong, and so so so good.

“Harry,” she moaned, looking into his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He said, bringing her closer. He reached between them, knowing that in order to come properly, she needed him to flick her bud. “Let me watch you come.”

“Oh, God.” She gripped his shoulders harder, moaning loudly as he rubbed her clit like he knew she loved so much.

“Yeah?” He watched her, flicking her faster. “Come for me, baby.”

She came hard. Harry watched her intently, clearly holding back his own release till he knew she was completely done with hers. She grinded on top of him, looking deeply into her eyes as hot flames lashed threw her body, rocking up her entire reality. She gasped for breath and moaned and repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it let like it was the only word she knew. Her legs were shaking, and it was hard for her to move properly so he could come to.

“Say it.” Harry said, his neck vein about to show and his face reddening with the oncoming climax. “Tell me.”

She knew exactly what he needed to hear. “I love you.” She whispered against his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the side of his lips as she continued to rock over him. “Everyday, for the rest of my existence, I’ll love you.”

“Fuck.” Harry moaned, not able to look away from her. “Y/N. My love.”

She held his face in her hands. “Never leave me. I love you too much.”

“Never.” Harry said, a moan escaping his lips. “Shit.”

He came, not looking away from her. A furrow appearing between his brows, lips parted, and Y/N had never seen anything so hot and beautiful. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. She watched him till he came down, feeling his cum inside her, feeling his breathing against her, his arms around her.

“You need to go meet Gopher now.” Harry said after a little while.

“My puppy.”

Harry laughed. “We’re gonna have a house filled with fucking animals, aren’t we?”

“And what about it?” Y/N smiled. “Don’t you want to see me happy?”

Harry’s eyes softened, smiling slightly up at her as he took her hand, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, then her palm, then the pulse of her wrist. “For the rest of my life, celeste.” His smile widened as he felt her beating hearts against his lips. “My baby blue.”

the BIGGEST thank you to all my beta readers! you lot have saved me and helped me more times than i can count! love you!

@aileenacoustic @sunflowervolumeeleven @emotionally-imbruised @fromyourstrulyh @harryisadogperson @harrysthighles @mellowstyles94 @toolazymyguy @clorenafila @dearest-rebecca @tpwkceline @tasteslikestrawberriesharry

and thank you to you! thank you for reading baby blue! thank you for the love sent both mine and bb’s way! thank you for letting me tell you yet another story, the fact that you sit down each sunday (or whichever day tbh) to read bb and immerse yourself in the bb-verse means so much to me!

as for what i’m gonna do next cos i’ve gotten quite a few questions about that! i won’t be posting writing on tumblr or wattpad till may, but in the meantime i’ll be over at patreon posting! there’ll be a poll there where some of my patrons can vote for what they want me to write next and i’ll post something every week!

my next fic will be announced sometime in april (tho i’ve talked about what it’s gonna be multiple times lmao), and the first few chapters will be available to read on my patreon before it starts posting on my other platforms!

ANYWAY, i love you all so much! thank you again! bb!harry and bb!mc appreciate you very much, as do i :’’)

thank you so much. till next time, stay hydrated.

your bestie, nora x

569 notes · View notes

itsomgitsgreenblogging · 4 years

Text

Labor of Love: A Critical Role Shadowgast Fanfic

I don’t have any excuse for this besides have a cute modern with magic bakery shadowgast AU in this trying time with a healthy dose of food description and stressed businessman Essek trying to find love in a modern with magic world. If people would like me to continue this, let me know!

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

Preview:

*“Guten Morgen, welcome to Xhorhaus Bakery. How can I help you?”

Essek’s mouth went dry.

The face that met his was attractive in the very traditional Empire way. In fact, the man looking at him looked as if he had stepped right out of an Empire propaganda film espousing the ye olde Zemnian way of life. There were the deep set blue eyes, the long copper hair pulled out of the way in a bun. He had pale freckled skin and the shadow of a ruddy beard beginning at his jaw. There was a dusting of flour or sugar on his cheek, and he wore a simple white shirt with a blue apron tied at his hips. It wasn’t fair that he had to meet someone so attractive so early in the morning, Essek thought derisively.*

Essek often wondered if he was born cursed, or if his disdain for most living things rubbed off on his environment and made it almost impossible to function. It wasn’t as if he tried to be hateful or annoyed at most things in life, it’s just that most things were so thoroughly irritating that it was desperately hard to function. He wondered if everyone felt this way...or if it was only him.

That was the thought that crossed Essek’s mind as he sat in traffic for ten minutes. His car, a shiny black new model grumbled in discontent as white fumes danced into the cold Rosohna air. His GPS finally pinged to let him know there was a road closure, and in a fit of desperation, Essek swung his car into the left lane and turned off the street and onto the next avenue. Rosohna was a relatively updated city, and having lived there all his life he tended to be able to navigate it well. This, however, would be an annoying detour.

“Hey Hallas, text Leylas Kryn,” Essek asked as he tapped the steering wheel. He jabbed at his radio, turning off Marion Lavorre’s latest single half way through her call for her love to treat her the way she deserved. Good for her.

“What would you like to say?” his phone asked him, lighting up from where it sat cradled on his dashboard.

“Road closed, running late and won’t be able to go by your preferred coffee shop. GPS says I’m 15 minutes out. I’ll try to swing by another place on the way,” Essek said, as clearly and concisely as he could. Hallas managed to read back the message before Essek sent it. Almost immediately his phone pinged in response and the message was read out.

"Alright. Thank you for letting me know, the ambassador is running late anyways so you have some time."

Essek sighed, drumming his fingers with a bit more intensity. He didn’t like this day already and it had barely started.

He plugged his GPS and looked for the closest coffee shop with the best reviews on the way. His GPS pinged with the place, a bakery called the Xhorhaus Bakery. It was a kitschy name, with a bare bones website, but it would just have to do. With few other options, Essek set his sights for the place. Essek pulled in at the quaint bakery, thankful for the empty parking spot in the front. Essek didn't like new things as a rule. New meant unpredictable and unknowable, and Essek prided himself on knowing everything that was going on all at once at all times.

Essek rushed through the door, hand on his phone and tapping it to the parking monitor sensor. He caught a glimpse of frosted glass and pretty dark brick, but barely paid attention until he was in the door.

Essek nearly swallowed his own tongue as his brain screeched to a grinding halt.

It was utterly magic. That was really the only way to describe it. Display cases were bursting with pastel-frosted cupcakes and sugar-glazed fruit tarts. There were rows of sweets...golden dough puffs filled with ricotta and cherries and dusted with confectioners sugar, macarons arranged like beautiful shiny buttons, turnovers fashioned like ship masts, elephant ears, honey-buns shaped like bees, cookies pressed into whimsical shapes. There was a whole section for ice cream, waffles and crepes advertised on the weekends. Mothers and fathers cradled children and laughed as a bright blue tiefling dolled out what looked like free samples, a tall firbolg carrying a tray disappeared into the back as a half-orc came in to slide another tray of cookies into an empty rack. At the sit down section, a halfling and two human women of various sizes both carried trays of different styled cups and kettles to customers. The whole place had an eclectic vibe, like things had been found at consignment stores and sales and brought together to fill the place. Each table was different and the chairs were all different too in a way that looked half-planned and half-thrown together. Like the business had been a half-thought half-dream that had gained a foothold in wakefulness.

Thankfully, Essek was in a line. He absorbed the information that lay before him quickly, as well as skimming the coffee menu that was emblazoned on the board in chalk. There were categories like, Breakfast with Beau, Bakery Favorites, and Cad’s Tea Corner. Bakery Favorites seemed to be the safest choice. The edges of the boards were doodled with flowers and cute animals and...was that a dick? No. Probably not he was just seeing things. Though it wasn’t an exact match to what his boss and her wife usually got, he hoped it would be good enough that she would forgive the difference and the lateness.

He got up to the counter, having practiced his order in his head at least a dozen times. The wait time hadn’t been long, nor was the line. That at least was a benefit over the place he usually stopped to get his boss’s drinks. Their usual place was a trendy cafe with a dizzying variety of brews that was operated by people who looked down at you for not knowing a medium was a grande. Essek tended to feel safe in a place of rigid social roles like that, so it never bothered him. This was a new frontier.

“Guten Morgen, welcome to Xhorhaus Bakery. How can I help you?”

Essek’s mouth went dry.

“One venti matcha latte with almond milk and a single pump of agave, one venti iced caramel macchiato, as light on the ice as possible, and one tall black coffee,” Essek said in a perfectly even and rehearsed tone, working past the fact he felt like he was being punched repeatedly in the face each time he noticed something new about the extremely handsome man. He was wearing a nametag but he just couldn’t focus enough to read it. His hands were large. Really large. Gods above and below, were bakeries always this warm?

“Which blend would you like for the black coffee?”

“What?” Essek asked, startled because for some reason the handsome man was still talking to him.

“For the black coffee,” the man repeated, pointing to the different...canniesters? What did you call those? He didn’t know the word. Coffee-holder would be what he would call it in Undercommon. Essek didn’t like this. He was going off script. This was why he hated new places. “We have three blends. Dark, medium, and light.”

Did it matter? Essek thought, now concerned that it did. He had always just assumed that the different types..obviously were roasted for different times. But it all tasted the same to him.

“Dark,” Essek said, feeling as if this had been happening for an hour. He needed to go lay down. The handsome man began to press the buttons into his register.

“Would you like anything else? We have some samples of our honey-buns,” the man said, motioning to the tray on the counter with bite-sized portions cut out. “They are our highest seller for breakfast items.”

“I’ll take a dozen,” Essek said. Hopefully this too would help ease the fact he was definitely late, plus, the office-girls always loved sweet things. He offered his card to the cashier, who motioned to the coins-only sign. “I’m sorry, sir. Card reader is down unfortunately. Haven’t had a chance yet to renew the enchantment.”

“It’s no problem,” Essek said, fishing out his coin purse and placing the coins into his hand. His skin brushed--hot, no he wasn’t thinking about it.

“Of course,” the man said. “I’ll get that ready for you. I’ll need a name for the coffees though.”

“Essek.”

“Thank you.”

Essek stepped to the side, the place labeled with pick up. Essek stood there, trying to be interested in his phone. Empire News Network was reporting about some sort of sea creature sighting by sailors. He was more interested in the little white-board by the pick up station. Written in beautiful looping cursive was “Send me a Message!”, the name of the messaging and photo app that was popular nowadays. There was a list of names...most likely employees: @nottthebrave, @captntusktooth, @ohnoregard, @caddyshack, @orphanmaker, @littlesapphire, @caleb_widogast, and @frumpkinthefeyking. Above them all was @XhorhausBakery, the emblem with the little cat and the crown next to a tree.

Bad idea, Essek thought, though his own Message was open. This was a bad idea. But which one was the hot cashier? It wouldn’t hurt...just to follow him would it? He needed to figure out which one of them was the hot cashier, but, he didn’t think he could look at the hot cashier for long without his eyes burning.

“Coffees and honey-buns for Essek!”

The cheerful accented voice came from the blue tiefling, who nearly leaned over the counter. She was dressed in a white dress and the blue apron, and wore a pink bandana tied to the top of her head in front of her curled horns. On the front of her apron was pinned the name tag, “Hi I’m Jester!”

“You made the right choice, though I also love the elephant ears, oh and the macarons, but don’t get me started on the cupcakes!” Jester said excitedly, giving him the drinks in the drink holder and the box. The box itself was a simple robin’s egg blue, but it was tied with a pretty pink ribbon. “You should come back for the cupcakes! We enchant them so they give you different sensations as you eat!”

“Are all the sweets here enchanted?” Essek asked, suddenly now very nervous about the box of treats he was holding.

“Yep! We’re a maaaagic bakery,” Jester said, with her fingers wiggling on the word magic. Essek noticed a holy symbol of some sort tied to her wrist.

“What do these do?” Essek asked, holding up the box.

“Oh! Those? The honey changes flavors, and it gives the scent of flowers as you chew! Like a little bee going through a field,” Jester said excitedly. “Right Caleb?”

Essek’s head whipped to the side so fast he probably almost broke something. There was a large hand that raised with a thumb’s up. Hot cashier was Caleb.

“Thank you,” Essek said, and without any further ado he was out of the bakery like hellhounds were at his feet.

Essek managed to get to the meeting within the bounds of polite lateness. The Bright Queen accepted her drink, as did her wife Quana. Essek handed the box of honey-buns off to the receptionists who took them gleefully. He spent the first part of the morning responding to emails and inquiries. He quickly got together the itinerary for her next visit to Assarius for the conference on magic education. He absently pawed at his coffee, taking a quick sip. The coffee was good enough that he paused for a moment, before shaking his head. It was all mental, after all, it was just black coffee. It didn’t stop him from downing it though.

“Essek,” Leylas Kryn said as she left her office. Essek ripped his tome-pad from its charging station and followed her as he usually did. “Thank Luxon, at least you are able to keep appointments. Why are people so incapable of keeping to schedule. You took care of the itinerary?”

“Yes, the schedule was sent out to you and the core ambassadors five minutes ago,” Essek said as he tapped the screen open. “Travel has been booked, your private plane should be ready to go at 8:00. Hotel at the Pillow Trove has been arranged--the Royal Suite, as usual. I also made sure to set restaurant options for you, though I have of course included both my recommendations as well as your travel agent.”

“Tell Orphea that I said no on the model she chose for the Tal’dorei spread. I said I wanted young, fresh, illuminating. She sent tired and dowdy. We want people to be celebrating the Xhorhassian cultural boom, the renaissance of our people might I add, and not rolling their eyes. Also RSVP that party Zethris Olios is holding if you haven’t done so.”

“Already taken care of, ma’am. I told the driver to pick you up at 9:45 sharp, and made sure to request the drink selections for your entourage...in mini-bottles, of course.”

“Wonderful work, Essek as always I know I can count on you,” she said with a nod before looking back at him. “And by the way, that latte you got me today was fantastic. I know Quana greatly enjoyed her drink as well. The girls were raving about those...uh...honey-buns all morning too. Make that your usual stop if you don’t mind. No use going to a coffee shop and a different bakery when you can just get everything at one place.”

Essek nearly tripped over his own feet, but managed to catch himself. After all, he couldn’t scuff his shoes. He had just bought them.

“Of course,” Essek said, trying to write the reminder in his phone...his Message was just staring at him...hot cashier-Caleb taunting him. He had thought it would be one time. He could follow the man on his public Message page and oggle at him because he would never see him ever again. Attraction was so much neater and simpler if the people on the other end of it...well...if they were simply reduced to pictures of them and their cat maneuvering a coffee machine.

It was fine though, Essek snapped at himself. He was an adult. He could deal with looking at an attractive man every morning. If anything, it would be a nice distraction from the daily grind.

“Essek!” Maruo crowed from her office space as they walked by, her goblin ears perked up excitedly. “Those pastries you got were amazing! I was gonna eat the last one, but did you want it?”

"No thank you...I don't particularly like sweets," Essek said, as graciously as possible. Leylas Kryn raised an eyebrow at him. She waved at Maruo who gave her the honey bun instead.

"You don't like sweets?" she asked him, sounding extremely suspicious as they continued to walk. The sound of Leylas Kryn’s heels were enough to get everyone in the hallway to move out of her way. As they walked towards the elevator, the drow woman in it exited with a nod of her head and seemed content to wait for the next one.

"Not really," Essek admitted. He couldn't remember the last pastry he had eaten. Part of the issue was that he didn't get very hungry. That morning he had a breakfast bar...the night before...well he had eaten leftover take out. He didn't remember eating lunch at all yesterday--he probably hadn't. He had been on the phone with the interviewer. Most of the time, he got home and was simply too exhausted to make a substantial effort.

The other part of it was food didn't hold much appeal to him. He thought back to when he was growing...minimally but growing, and he had eaten two huge meals a day. He went out to dinner with these important executives and politicians now and picked at his plate. It took such an effort to get up in the morning and to do the things he needed to do that enjoying food was low on his priorities.

"Eat it," she ordered, shoving the honey bun in his face as they walked out of the elevator and into the main lobby. "You need a little sweetening, Essek."

"Give him a whole box," Quana Kryn chuckled as she saddled up next to Leylas as they walked to the car. She was dressed in a power suit that immaculately matched Leylas’ little black dress and red pumps. It annoyed Essek how perfectly in sync they were, especially considering that Leylas left their house at least an hour before Quana so they didn’t even have time to coordinate. Did having sex regularly do that to a couple? Essek didn’t delve in much further with that line of questioning

"I am perfectly pleasant at all times," Essek said, with a signature smile.

"Of course, but something sweet never hurt anyone," Leylas said with an irritatingly knowing gaze as the driver opened the door for them. “Follow us in your car?”

“Yes, of course, I will meet you there,” Essek said, and then with a pop of the door and the engine, the Kryns were off to take on Rosohna. Essek stood on the curb for a moment, looking at the honey-bun he had in his hand. With all the excitement that a child had when taking a health potion, Essek bit into the pastry.

It was a revelation. Still crisp on the outside, fluffy on the inside. A smooth, mellow, and yet fragrant honey and cinnamon swirl sandwiched within layers of buttery, fluffy pastry. There was the scent of spring-time and lazy summer mornings when dew was fresh on the grass and wildflowers and there was that pleasant warmth in the air, and the frosting itself was vanilla and honey and just a dash of sea-salt.

Before he realized it, it was gone from his hand. The magic had dissipated, and left him yearning for more.

Oh no, he thought. This couldn’t end well.

----

With the Kryns at the conference for the week, one would think that Essek may have time to breathe. However, being one of the high-ranking people at the company meant that somehow he got even more mucked down in the day-to-day tasks. He did go to the Xhorhaus Bakery a few more times, but always called in his order ahead. He would catch a glimpse of Caleb, on occasion receive a smile or a welcome, before being handed his order and rushing right out. Essek could pretend it was the assistants' fault...or the marketing department, who were all actually obsessed with the treats he was bringing in on a daily basis. But really, he was the sucker making the point to go in there like some sort of lovestruck teenager to ogle at the cute boy behind the counter.

When he finally arrived on his day off, it was a solid relief. Though, as usual for being a drow, Essek was up early and with little to do. Essek didn’t enjoy cleaning...he did have people who did that after all. He technically had a gym membership...but hated working out more than anything. He ought to visit his den, as any good drow boy did on his day off, but the idea of seeing his family tended to make him nauseous. His eyes caught a stack of books that he hadn’t gotten around to reading--

It was a bad idea...but he was going to do it anyway. He had never been a paragon of wisdom anyways. He dressed as comfortably as he ever let himself dress, after all, life was a performance. If he wasn’t wearing the absolute best, then he was always going to be judged as the absolute worst. And on top of that, Essek was a vain creature who spent a lot of money on deep conditionings for his curls and on his crystal facials (which, honestly, the crystals probably didn’t do anything but they felt expensive and Essek always liked feeling expensive). The one thing he could always control was the way he looked, and he liked looking good.

With his black leather messenger bag slung on his shoulder, his peacoat buttoned, and his boots on, he headed out into the cold morning. In Roshona it was always night, but definitely not temperature controlled. Essek buried his chin more stubbornly in his scarf as he continued to walk through the streets. When he arrived at Xhorhaus Bakery, he felt appropriately wind-tousled and cold. The building itself was warm, and wafted the crippling good scents butter and vanilla to a distracting degree.

It was busy, as Essek had guessed it would be so early in the morning. His shoulder was beginning to ache by the time he reached the front counter. But all of his earthly concerns were wiped away when he met Caleb’s blue eyes. He still wore the white shirt and apron that was the uniform most likely, but that day he was also wearing a button with a cat on his apron. He still looked devastatingly attractive in every possible way and it wasn’t fair because he looked like he had just rolled out of the bed. Essek needed at least an hour in the morning to talk himself into being even vaguely pleasant.

“Oh! Guten Morgen, and welcome back to the Xhorhaus Bakery,” Caleb said, a certain pleasant crinkle to his expression. He was smiling a soft, gentle smile that caught Essek off guard. “What can I get you this morning?”

“What do you recommend for coffee?” Essek asked him, placing his palms on the counter--stretching cold-bitten fingers. He was having heart palpitations, he was pretty sure. He kept trying to look at Caleb and he just couldn’t. It was like looking into the headlights of a car. “I normally just drink black coffee but…”

“I’ll make something for you then,” Caleb offered. “I have a drink in mind. I would also recommend our turnovers today.”

“I’ll have that then,” Essek said, handing over his coins. Caleb took it, opened the ancient looking cash register and handed back the change. Essek slid it into the tip jar.

“Danke. Is that for here or to go?”

“Here, thank you,” Essek said, reslinging the bag and going to find a table.

Essek took a corner table by the window and set about settling in. He balanced his messenger bag on the extra chair before pulling out his books, parchment, and his fountain pen. Essek had always enjoyed spellcraft...he had majored in it in university. Advanced Dunamancy with a minor in Spellcraft Engineering. Gods, if there had been any sort of work besides military for wizardry Essek would have pursued it as a career. But the choice had been military or starving eternal adjunct professor and Essek didn’t find either attractive. Essek had applied for an internship at the government’s Cultural Offices, and had gotten that and through that had managed to work his way up to assistant to Leylas Kryn herself.

It was a well paying job, with fashionable perks like fancy parties. But Essek didn’t love it. He was good at it, but he didn’t enjoy it. Essek didn’t enjoy much in life, so these little treasures he snuck were so much more important.

He was in the middle of reading the second chapter of the Durolvir Lectures on Dunamancy when movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He lifted his head from his book just as the blue tiefling named Jester settled down the tray and the coffee. Her tail curled in the air like a cat catching the sight of something interesting to bat at.

“You totally came back! I knew you would!” Jester said, leaning on the table. Her rather impressive muscles on this display and tipping the table slightly in her excitement. Essek scooped up his cup and the saucer to keep it from spilling on his book and on his notes. On the side of the cup it had the image of swans in a springtime scene, a rather quaint and adorable image.

“I’m surprised you remembered me,” Essek noted, taking a sip of his coffee. It had milk, which was a departure from normal from him. It was smooth and creamy and honestly? The best cup of coffee he had ever had in his whole life. He hadn’t realized he had sighed until he saw Jester was still looking at him rather intently.

“Well duh, of course I remember you. You’re hot boi!”

“...hot boy?” Essek repeated somewhat incredulously.

“I know your name, silly, but you are totally hot boy. Every time you’ve come in here you’ve ordered by phone, rushed in, and grabbed it. I was just surprised to see you actually sitting down this time, which you should do more because, like, we would get to hang out.”

“Well, thank you,” Essek said with a more legitimate smile. “Unfortunately, I am not very good company.”

“I don’t believe that for a single minute,” Jester said suspiciously before shrugging playfully. “But it’s okay if you’re shy! Caleb can be shy too. So what do you do? Where are you from? What’s your mother’s name? Are you married?”

“Are you always this curious?”

“Just about our regulars!” Jester chirped. “Ooookay maybe I lied, I’m curious about everyone but especially our regulars.”

“Well...I am not married. My mother’s name is Dierta Theylss, of Den Theylss. I am from here, and I am an assistant.”

“Ooo, do you work for someone really cool?”

“Perhaps,” Essek said, settling down his cup as he felt that he was no longer in danger. “But I would like to keep some air of mystery.”

“You are mysterious, Essek,” Jester said, utterly tickled-pink...or blue...by that. “Alright, well I gotta go get other people their things, I’ll be over here so just holler if you need something!”

“I will,” Essek promised but suddenly jumped as he felt the sensation of something brushing against his leg. He looked below to see a cat, a well-cared for orange tabby circling his legs. Essek was not used to cats...they were a rather foreign phenomenon that had just recently been introduced. Essek timidly reached his fingers out to brush his head and was rewarded with the creature butting its face against him. He yawned, gave him a slow blink, and then puttered off to parts unknown...which was a basket by the window.

Now thoroughly distracted from his reading and with a plate in front of him, he took another crack at this sugar-thing. Essek took a bite from the turnover, and nearly groaned. The outside butter-puff-pastry was crisp, and the sugar nearly shattered. The inside was first caramel-apple and then it was sharp lemon and then again tart-sweet raspberry. He finished it quickly, taking long luxurious sips of his coffee after he did. Essek couldn’t help but wave over one of the servers he hadn’t met yet. It was the halfling woman who was balancing a tray full of plates and cups on her hip. On her shirt was a name tag that said “Veth”.

“What’s up?” Veth asked curiously.

“Do you know what sort of enchantment is being used in the baking process?” Essek asked.

“It’s not an enchantment per say,” Veth said, brushing her apron with her free hand. “Caleb’s not an enchantment wizard, he’s a transmutation wizard.”

“Caleb is the one who developed this spell?” Essek asked. There was a fluttering of excitement in his chest. A wizard. Had someone magically engineered this man somewhere to make him absolutely perfect for Essek’s imagination? He came to this bakery to...well...enjoy his books and catch a few glimpses at the man. Essek hadn’t come there to get his heart stolen right out from his chest.

“I helped him a bit, but yeah,” Veth said, tugging at her braid thoughtfully before she got a glint in her eyes. “If you are interested I’m sure he’d be happy to explain it to you.”

“Oh no, no,” Essek said, waving his hand desperately. Scripted conversations like ordering at the counter were totally fine. Essek enjoyed parameters and unspoken understandings of conduct, in fact, that was where he shined. But actually speaking to Caleb? Essek couldn’t think of anything more panic-inducing than that.

“No, he’ll be absolutely thrilled!” Veth trilled excitedly. “I’ll go scrounge him up for you!”

She darted off before Essek could get in another word edgewise. This left Essek sitting there, his body nearly vibrating with uncontrolled dread. For a moment Essek seriously considered shoving his things into his bag and running out of the bakery. He wasn’t fast enough, however. As he saw Caleb pop out from behind the counter and begin to walk towards his table. He couldn’t risk never being able to come into this establishment ever again, so he just sat there as Caleb walked up to the table. He was taller than Essek had expected...maybe the counter had done something to his perspective besides giving him a barrier that allowed Essek to imagine that Caleb was some sort of perfect dreamt-up figment of Essek’s socially isolated imagination.

“Veth said you had a question for me?” Caleb asked curiously.

“Ah...it wasn’t anything so major...I was just curious about the spell used to change the flavors of the turnovers,” Essek said, taking a sip of his coffee to clear his suddenly clogged throat. He wished he could melt into the floor...to float away...to disappear completely. However Caleb’s open and earnest gaze kept Essek pinned there in the present.

“It’s a modification of Minor Alchemy,” Caleb explained, taking the empty seat across from him.

“Temporary changes the essence of one object into another for a short period of time,” Essek said, his fascination pushing back his embarrassment. “How do you do it on such a large scale then?”

“I cast it on the filling as it’s being made,” Caleb explained, there was a certain twinkle in his eye. “Are you interested in spellcraft, Herr Essek? I see you are certainly reading some heavy texts.”

“Oh,” Essek said, looking down at the books scattered about in front of him. “Wizardry is just a hobby of mind nowadays.”

“I don’t think Advanced Studies on Magic, Time, and Space sounds like a hobby,” Caleb joked, holding up the textbook before settling it down with a reverence that had Essek’s stomach twist. “Though I have to admit, dunamancy has been an area I’ve been extremely interested in since immigrating to Xhorhas.”

“University is still selective...well, racist would be a better term for it...against Empire nationals,” Essek said softly, smoothing the page in front of him. “Unfortunately, it is just a hobby for me nowadays. I used to be a working wizard, but...well, the bills don’t pay themselves. It’s not a very interesting story so I won’t bore you with the details.”

“I have been lucky enough to be able to use what I love every day with the help of my friends,” Caleb said with a knowing look. “I hope you can do that too at some point.”

“Yes...I would like to think so,” Essek said, his fingers curling over the pages of his book. He met Caleb’s gaze and for a moment something passed between them that had Essek tingling all over and--

“Caleb, stop flirting and get back over here!” A gruff female voice called out from over the counter. The human girl in blue glowered over in their direction. Essek watched Caleb’s face turn a delightful shade of pink, unfurling across his skin like the petals of a distant flower. He was so very grateful for the shade of his skin concealing his own embarrassment.

“I hope to see you here again sometime soon, Herr Essek,” Caleb said as he got up.

“Just Essek,” he corrected. “And yes...sometime soon for sure.”

Essek watched Caleb walk off, cradling the warm cup in his hands, and couldn’t help but smile.

#critical role #critical role fanfic #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast

52 notes · View notes

kitsmits · 4 years

Note

Can I get ✿ ♡ ☼ for Kaiya, Kakashi, and Itachi for the headcanon meme?

Ooooo ^_^ I did them separately, though of course each character’s headcanon will probably reference each other :P Slight NSFW ahead. Putting this under a “read more” line because it got loooong.

✿ - Sex headcanon

Kaiya has a really high sex drive. One might call her “insatiable,” though it’s more just loads of stamina. Very playful, can go for hours through multiple orgasms, and quite flexible ;) For Kaiya, sex isn’t just about love, lust, or being intimate; it’s also an outlet, a way to work out stress, aggression, frustration, or loneliness. Sometimes it’s a way to escape. Sometimes she just wants to feel good. That’s not to say she’s a selfish lover; quite the opposite. She LOVES getting her partner to cum, making them lose control - though often, she winds up losing control herself in the process :P Whatever else the sex is about though, Kaiya needs to be able to feel open and vulnerable, something she can only do with someone she trusts completely.

When Kakashi first became sexually active, he was in Anbu, and it was never about love. It was part curiosity, part just wanting to get it over with, part needing to feel connected with another human being. He’s only had a few partners over the years, not limited to a single gender, always someone he trusted implicitly - but never romantic. He never allowed it to go beyond the occasional fuck in the dark. By the time he left Anbu, his drive had actually gone down (inversely related to his rising depression); he’s only visited those partners a few times in the years since. Though he’s had plenty of opportunities for one-night-stands with strangers, he’s never indulged in one. It’s not that he’s not sexually attracted to others; he just doesn’t trust himself not to hurt them, even for a single night. Plus, he just doesn’t like letting his mask down for anyone he doesn’t absolutely trust - literally or figuratively.

Itachi is a virgin. He’s had opportunities, but I see Itachi as demi-sexual: he has to feel a deep connection to a person in order to be sexually attracted to them. In TUTN-verse, Kaiya’s probably the only person he’s felt that close to. Even then, he tried to fight it, and if she never made that first move, he might have succeeded by virtue of convincing himself that she didn’t want him like that way anyway. However, once Itachi experiences sex with that special someone, he has a hard time resisting the urge around them. He wants to make them feel exquisite, wants to worship at their feet and have them writhing in ecstasy again and again. He will put his considerable self-control to use in order to last as long as they need him to, only letting himself go when he’s certain they’ve been fully satisfied.

♡ - romantic headcanon

Kaiya HATES romance novels. She thinks rom-coms are unrealistic and overly sappy. If she were in any such scenario, she’d probably laugh and find the whole thing ridiculous...all while wondering, in the back of her mind, when the facade would fall away. (Given what happened with her first romantic attachment, can you blame her?) For Kaiya, “real” romance is found in quiet moments. It’s in being comfortable with a person and not needing to question their motives or intentions. It’s in kind, thoughtful gestures, in watching each other’s back. It’s in being able to tell each other anything without feeling obligated to do so. For Kaiya, romance is found in trust. Without trust, everything else is window dressing that probably hides a horrible secret.

Everything thinks that Kakashi reads porn for, well, the porn. In reality, what he loves about the Icha Icha series is the romance that surrounds the sex scenes. In the books, it’s not just that the guy gets his rocks off in various situations by a variety of gorgeous women; it’s the banter, the buildup, the antici...

...sorry, couldn’t resist XD Anyway, the reason Kakashi got so embarrassed when he had to read Icha Icha out loud wasn’t the sex scenes. It was how sweet and fluffy and, yes, romantic the books are. He wants the kiss in the rain. He wants the petals on the bed, the candlelit dinners, the walks in the park where they talk about nothing and constantly brush hands. But thanks to his guilt complex, chronic depression, and pervasive belief that he’s poisonous to anyone who gets close to him, Kakashi has never sought a real-life romance with anyone.

Itachi doesn’t think about “romance.” At all. Even in a kinder, gentler life, he’s too preoccupied with other issues to consider it. Candle-lit dinner? Why, when he can cook his partner’s favorite foods in the comfort and privacy of their home? What Itachi does think about is his partner’s well-being. He’ll bring tea and sandwiches if they’re working too hard to stop for a meal. He’ll listen to their ideas and their grievances. He’ll draw a hot bath with epsom salts and lay a blanket over their sleeping form, planting a kiss on their forehead before turning off the light. Honestly, he’d probably love being a house husband. For Itachi, romance is doing things for his partner - and he doesn’t think of it as “romance.” He doesn’t really think about it at all. He just does.

☼ - appearance headcanon

...soooo I’m honestly not sure what this one means in the context of anime/manga characters who have plenty of pictures floating around out there :P I’m interpreting it as what are some more realistic aspects of their appearances that you wouldn’t be able to tell from the anime style.

Not sure why, but I’m picturing Kaiya’s lips right now. Her lips aren’t “full,” per se. Definitely not “pillowy.” They’re mid-sized and shapely, with a sharply defined Cupid’s bow and a natural, vulpine upturn. Prolonged eye contact with her can be a bit uncomfortable for some, as she inherited her father’s piercing, sharp baby blues. The exception to this is when they’re filled with mirth. Then, it’s hard to look away. Her eyelashes are sort of a rusty auburn, long but not very thick. Face claims incluse model Cintia Dicker, Turkish actress Elçin Sangu (an early inspiration), and most of all this model from several Maja Topcagic photos:

Kakashi is the definition of “chiseled.” For some reason, when I imagine him aging, he sorta looks like Anthony Bourdain. Sorta. That might say more about me than it does anything else. Also I’ve been listening to one of Bourdain’s books (read by him) so maybe he’s just on my brain.

Itachi, we all know, has eyelashes for daaaays. Lips are on the thin side, but shapely and soft. He definitely takes after his mother a lot in looks, especially as a young man, but I think if he were allowed to age he’d slowly turn more like his father. Never so beady-eyed or frown-jowled, though. He just has that more angular shape and longer chin that becomes more pronounced with age. Also, for some reason, he’s never really liked his ears. It’s part of why he grew his hair out and wears his bangs so long.

#ask me things #ask meme #tutn #to unravel the night #headcanons #kaiya #kakashi #itachi #kaikashi #itakai

6 notes · View notes

reckless-snd-brave · 5 years

Text

Change - S.H

I don’t see a lot of plus size Imagines, so I figure why not throw some out there. This is the first I’m writing for Stranger Things, so it may not be great. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is highly appreciated, and I’m taking requests.

Steve Harrington x plus size/ chubby reader

Something super cute

Warnings: insecurity, bullying (if I missed anything, let me know!)

I do not own this gif, all credit and rights to the owner.

It was now the beginning of summer, and unfortunately your start at scoops ahoy. It wasn’t great, but free ice cream was definitely a perk. You had to save money for a car, and boy would that just be fantastic. That being said, there was another problem. Steve Harrington was now your coworker, the Steve Harrington.

Sure, you heard of him, how could you not? But you always thought he was a prick who was full of himself. He hung out with your bullies and never once stopped them from harassing you. Therefore, you lumped him in with them. Now, you had to suffer working with him all summer. But you kept it civil, sticking to the job and not really engaging with him. Robin became a good friend though, and you loved the girl.

The sailor suit made you uncomfortable, showing too much skin. But Robin complemented you, saying it looked nice. Unfortunately, this attracted creepy men coming in to stare at your body like a piece of meat. You learned to deal with it.

On a slow day, Dustin Henderson walked into the shop with that adorable goofy grin. You loved him like a little brother, usually babysitting him and his friends. The boy looked happy to see you, but happier to see Steve. You watched with amusement as he interacted with the boy, all childish and silly. Maybe he wasn’t an asshole anymore, everyone changed at some point in their life.

“Steve, you never told me you worked with such a pretty lady. Y/N, it’s good to see you.” Dustin said, shooting you a wink.

You only giggled, making the boy blush. But Steve chuckled nervously, looking between you two. “Well, you missed out on a lot buddy.” He replied.

You made Dustin a sundae and watched as he talked to Steve sitting in a booth together. Unfortunately a rush began and Robin strolled in for her shift to help you out. Even though Steve was off, he stayed with Dustin and chatted. The conversation seemed important, and they both kept glancing at you.

That Friday night you were set to close by yourself, and you dreaded it. Customers always came in last second to loiter and eat ice cream. It annoyed you, making you waste time while they enjoyed themselves. Tonight was no different, a group of old bullies from school demanded to be served and took their sweet time.

After half an hour, the group got up and approached you. They looked smug, like they were up to something. Unease set in your stomach and you knew something was going on.

Jessica Wilder, the leader of the group, leaned across the counter. Her blonde hair perfectly styled, looking like a model. “Wow, it’s a shame that you work here. I was hoping you’d finally work on losing weight, because honey you need it.” She spoke with venom, her words holding a meanness behind them. “Oh well, maybe you’ll just gain more weight and no one will ever want you.”

You bit back tears, holding yourself together. You had trained yourself to put on a poker face. “Is that all for you today?” You asked, ignoring her harsh comments. You used your customer friendly voice.

Jessica’s boyfriend, Kyle, scoffed. “What a fat pig, I bet she eats all the ice cream while she works.” He said snarky. “You know, my milkshake wasn’t too good, better not waste it.”

And there it was, the action you knew was coming. He poured it all over your head, harshly throwing the paper cup down while laughing. Before you could get it together, Jessica and her other friends dumped their own ice cream on you as well. The laughter stabbed you like knives, bringing back the pain you hoped to never feel again. You kept the tears back as the walked out, snickering to themselves.

You quickly locked up and ran to the bathroom, desperately trying to clean yourself up. But it wasn’t working, and the frustration got to you. You cried while finishing your tasks that night, and hurried home. You decided that the job wasn’t worth it anymore, and you’d find something else.

The next day you walked in with your stained uniform neatly folded. You had tried cleaning it, but the stains were perminit, just as your pain was. With all the courage you could muster, you made yourself look indifferent. You didn’t want them knowing something was wrong.

Steve looked happy to see you, his bright smile almost making you feel better. But the his face fell when he spotted the uniform. He now looking concerned. As far as he could tell, you liked working with them. Had he done something wrong? Had he been a jerk somehow?

“Hey, what’s going on?” Steve asked, forcing a smile. “I hope you came to just get a new uniform, because if you quit I’ll be sad.” He half joked.

But the sad smile on your face now confirmed it. “I just came to return my uniform and let them know I can’t work here anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I loved working with you guys, but I can’t handle it anymore.” You admitted, try’s to avoid telling him what happened.

But Steve wasn’t having any of that. “Did something happen? Did I do something to make you upset? Because if I did I’m really sorry and I didn’t mean to.” He told you, with a frown.

You shook your head, smiling at how sweet he was being. You learned just how much he had changed. You had a feeling it was those kids.

“No, not you. Just some stupid kids last night while I was closing.” You told him, deciding to just dress up. “Jessica and her little crew came in and basically threw their ice cream on me.” When Steve’s face showed anger, not at you but still. “It’s not a big deal, I’m used to it.”

But Steve scoffed, wanting to knock the lights out of Kyle. “No, it is a big deal. You shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.” He protested. “You won’t be closing by yourself anymore and I promise you that they won’t mess with you anymore.”

He said it like ignoring the fact you were quitting. You had never seen him so upset before, it was nice of him to care but you didn’t want pity. You sighed heavily, giving him a pleading look. You didn’t want to cause trouble.

“Steve, please-“

“Just stick it out one more week, okay? I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Just stay one more week.” He bargained with you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. His touch was warm and comforting.

Of course your resolve crumbled at his pleading eyes. “Alright, just one week.” You agreeed sternly.

A bright smile lit up his face, a hopeful look in his eyes. “I’ll go get you a new uniform.”

Steve made up his mind, he wasn’t going to let them treat you like that. To Steve, the day you walked in that uniform, he fell in love. You’re body was beautiful, with soft curves and thick thighs. He just wanted to squeeze them, feel your soft skin. But it wasn’t just lust, you were incredibly special. The way you carried yourself, how you smiled at him and even laughed at his stupid jokes. He found himself constantly trying to make you smile, because it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

He parked outside Kyles house, ready to confront him. In all honesty, Steve knew he could handle him. Once he took Kyle down wrestling. He marched up to the foo and knocked.

An annoyed looking Kyle opened the door, stepping out on the porch. “What do you want, Harrington?” He asked.

“I want you to stop harassing Y/N. I don’t want to see you near the damn shop while she’s working, or else we will have a big problem.” He told Kyle with a snarl.

Kyle scoffed, looking amused. “Aww, here to protect your fat girlfriend? Honestly I never thought you’d stoop so low to date her. She so-“

But before he could finish, Steve’s fist connected with Kyles face. Then the fight ensued. Hard hits and cuts littered them both, but Steve had made his point. He left Kyle on the ground, groaning in pain. Steve was satisfied.

When Y/N walked into work the next day, she stopped in her tracks when she spotted him. Busted lip, bruised jaw and a few cuts on his cheek and nose. Her worried look turned into anger. In her signature way, she placed her hands on her hips and looked at him. He found it cute, how bossy she looked.

“Steve! I told you not to cause trouble. You big idiot.” She scolded him.

But Steve smiled, a kind of dopey smile. It was totally worth it. “Yeah, yeah. When have I ever listened?” He retorted. “Besides, I won.”

You rolled your eyes, slapping him in the chest. “Well, it’s over with now.” She said, sounding exhausted.

Before she could walk away, he grabbed her wrist gently. He smiled at her and moved his hand to hold hers. “Look, Y/N. I really like you, and you deserve to be treated better. I can’t stand the thought of you crying or being in pain because some dick bags.” He admitted. “So I did what I thought was right.”

Your anger melted, heart warming with his words. You couldn’t help the blush on your cheeks. “Steve, you don’t have to act like you like me.” You told him, not believing he could really like you.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not acting. You’re beautiful, Y/N. And god, do I want to show you. Every small detail, the subtle things you do, it drives me crazy.” He confessed.

You were stunned, unsure what to say. But he pulled you closer, warm breath fanning your face. He gave you time to pull away if you wanted, but you didn’t. So his kisses you, sweetly at first. It turned passionate, pouring his feelings into it. When he pulled back, he grinned.

“Can I take you out? On a date?” He asked quietly.

You smiled and nodded. “I’d love that.”

While Steve may have used to be a dick, he sure did change. He was glad he could finally find someone special to love:

#stranger things #stranger things x plus size reader #steeve harrington #steve harrington imagine #plussize!reader #plus size reader #fluff #im emotional #yass queen

127 notes · View notes

sweaterdressreviews · 4 years

Text

The best sweater dress ever

1. A sweater dress with wooden buttons running up the sides for an adorable babydoll look you can pair with tights, leggings, or even jeans and wear as a long, flowy, comfy top.

Promising review: "Perfect fall and winter wardrobe addition! Looks amazing with boots, and can be worn as a dress or with leggings, etc. The button detail is really cute. I am between sizes, (small/medium), and the medium I ordered has some wiggle room. I am 5’7 and around 145-150 pounds." —

Price: $18.59+ (available in 11 styles, and sizes S–2XL)

2. A tie-front option for a super chic outfit your friends won't believe you bought from AMAZON.

Promising review: "I love this dress! I was worried that the material would be uncomfortable and cheap-feeling, but I was pleasantly surprised with how comfy and flattering it is on. I wore this with high boots, and I got a lot of compliments!" —Ahlam Ayash

Price: $34.95 (available in three colors, and sizes S–XL)

3. And if you can't get enough tie-front, but want something a little more cocktail party-esque, this babe is perfect to add to your collection.

Promising review: "Did not expect this dress to be such great quality. It's not cheap sweater material. It's also not super thick sweater material, which is great because thicker sweater dresses tend to weigh themselves down when you wear them, and that causes the dress to stretch out. The color is also beautiful!" —Kay

Price: $19.99+ (available in six colors, and sizes S–XL)

4. A patterned bodycon that'll make an incredibly trendy addition to any wardrobe and help with channeling some serious fall vibes.

Promising review: "I have every print these dresses come in. Love them with leggings, they are a very comfy outfit. It's long enough to cover my backside, it's not as short as it seems in the picture, and I have a long torso. Love these dresses! Plus, they have pockets, which I'm happy about." —Katy

Price: $4.99+ (available in seven styles, and sizes S–2XL)

5. An oversized turtleneck dress for wearing on days you just wanna be cozy, but like, also don't wanna sacrifice looking hella cute.

Promising review: "I really wanted an oversized turtleneck sweater, and couldn’t find an affordable one anywhere. This is exactly what I was wanting. I ordered up one size to ensure the oversized look. The knitting is great and feels well-made. And the pockets are a bonus! Would definitely buy again." —Hannah Cifuentes

Price: $32.99+ (available in eight styles, and sizes S–XL)

6. A button-down choice that'll make you feel so glamorous, you'll have basically convinced yourself that it was made specifically for you by your very own designer.

Promising review: "Love this dress, it's made of nice, thick material. Really stretchy and comfortable. It runs a little big. I ordered a medium, but could have ordered a small." —candice shakes

Price: $23.99+ (available in five colors, and sizes XS–L)

7. A crewneck cable knit beauty to twirl around in all day and all night — just pair with your fave tall boots and you're g2g.

Promising review: "It is sooo soft!! What is this made from, unicorn fur??? It is the perfect length and just so perfect. And for the price? I purchased a blue one as well and am about to order a red, black, and possibly the beige one. I wish summer would never come now." —MSG

Price: $9.98+ (available in 10 colors and sizes S–XL)

8. A stretchy knit number that'll look good as either a long sweater with leggings or jeans, or a sweater dress — totally your choice!

Promising review: "My husband initially bought the red one for me. The cloth is thick, but soft, warm, (even if you don't wear any shirt/jacket under it), and comfortable. I already washed it multiple times, and the colors did not fade and the material did not shrink or become loose. I am 5'1" and 110 pounds. My husband bought the US size 6–10. I like that I can opt to wear a sweater underneath it in the winter. I am sooo happy about it that my husband purchased three other colors for me

Price: $19.99+ (available in 18 colors, and sizes 0–4/18–22)

9. A knitted tank dress that'll go perfectly over your favorite long-sleeve shirt — and if it's one of those warm fall days, you can totally pair it with a tee!

Promising review: "This sweater vest looks super cute with a shirt underneath, leggings, and short boots. I get so many compliments while wearing it. I ordered the black, and it goes great with everything. It's stretchy enough, but doesn't stretch out while wearing it." —Jewels M

Price: $26.99 (available in five colors, and sizes S—XL)

10. A turtleneck pencil to make your co-workers think you were a runway fashion show model in the early hours of the morning before heading into the office.

Promising review: "I love this dress! Honestly, I've yet to be disappointed with a PattyBoutik purchase. I'm so happy I stumbled upon her stuff a year ago! This dress is very warm and fitted, and fashionable! Until I found PattyBoutik, I was having a really hard time finding ATTRACTIVE work dresses, that were GOOD quality. I got so many compliments when I wore this to work!" —Laena

Price: $43.99 (available in sizes S–XL)

11. A lace-up bodycon that'll become your new fav party dress in the colder weather.

Promising review: "I love this dress! I'm going to order more, in different colors. Great dress for the price! I highly recommend this product! I'm 130 pounds, and ordered the medium." —Rachelle

Price: $17.99+ (available in five styles, and sizes S–2XL)

12. A color block option that'll be absolutely perfect dressing up and wearing to work, and then wearing to happy hour later. You deserve a drink — you work hard living a double life as a fashionista.

Promising review: "LOVE this dress, Looks exactly like the picture and fits as expected. It is a little above the knee, and I prefer below the knee, but it still worked for me. Very well-made. I would definitely purchase from this seller again. It was sure nice and warm this winter. Would also be a great dress for fall!" —Shelby549

Price: $24.99 (available in four colors, and sizes S—2XL)

13. A ribbed turtleneck knit for when you wanna wear something extra sleek, but also wanna feel nice and cuddly.

Promising review: "Typically, I don't write reviews, but I just had to in this case. This is my first time purchasing clothes from an Amazon seller. The reviews from other ladies helped me to decide to purchase, and what size to select. I was super anxious to add a sweater dress to my wardrobe. Let me tell you, this dress is OUTSTANDING and the quality and material is great. It's thick, but not overly so, and the material feels great. I am 5'2", 138 pounds, and wear a 36D bra. In US clothing size, I wear a size For all the ladies who provided measurements and comments, THANK YOU. I would not select anything smaller. I hope this helps, and I will certainly buy from this seller again." —VGilmore

Price: $30.99+ (available in 14 colors, and sizes XS–2XL)

14. A stretchy cowl neck that'll beg you to buy it in every color, and how can you resist? It's the perfect go-to dress to wear any time, any day, any place.

Promising review: "Let me put it this way — as soon as I got this in the mail and tried it on, I ordered a second color, plus I ordered two sweaters from the same company. It is incredibly flattering because of the angled 'seams' on the front. It’s super soft, and I it will hold up really well when washed in a mesh bag on a delicate cycle. This dress isn’t 'skin right,' but it IS very clingy. Also, it isn’t sheer, but you could see a hint of my black bra underneath, (fine for date night, but probably not for a PTA meeting or the office)." —Theresa S.

15. A flared sweater dress with a bow-tie accent for wearing on days you just wanna soak in a million compliments about your excellent taste in fashion.

Promising review: "Love the fit and feel of this dress! I want to wear it every day. I'm 5'6" and 158 pounds, and the large fits perfectly. The material is smooth and high-quality, and the skirt is heavy enough to flow and swing really nicely as you walk." —CherilynMV

Price: $49.99 (available in six colors, and sizes XS–XL)

16. A mermaid-style dress to show off your magical side — the magic being how good you are at picking out gorgine dresses.

Promising review: "This dress was sexy, but professional. I love sweater dresses, but most are short. This one had a little more length and the ruffle added a touch of class. I felt beautiful in it." —Socratic

17. A shift dress with a lace hem at the bottom that'll make you look effortlessly trendy. Not to mention, pockets...for...snacks...

Promising review: "Sweater knit dress that is soft and stretchy, not heavy. Perfect for cooler weather. Lovely lace trim. One must wear nude undergarments, because darker will show through. I love the length, wore today and received numerous compliments. I could wear a L but prefer the looser XL fit. This would look nice with tights and booties also. Happy with this sweater dress purchase. And I forget to mention... it has

18. A bodycon wrap dress available in either long or short sleeve for an outfit that says "I mean business, business about sweater dresses that is."

Promising review: "I just received this dress and LOVE It!!! It is a fitted dress and runs slightly small, so I would recommend sizing up a size if you don't want it really fitted or don't want any bulges. There is stretch though. The style is so nice, and i will be buying in another color! For sizing reference, I am 5'1 and about 132 pounds, and I ordered a medium. I could probably go with a size large, also. Small would be too tight." —Amazon Customer

Want more? Check out our favorite online clothing stores for all your shopping needs, perfect places to shop for clothes if you’re in your 30s, plus the best places to order custom t-shirts online and the best clothing stores for petite sizes. Still not satisfied? Check out all of our clothing content for even more.

1 note · View note

sasukeslilkitten · 4 years

Text

an essay about fashion dolls in recent days by an adult doll collector

as a doll collector, even though I grew up with Barbie, when Bratz came out, they took my heart & I think eternally Bratz will be the doll that I love the most.

as an adult i literally despise Barbie because even though the premise was Barbie is rich bitch who can do anything, her proportions were very irksome & unrealistic to me even as a child & as I grew up I was more & more disgusted by her. Sure, in 60s-90s that body was ideal & could even be considered ideal now. But twig arms, ridiculous super model height, exaggerated hip & chest with nickel wide waist just seems very detrimental to me. Not to mention every so often buzzfeed or daily mail etc will bring you the stories of women turning themselves into barbie dolls... & yes, I recognize that Barbie has become more inclusive to everyone now, but in my opinion, Barbie is almost like aged up American Girl, the Disney of the doll world.

However, I felt like Bratz had a very typical & realistic body type for someone between the age of twelve to even twenty two. Bratz bodies aren’t very plastic surgery heavy at all. Bratz were the embodiment of the nineties, a symbol of the changing times by that point. The fashion dolls. Flashy, exciting & alternative. The doll for the egirl, the doll with edge. The doll for the youth with a passion for fashion. At one point my mom had taken a good deal of my Bratz doll clothes for her Bratz & when I was left to look at the remaining clothes I thought “wow, these are literally the sluttiest clothes.” I loved it! Barbie may be a doctor or a lawyer, but the Bratz spent big money on their clothes to go out dancing in, Bratz are out here to have fun. The Bratz would feature in a style magazine more times than Barbie ever could with hair & make up leagues louder & flashier than Barbie could ever dream.

Bratz are my favorite doll & nothing will change my feelings for the original Bratz. It is incredibly painful that Mattel bought out Bratz when they were fighting a losing battle against Littlest Pet Shop.. Yet I would like to bring up that having Bratz aimed at both adults & children would have been the better way to go. There is a good enough amount of adult collectors besides myself who would quickly jump to a preorder of a new Bratz doll in the original style. & we had that happen in 2018 & the adult collectors loved it! So why hasn’t it happened again?

When Mattel bought out Bratz they changed the Bratz body to resemble a smaller & more realistic, toned down Barbie. At first, it was so subtle that I saw the body had changed & I could tell you how it changed, but I didn’t realize it was a smaller more proportionate version of Barbie’s body until I read someone else say it in an article & I couldn’t unsee it. My opinion on the second Bratz body is that, if Bratz never had a first body, if the second body was the original, I would be completely fine with it because it seemed like a regular lady body with no flash & slightly more human than the original Bratz body.

Another change Mattel had made was they toned down the new Bratz hair & make up. Hairs weren’t done over the top or super stylized anymore, they became very basic, & I can’t think of any second body doll with a fun make up at all. Did they even wear make up at this point?? & the face became far reminiscent of My Scene. Yet, one thing I did appreciate about the hair change was we got a lot more short hairs which Bratz never did before. Like Shania is a great example of that. I had to have Shania solely for her hair. But the body change caused a difference in fit between the originals & the dolls after Mattel bought them out. The difference isn’t terrible, but as much as I tried to like the second body, when I would share clothes between the original & second bodies, the clothes fit awkwardly on the opposing bodies, to the point it was irritating in some cases but interesting in others.

Then Monster High became a phenomenon. I couldn’t understand this. Of course I liked the alternative monster based premise. I love that idea! However, their bodies disgusted me. I didn’t like the fact there would be zero compatibility between Monster High & Bratz. I didn’t like their weird scoliosis & tiny binded chests. The only appeal I could fathom with Monster High was the fun monster concept for girls with alternative interests. Also, for many years, I was under the impression Monster High only wore dresses which was really disturbing to me.

After Mattel found Bratz proceeding to lose the battle against Monster High, they came out with possibly the greatest & most ill fated doll line; Bratzillaz. For those who don’t know, they are a combination of the second Bratz body with the posibility of Monster High. & their face is a slightly toned down version of the original Bratz with a layered glassy looking eye. Their faces have a softer, more adorable & angelic look than any other doll I have ever encountered in my life. Their faces are like a mix of original Bratz with Pullip. I admit that when it came to clothing & ideas, Bratzillaz were lacking miserably. Rather than even trying to fight the monster idea, they were a witch academy. Yet there were werewolf & mermaid characters. There were a lot of fun colored hair & eyes. For being dolls so breathtakingly beautiful, they had an incredibly painful run of one full year, maybe a little over a year.

Instead Mattel decided to make Bratz more child oriented. Again, many adult collectors would still be very into the original fashion heavy Bratz dolls... But no, we get these god awful alien bodied, deformed Bratz dolls. Their bodies look a lot more like Monster High but if you completely removed the ability to pose them... So what’s even the point then? They can’t do anything, they can’t stand or even sit down! They can’t share any of their clothes with any other Bratz line whatsoever. I admit, some of them had really fun hair (mostly when it comes to color) & really fun clothes, yet what do the clothes even matter if you can’t even display the doll? I had seen a couple in a thrift store & I had bought them only to be severely disappointed. I actually tried to buy a fashion pack meant for the third Bratz body only to find the shoes didn’t snap on to any of the bodies i had. Yet I kept their heads & bought original Bratz bodies for them. Yet this horrible gesture of grotesquely mutilating Bratz did nothing to save the doll, proving that all Mattel wanted to do was murder Bratz & never give them a chance. Not as long as their precious Barbie still existed. When all along, adult collectors still watch, buy, sell & customize the original Bratz.

A couple days ago I had gone to a thrift store with a friend where I found a whole damn pile of twenty plus Monster High dolls. As I expressed before, I didn’t like Monster High & I never have. I have seen many dumped into thrift stores & passed over them without a second thought. But here, I had to look in the pile, holding out hope that I would find an original Bratz doll mixed in.. & as I sifted through these bizarre dolls, I did find myself ensorcelled by some. I enjoyed their fun skin tones & vibrant hair colors, & because they were only a dollar each, I bought seven of my favorites. I took them home & fixed them up & redid some of the hairs I didn’t like. & I had a lot of fun. I still don’t like their strange finger sized chests & their weird scoliosis torsos yet I had a lot of fun posing their bodies.

I inspected their brand online & found a couple other dolls by them that I liked. Nowhere near the number of my fondness & love for the original Bratz. But I did change my mind a good deal about them. I would like to collect some of them & it’s interesting to know that they can pretty much (although awkwardly) wear Bratz clothes & it would seem they are more compatible with the third Bratz body. & in an interesting twist, they can also probably wear My Scene shoes. & it would seem that they were in fact manufactured with some pairs of pants & shirts, although it is weird to me how many dresses they chose to incorporate. I also liked the ability to remove the hands to get long sleeve shirts & jackets on with more ease & the ability to customize dolls with different limbs. They also had fun hairs & unlike the original Bratz, Monster High not only included a lot of fun colors for their hairs, but also different lengths. Their make up wasn’t quite as flashy, but the point is, they still tried & there were fun colors to be experienced along with plenty of fun hair styles. But Monster High can’t actually be considered a fashion doll in the same way Bratz are.

I guess eventually Monster High also lost their popularity & attempted to revive the brand by gearing them more toward a younger audience, which obviously failed.

I see a lot of people online, on various platforms, customizing & presenting original Bratz dolls in a very fanciful & inspiring way. People really go all out with their original Bratz dolls fashion wise, from paying for programs to spending heaps of time editing very intense magazine like photoshoots of their dolls, to people literally sewing & buying one of a kind clothes for their dolls. Buying specialized Bratz wigs to custom re rooting, yet I didn’t see anyone anywhere going this hard with Monster High.

Some of these people have now picked up these new Lol Omg dolls. I think these dolls are adorable! I wouldn’t buy every one that’s come out, but I already love them profusely & far more than I ever admired Monster High. I can’t wait to see what they do next! One opinion I have though as an adult collector who strictly collects out of commission dolls, I can easily find every style of Bratz & Monster High for under fifteen dollars on ebay & for less than five in thrift stores. Yet, because no child has received a Lol Omg doll, grown up & discarded it, it seems like I would have to buy these dolls new :\ & there is one I really like & want that is new but it comes with a set of the stupid original Lol Surprise figurines, which I’m saying I’m an adult collector, I have no use for those stupid things..

In closing I want to say that thus far, I will always love the original Bratz & Mattel took something with amazing promise & shit all over it for everyone. Monster High wasn’t as bad as I thought, but save for the third body Bratz, is one of the lesser doll lines I’ve seen as an adult collector. I am super happy & excited to see what Lol Omg does with their dolls as I am very eager & enthusiastic about collecting them. Yet by far, the best doll out of all the ones I’ve encountered is Bratzillaz. Even though they appeared to be a total failure, most of those dolls are still trending at thirty dollars new in box. They didn’t have the greatest fashions, but when it comes to their bodies & faces, nothing surpasses their heavenly beauty.

#this is just my opinion though

7 notes · View notes

wyntertimes-blog · 4 years

Text

From Todays: PopBitch News Can't be arsed to switch your gas and electricity supplier? Get free service LOOK AFTER MY BILLS to do it for you. 2 minute sign up, they switch you to a great deal taking care of everything. When that deal ends they automatically switch you again without you having to do a thing! Average saving £253. Over 200,000 customers signed up and they're rated 'Excellent' on Trustpilot with 5,842 reviews.

[Find out more here]

"I never had a rider. I got my thermos." – Slick Rick

Free newsletter every Thursday subscribe

Email stories to us [email protected]

* Getting loose with Ivanka and Jay Kay

* The secret portrait of Karren Brady

* PLUS: Cock rings on the 6 O'Clock News

>> Strange times <<The poll winners' party

It probably won't surprise you to learn that champagne corks were popping at 10pm prompt at the Baby Shard on Thursday night, as the Times and the Sun celebrated the projected result of the exit poll.

It's also unlikely to surprise you to learn that Rupert Murdoch, Rebekah Brooks, Les Hinton and all the usual News UK suspects were there too, getting their fourth and fifth trolleys of booze brought in to the office by the time Blyth Valley announced.

The one thing that might surprise you though is that in among the revellers was... Cate Blanchett.This year's series of Love Island has taken three of the top ten spots in Ofcom's list of most complained-about shows of 2019.

>> Straight shooter <<Randy Andy makes 'em standy

It's been a bruising few weeks for Prince Andrew since his cataclysmic interview with Emily Maitlis – but he's probably brimming over with remorse and humility now, right?

Erm.

Earlier this month, Handsy Andy went on another of his (straightforward) shooting weekends. At breakfast one morning, everyone else in the party was sat quietly reading the papers when Andy came into the room.

As no-one stood up for him when he entered, he bellowed "OH HO HO! LET'S TRY THAT AGAIN, SHALL WE?" Then walked out of the room and re-entered, so that everyone could oblige him.There's a This Morning team WhatsApp group entitled "We Hate Phillip".

>> Big Questions <<Who's asking what this week?

What could have caused the Mail to pull a recent exclusive of theirs about a French masseuse meeting with Prince Andrew at Buckingham Palace back in 2000? The story made the paper's front page at the end of November but, save for a report of the Mail's report in the New York Post, there's no trace of it online now.If you subscribe to Popbitch, chances are your internet search history is something you'd rather was kept private. Protect yourself online (plus bypass digital censorship) by using a VPN. CyberGhost is currently offering Popbitch readers a 79% discount on its 18 month plan, which protects up to seven devices, for just £2.15 a month.

[Find out more here]

>> Westwood ho <<Getting loose with Ivanka

Before she became the accomplished businesswoman and occasional threat to global security that she is today, Ivanka Trump had teenage ambitions of becoming a fashion model.

Thanks to her family connections, she was seen for a number of jobs in the late 90s and became a bit of a favourite of Vivienne Westwood. Westwood's team used to make a point of letting the models pick the music they put on in the studio as a way of helping them to relax and feel comfortable on a shoot.

Ivanka's choice of music, every single time? Jamiroquai. Which she would then sing along to.

Peanut from the Kaiser Chiefs is preparing to run his 100th park run over the Christmas holidays.

>> Bah humbug <<More drama at the BBC

The BBC is going heavy on trailing their version of A Christmas Carol this year, making a big song and dance out of the fact it stars Guy Pearce, is written by Peaky Blinders' Steven Knight and has been exec produced by Tom Hardy. One person who's been a little left out in the cold though is director Nick Murphy.

Poor Nick was so miffed that the BBC didn't invite him to take part in a special Q&A event about the show that he ended up turning up anyway to rage at the head of BBC Drama there. His ire hasn't just been reserved for TV execs either as he's started taking pot shots at Tom Hardy on Twitter too, claiming that the catering department was more involved in production than Hardy.

There may be some lingering resentment there, as Hardy was set to star in A Christmas Carol (as well as produce) until he suddenly decided to bail out. But if you ask us, Nick, you had a lucky escape.

On set at Hardy and Knight's previous BBC1 collab, Taboo, crew members reported that Hardy wasn't shy about staying in character, stark-bollock naked, for much of the time. And we can only imagine what it would have been like trying to direct with the Ghost of Christmas Past's dick and balls wafting all around.

Nick Cave Watch: Everyone's favourite goth dad was spotted at an Elton John concert in Melbourne this week.

>> Picture this <<More corporate creepiness

One of Jeffrey Epstein's former employees claims that Epstein kept a 6ft portrait of his mysterious 'fixer' Ghislaine Maxwell above the pool in his sprawling New Mexico mansion. Not just any old portrait though. One of her naked and "posing provocatively".

He wouldn't be the first icky businessman to have had a life-size nudey portrait of a close associate on their wall though. West Ham's porn-purveying chairman, David Sullivan, was once well known in the football world for having a huge painting hung in his basement office.

Of his now Vice-Chairman at West Ham FC, Dame Karren Brady.Andy Coulson has been advised by friends that having his own name in his new PR firm (Coulson Partners) is enough to stop most major organisations from hiring them. So far it's advice that he (and his ego) seem unwilling to take.

>> Shaky casting <<Merry Christmas everyone!

This year's bleak seasonal murder drama, Responsible Child (based on the real life story of a 14 year-old killer who was tried as an adult and jailed) has been getting rave reviews.

Whether it was the shocking nature of the story, or the impressive performance of the child actor who inhabited the role, we couldn't tell you, but for some reason most of the reviews have failed to mention the most important thing about the production.

The kid who plays the murderer is the grandson of Shakin' Stevens.

This week's Media Masters podcast is a chat with historian and broadcaster David Starkey. His outspoken, unforgiving style and trenchant opinions have earned him a reputation as being "the rudest man in Britain". In this in-depth interview he explains the impact it's had over his career.

[Listen/Download on Media Masters]

>> One love <<The race for Xmas No.1

Now that The X Factor is an utterly spent force, and December streaming is dominated by seasonal classics, the annual race for Christmas No.1 has become a much more unpredictable beast.

Re-releases are subjected to permanent ACR restrictions ('Accelerated Chart Ratio') with streaming, which basically means that old, established classics have to generate twice the number of streams as new tracks in order to compete. (Without this, three of the top four last Friday would have been Mariah Carey, Wham! and The Pogues.)

So who's in the running this year? There's another tedious song about sausage rolls from Ladbaby (hideous; but for a good cause). There's the inevitable Ed Sheeran (this year on Stormzy's record). And of course, there's the now traditional Facebook campaign choice.

Facebook campaigns are a bit of a lost cause but it has to be said: of all the songs that the British public could have picked to champion this year, Jarvis Cocker's "(Cunts Are Still) Running The World", is a pretty good one.

[Join the campaign]

REO Speedwagon's original of Can't Fight This Feeling has been streamed more than Bastille's John Lewis ad cover since its release in mid-November.

>> Electile dysfunction <<Another cock up on the Beeb

On election day, there are very strict rules in the UK which forbid news organisations from discussing politics until polling is closed. Which means that news teams have to ignore the biggest story of the day and compile their news bulletins from whatever innocuous filler they can drum up instead.

As part of their non-political Six O'Clock News broadcast last Thursday, BBC1 chose to air an item about the postal service and people sending tiny items in oversized parcels. Alas, it seems there was a very good reason that the Six O'Clock News hadn't touched that story previously.

One of the parcels that was prominently displayed as part of the pre-watershed segment clearly showed a cock ring.Nominative Determinism of the Week: The Senior doorkeeper of the House of Commons... Phil Howse!

>> 2019: The Annual <<A last little gift from us

That's almost it for another year. We've got a couple of special issues to send out between now and 2020, so we'll be back in your inboxes before the New Year. But if you want to sink your teeth into some more Popbitch material over the Christmas holidays, then download our 2019 annual.

It's totally free, and features some of our favourite stories of the year. Print it off at work! Use it as last-minute wrapping paper! Give a copy to your most corruptible niece or nephew!

[Get it here]

And if you enjoy it – or have enjoyed any of the last 52 weeks of Popbitch – and feel like tossing a few quid into our Santa hat for a Christmas pint then we'd be ever so grateful.

[Donate here]

LAST CHANCE BEFORE XMAS: Anyone who donates £10 or more to this year's fundraiser is eligible to download a special play-at-home edition of the Popbitch Popquiz. We'll email you a digital pack with all the answer sheets, question packs and puzzle pages you need to host your own quiz.

[Donate to Popbitch here]

>> Hmmms <<Cats, dogs, Muppets

Rowan Atkinson deepfaked Dior advert

[Ready to lose your libido?]

The reviews of Cats are restoring our faith and trust in journalism

[Read on Prospect]

Picture of dogs in mid-air, catching frisbees

[Cute: what more do you want?]

Need to stock up on wine before the holidays kick off? Naked Wines is offering Popbitch readers the chance to get a case of six sumptuous bottles, plus free delivery, for just £19.99.

[Get your orders in soon!]

What do you get for the man who has everything?

[Try an annual Wank-Pass]

40 years since the Muppets/John Denver Christmas special

[Watch on YouTube]

A crash course in the 100 most memorable memes of the decade

[Read on BuzzFeed]

The real life, bricks-and-mortar Popbitch Popquiz will return in January. Don't let dry January stop you having any fun. Join us at Smiths of Smithfield for another seven rounds of trivia, music and smut with our host, Tom Webb!

[Tuesday 14th January]

[Tuesday 28th January]

Thanks to: JM, bunkle, CA, JC, Party_B, ST, T, JM, BB, CA, RT, MC, bobbi_fleckmann, EC, intheissynoho, MC, AM

Old Jokes Home

I just smashed my keyboard and I'm so angry.

I lost Ctrl.

Still Bored?

If you've already read this year's annual and fancy revisiting some previous years, the last five years' worth are free to download on the Popbitch site throughout December...

[Load up for the holidays]

You subscribed to the Popbitch Newsletter which usually comes out on Thursdays.

If you would not like to receive any further issues to [email protected] you can unsubscribe

@skippyv20 @yankeewally

5 notes · View notes

sonipanda · 5 years

Text

Welcome to the blog Tramps Hosiery! I recently came across this brand, and I have to say they are certainly unique! Not only are they about compression hosiery, but those colours and styles they offer are certainly to crush over! I managed to get my hands on 2 pairs; both in the same model but in 2 bold colours!

About Tramps Hosiery

“TRAMPS is a high-quality fashion compression line designed by Tomas Reyes, a New York-based fashion designer, and his sister, Alex Reyes, a long-time hairstylist and salon owner in Austin, Texas. After working on her feet for many years, Alex’s doctor prescribed compression hose to help relieve the pressure in her legs and help with the varicose vein she started to develop. In her search, she grew frustrated by the lack of color and fashion in existing brands of compression hosiery, and she collaborated with Tomas to design the perfect line.

Together, Alex and Tomas created a line of beautiful and comfortable compression-wear that merges fashion and function. Created with customers in mind, TRAMPS offers superior comfort and style while providing compression for better circulation. The clean designs, creative patterns, and signature open-toed style are essential to every wardrobe and are a copyright exclusive to TRAMPS.”

– taken from their website

The Spec

Colour: Tramps Blue

Size: S/M

Denier: Approx 60-80

Compression: 25-30 mmHg

Materials:

Price: $58.00

Website: Tramps Hosiery -Bryannna High Waisted Style Tights

My Outfit

Now it took me a good while to pair these up with an outfit, but I managed with monochrome as a starting point! I thought you cannot go wrong with black and white and then add a good pop of colour into the mix!

My Deets

Cami Top: New Look

Skirt: H&M

Tights: Tramps Hosiery

Shoes: New Look

The Review

From The Website: This high-waist style Large style in the TRAMPS Fashion Compression Hosiery line is designed with 25-30 mmHg graduated compression to give you waist smoothing and body shaping support along with open toe freedom.

Sizing Info:

TRAMPS Fashion Compression Hosiery is designed to be flexible to most sizes with a uniquely knitted fabric that conforms to your body. Our Small/Medium fits comfortably from size 4-10 and Medium/Large style fits comfortably from sizes 6-14.

PLEASE CONSULT YOUR DOCTOR BEFORE YOU WEAR COMPRESSION GARMENTS.

The Packaging: I really do love their whole look. Not only does it come in their own plastic outer packaging (as shown below) but they come individually tissue wrapped in opposite colours and it’s pretty simple. I love the whole concept!

When you get in, you will find that it comes with a slim piece of card that states how to get them on. I will show you how I attempted to do so further down the blog!

Getting Them On: okay so below is me attempting by reading the card given (see above)… And well I will let the video do the talking for me.

youtube

Later that day… When I decided to take that break and let my legs just cool down… I discovered that they have a tutorial video on their website, which you can view here: https://www.trampshosiery.com/pages/how-to-put-on-compression-stockings

On The Legs: I did manage to finally get them on let me add, and when it did they were great!

The denier is pretty high so you will get a lovely block colour, however this will depend on how much the hosiery is stretched out on the legs. It will still remain quite solid. but you may see parts (on me it’s always the thighs) where it slightly becomes a little sheerer than the rest of the leg. It’s fine and actually gives it a lovely ombre effect too!

The quality is spot on! For what you pay, it is certainly worthwhile! I couldn’t damage these even if I tried as they are so fitted to your legs and the denier is pretty high, it would be a mission to snag these! Plus a lot of the material is stretchy so good luck with trying to destroy these!

The fit of them are amazing; they are super tight to begin with (if you’re not used to compression hosiery that is) but you get used to that after you start moving in them. My legs have felt great all day in them, especially as I have been on the move a fair bit. I didn’t feel restricted in any way, which may seem unusual considering the struggle it was to get them on!

The feel of them are so soft and super comfortable to be in; yes these might be a little too thick for summer, but actually works so well for those slightly cooler days. I didn’t feel my legs perspire in these at all and they certainly gave them a great shape too!

The colour I have to say is just divine! That blue is so gorgeous and super bold, I fell in love as soon as I saw it paired together with the outfit.

It’s deep and rich in colour, it looks luxe and it’s my favourite compression pair by miles!

youtube

The Toes & Ankle: now some of you are gonna find this super weird, but I think it’s super awesome! The toes – are toeless which means bring on the open toe sandals and shoes. At first I thought it was really unusual, but when I got them on, I thought it was pretty inventive. Not only does it mean you can wear thicker deniers with peep and open toe shoes, but it doesn’t add any pressure around the toes. I can only imagine how cramped the toes would feel being in compression hosiery all day; heck I have done it before and it isn’t pleasant at times – so to me this is great! I wore closed toe shoes with my outfit, but my next outfit in the pink I will make sure I wear open toe so you can see!

Otherwise I don’t have much to say here – no reinforcements (apart from the heel section) and an all over smooth finish from foot to waistband!

The Waistband: now the waistband is something new. I have done high waisted before but not in a thick pair of hosiery though which was an experience! It came up so high it sat right under my bra! This is why I found it so hard to wear something with it at first as it threw me off completely, but then it was fine once I got used to it.

Now the band can I just say is super comfortable and doesn’t roll down at all. It stays how it shows in the pic below (on the left) all day long. These also have have a boxer brief but it isn’t visible (it ends where the photo ends) so that whole section you feel secure. One thing I noticed was that smooth bum bit at the back (see right image below) where it smooths out compared to the rest of the surrounding section.

Anyways back to the band – this is super nice and so snug to be in. This would certainly work well for winter, but not so great for summer months where you would end up feeling too hot! It’s nicely ribbed and doesn’t dig in at any point either. The compression stop just underneath, so for a good few inches you just get pure comfort.

My Thoughts?

Well I have to say I am super impressed with this pair for sure. Not only do I love the colour, but these have been so great to me. I have no real need to wear compression hosiery unless I’m on a plane (I don’t get up and walk around you see), so it worked if you’re on the move a lot and get tired legs easily – these will certainly keep you going for that little while longer!

I cannot wait to try the pink pair out now!

Tramps Bryannna High Waisted Tights (Blue) Welcome to the blog Tramps Hosiery! I recently came across this brand, and I have to say they are certainly unique!

7 notes · View notes

nuvya · 7 years

Text

Michael Jackson: The Human Being Behind The Superstar By Paris Jackson

Paris Jackson: Life After Neverland (Rolling Stone Interview )

In her first-ever in-depth interview, Michael Jackson's daughter discusses her father's pain and finding peace after addiction and heartache

Paris-Michael Katherine Jackson is staring at a famous corpse. "That's Marilyn Monroe," she whispers, facing a wall covered with gruesome autopsy photos. "And that's JFK. You can't even find these online." On a Thursday afternoon in late November, Paris is making her way through the Museum of Death, a cramped maze of formaldehyde-scented horrors on Hollywood Boulevard. It's not uncommon for visitors, confronted with decapitation photos, snuff films and serial-killer memorabilia, to faint, vomit or both. But Paris, not far removed from the emo and goth phases of her earlier teens, seems to find it all somehow soothing. This is her ninth visit. "It's awesome," she had said on the way over. "They have a real electric chair and a real head!"

Paris Jackson turned 18 last April, and moment by moment, can come across as much older or much younger, having lived a life that's veered between sheltered and agonizingly exposed. She is a pure child of the 21st century, with her mashed-up hippie-punk fashion sense (today she's wearing a tie-dye button-down, jeggings and Converse high-tops) and boundary-free musical tastes (she's decorated her sneakers with lyrics by Mötley Crüe and Arctic Monkeys; is obsessed with Alice Cooper – she calls him "bae" – and the singer-songwriter Butch Walker; loves Nirvana and Justin Bieber too). But she is, even more so, her father's child. "Basically, as a person, she is who my dad is," says her older brother, Prince Michael Jackson. "The only thing that's different would be her age and her gender." Paris is similar to Michael, he adds, "in all of her strengths, and almost all of her weaknesses as well. She's very passionate. She is very emotional to the point where she can let emotion cloud her judgment."

Paris has, with impressive speed, acquired more than 50 tattoos, sneaking in the first few while underage. Nine of them are devoted to Michael Jackson, who died when she was 11 years old, sending her, Prince and their youngest brother, Blanket, spiraling out of what had been – as they perceived it – a cloistered, near-idyllic little world. "They always say, 'Time heals,'" she says. "But it really doesn't. You just get used to it. I live life with the mentality of 'OK, I lost the only thing that has ever been important to me.' So going forward, anything bad that happens can't be nearly as bad as what happened before. So I can handle it." Michael still visits her in her dreams, she says: "I feel him with me all the time."

Michael, who saw himself as Peter Pan, liked to call his only daughter Tinker Bell. She has FAITH, TRUST AND PIXIE DUST inked near her clavicle. She has an image from the cover of Dangerous on her forearm, the Bad logo on her hand, and the words QUEEN OF MY HEART – in her dad's handwriting, from a letter he wrote her – on her inner left wrist. "He's brought me nothing but joy," she says. "So why not have constant reminders of joy?"

She also has tattoos honoring John Lennon, David Bowie and her dad's sometime rival Prince – plus Van Halen and, on her inner lip, the word MÖTLEY (her boyfriend has CRÜE in the same spot). On her right wrist is a rope-and-jade bracelet that Michael bought in Africa. He was wearing it when he died, and Paris' nanny retrieved it for her. "It still smells like him," Paris says.

She fixes her huge blue-green eyes on each of the museum's attractions without flinching, until she comes to a section of taxidermied pets. "I don't really like this room," she says, wrinkling her nose. "I draw the line with animals. I can't do it. This breaks my heart." She recently rescued a hyperactive pit-bull-mix puppy, Koa, who has an uneasy coexistence with Kenya, a snuggly Labrador her dad brought home a decade ago.

Paris describes herself as "desensitized" to even the most graphic reminders of human mortality. In June 2013, drowning in depression and a drug addiction, she tried to kill herself at age 15, slashing her wrist and downing 20 Motrin pills. "It was just self-hatred," she says, "low self-esteem, thinking that I couldn't do anything right, not thinking I was worthy of living anymore." She had been self-harming, cutting herself, managing to conceal it from her family. Some of her tattoos now cover the scars, as well as what she says are track marks from drug use. Before that, she had already attempted suicide "multiple times," she says, with an incongruous laugh. "It was just once that it became public." The hospital had a "three-strike rule," she recalls, and, after that last attempt, insisted she attend a residential therapy program.

Home-schooled before her father's death, Paris had agreed to attend a private school starting in seventh grade. She didn't fit in – at all – and started hanging out with the only kids who accepted her, "a lot of older people doing a lot of crazy things," she says. "I was doing a lot of things that 13-, 14-, 15-year-olds shouldn't do. I tried to grow up too fast, and I wasn't really that nice of a person." She also faced cyberbullying, and still struggles with cruel online comments. "The whole freedom-of-speech thing is great," she says. "But I don't think that our Founding Fathers predicted social media when they created all of these amendments and stuff."

There was another trauma that she's never mentioned in public. When she was 14, a much older "complete stranger" sexually assaulted her, she says. "I don't wanna give too many details. But it was not a good experience at all, and it was really hard for me, and, at the time, I didn't tell anybody."

After her last suicide attempt, she spent sophomore year and half of junior year at a therapeutic school in Utah. "It was great for me," she says. "I'm a completely different person." Before, she says with a small smile, "I was crazy. I was actually crazy. I was going through a lot of, like, teen angst. And I was also dealing with my depression and my anxiety without any help." Her father, she says, also struggled with depression, and she was prescribed the same antidepressants he once took, though she's no longer on any psych meds.

Now sober and happier than she's ever been, with menthol cigarettes her main remaining vice, Paris moved out of her grandma Katherine's house shortly after her 18th birthday, heading to the old Jackson family estate. She spends nearly every minute of each day with her boyfriend, Michael Snoddy, a 26-year-old drummer – he plays with the percussion ensemble Street Drum Corps – and Virginia native whose dyed mohawk, tattoos and perpetually sagging pants don't obscure boy-band looks and a puppy-dog sweetness. "I never met anyone before who made me feel the way music makes me feel," says Paris. When they met, he had an ill-considered, now-covered Confederate flag tattoo that raised understandable doubts among the Jacksons. "But the more I actually got to know him," says Prince, "he's a really cool guy."

Paris took a quick stab at community college after graduating high school – a year early – in 2015, but wasn't feeling it. She is an heir to a mammoth fortune – the Michael Jackson Family Trust is likely worth more than $1 billion, with disbursements to the kids in stages. But she wants to earn her own money, and now that she's a legal adult, to embrace her other inheritance: celebrity.

And in the end, as the charismatic, beautiful daughter of one of the most famous men who ever lived, what choice did she have? She is, for now, a model, an actress, a work in progress. She can, when she feels like it, exhibit a regal poise that's almost intimidating, while remaining chill enough to become pals with her giant-goateed tattoo artist. She has impeccable manners – you might guess that she was raised well. She so charmed producer-director Lee Daniels in a recent meeting that he's begun talking to her manager about a role for her on his Fox show, Star . She plays a few instruments, writes and sings songs (she performs a couple for me on acoustic guitar, and they show promise, though they're more Laura Marling than MJ), but isn't sure if she'll ever pursue a recording contract.

Modeling, in particular, comes naturally, and she finds it therapeutic. "I've had self-esteem issues for a really, really long time," says Paris, who understands her dad's plastic-surgery choices after watching online trolls dissect her appearance since she was 12. "Plenty of people think I'm ugly, and plenty of people don't. But there's a moment when I'm modeling where I forget about my self-esteem issues and focus on what the photographer's telling me – and I feel pretty. And in that sense, it's selfish."

But mostly, she shares her father's heal-the-world impulses ("I'm really scared for the Great Barrier Reef," she says. "It's, like, dying. This whole planet is. Poor Earth, man"), and sees fame as a means to draw attention to favored causes. "I was born with this platform," she says. "Am I gonna waste it and hide away? Or am I going to make it bigger and use it for more important things?"

Her dad wouldn't have minded. "If you wanna be bigger than me, you can," he'd tell her. "If you don't want to be at all, you can. But I just want you to be happy."

At the moment, Paris lives in the private studio where her dad demoed "Beat It." The Tudor-style main house in the now-empty Jackson family compound in the LA neighborhood of Encino – purchased by Joe Jackson in 1971 with some of the Jackson 5's first Motown royalties, and rebuilt by Michael in the Eighties – is under renovation. But the studio, built by Michael in a brick building across the courtyard, happens to be roughly the size of a decent Manhattan apartment, with its own kitchen and bathroom. Paris has turned it into a vibe-y, cozy dorm room.

Traces of her father are everywhere, most unmistakably in the artwork he commissioned. Outside the studio is a framed picture, done in a Disney-like style, of a cartoon castle on a hilltop with a caricatured Michael in the foreground, a small blond boy embracing him.It's captioned "Of Children, Castles & Kings." Inside is a mural taking up an entire wall, with another cartoon Michael in the corner, holding a green book titled The Secret of Life and looking down from a window at blooming flowers – at the center of each bloom is a cartoon face of a red-cheeked little girl.

Paris' chosen decor is somewhat different. There is a picture of Kurt Cobain in the bathroom, a Smashing Pumpkins poster on the wall, a laptop with Against Me! and NeverEnding Story stickers, psychedelic paisley wall hangings, lots of fake candles. Vinyl records (Alice Cooper, the Rolling Stones) serve as wall decorations. In the kitchen, sitting casually on a counter, is a framed platinum record, inscribed to Michael by Quincy Jones ("I found it in the attic," Paris shrugs).

Above an adjacent garage is a mini-museum Michael created as a surprise gift for his family, with the walls and even ceilings covered with photos from their history. Michael used to rehearse dance moves in that room; now Paris' boyfriend has his drum kit set up there.

We head out to a nearby sushi restaurant, and Paris starts to describe life in Neverland. She spent her first seven years in her dad's 2,700-acre fantasy world, with its own amusement park, zoo and movie theater. ("Everything I never got to do as a kid," Michael called it.) During that time, she didn't know that her father's name was Michael, let alone have any grasp of his fame. "I just thought his name was Dad, Daddy," she says. "We didn't really know who he was. But he was our world. And we were his world." (Paris declared last year's Captain Fantastic , where Viggo Mortensen plays an eccentric dad who tries to create a utopian hideaway for his kids, her "favorite movie ever.")

"We couldn't just go on the rides whenever we wanted to," she recalls, walking on a dark roadside near the Encino compound. She likes to stride along the lane divider, too close to the cars – it drives her boyfriend crazy, and I don't much like it either. "We actually had a pretty normal life. Like, we had school every single day, and we had to be good. And if we were good, every other weekend or so, we could choose whether we were gonna go to the movie theater or see the animals or whatever. But if you were on bad behavior, then you wouldn't get to go do all those things."

In his 2011 memoir, Michael's brother Jermaine called him "an example of what fatherhood should be. He instilled in them the love Mother gave us, and he provided the kind of emotional fathering that our father, through no fault of his own, could not. Michael was father and mother rolled into one."

Michael gave the kids the option of going to regular school. They declined. "When you're at home," says Paris, "your dad, who you love more than anything, will occasionally come in, in the middle of class, and it's like, 'Cool, no more class for the day. We're gonna go hang out with Dad.' We were like, 'We don't need friends. We've got you and Disney Channel!'" She was, she acknowledges, "a really weird kid."

Her dad taught her how to cook, soul food, mostly. "He was a kick-ass cook," she says. "His fried chicken is the best in the world. He taught me how to make sweet potato pie." Paris is baking four pies, plus gumbo, for grandma Katherine's Thanksgiving – which actually takes place the day before the holiday, in deference to Katherine's Jehovah's Witness beliefs.

Michael schooled Paris on every conceivable genre of music. "My dad worked with Van Halen, so I got into Van Halen," she says."He worked with Slash, so I got into Guns N' Roses. He introduced me to Tchaikovsky and Debussy, Earth, Wind and Fire, the Temptations, Tupac, Run-DMC."

She says Michael emphasized tolerance. "My dad raised me in a very open-minded house," she says. "I was eight years old, in love with this female on the cover of a magazine. Instead of yelling at me, like most homophobic parents, he was making fun of me, like, 'Oh, you got yourself a girlfriend.'

"His number-one focus for us," says Paris, "besides loving us, was education. And he wasn't like, 'Oh, yeah, mighty Columbus came to this land!' He was like, 'No. He fucking slaughtered the natives.'" Would he really phrase it that way? "He did have kind of a potty mouth. He cussed like a sailor." But he was also "very shy."

Paris and Prince are quite aware of public doubts about their parentage (the youngest brother, Blanket, with his darker skin, is the subject of less speculation). Paris' mom is Debbie Rowe, a nurse Michael met while she was working for his dermatologist, the late Arnold Klein. They had what sounds like an unconventional three-year marriage, during which, Rowe once testified, they never shared a home. Michael said that Rowe wanted to have his children "as a present" to him. (Rowe said that Paris got her name from the location of her conception.) Klein, her employer, was one of several men – including the actor Mark Lester, who played the title role in the 1968 movie Oliver! – who suggested that they could be Paris' actual biological father.

Over popcorn shrimp and a Clean Mean Salmon Roll, Paris agrees to address this issue for what she says will be the only time. She could opt for an easy, logical answer, could point out that it doesn't matter, that either way, Michael Jackson was her father. That's what her brother – who describes himself as "more objective" than Paris – seems to suggest. "Every time someone asks me that," Prince says, "I ask, 'What's the point? What difference does it make?' Specifically to someone who's not involved in my life. How does that affect your life? It doesn't change mine."

But Paris is certain that Michael Jackson was her biological dad. She believes it with a fervency that is both touching and, in the moment, utterly convincing. "He is my father," she says, making fierce eye contact. "He will always be my father. He never wasn't, and he never will not be. People that knew him really well say they see him in me, that it's almost scary.

"I consider myself black," she says, adding later that her dad "would look me in the eyes and he'd point his finger at me and he'd be like, 'You're black. Be proud of your roots.' And I'd be like, 'OK, he's my dad, why would he lie to me?' So I just believe what he told me. 'Cause, to my knowledge, he's never lied to me.

"Most people that don't know me call me white," Paris concedes. "I've got light skin and, especially since I've had my hair blond, I look like I was born in Finland or something." She points out that it's far from unheard of for mixed-race kids to look like her – accurately noting that her complexion and eye color are similar to the TV actor Wentworth Miller's, who has a black dad and a white mom.

At first, she had no relationship with Rowe. "When I was really, really young, my mom didn't exist," Paris recalls. Eventually, she realized "a man can't birth a child" – and when she was 10 or so, she asked Prince, "We gotta have a mom, right?" So she asked her dad. "And he's like, 'Yeah.' And I was like, 'What's her name?' And he's just like, 'Debbie.' And I was like, 'OK, well, I know the name.'" After her father's death, she started researching her mom online, and they got together when Paris was 13.

In the wake of her treatment in Utah, Paris decided to reach out again to Rowe. "She needed a mother figure," says Prince, who declines to comment on his own relationship, or lack thereof, with Rowe. (Paris' manager declined to make Rowe available for an interview, and Rowe did not respond to our request for comment.) "I've had a lot of mother figures," Paris counters, citing her grandmother and nannies, among others, "but by the time my mom came into my life, it wasn't a 'mommy' thing. It's more of an adult relationship." Paris sees herself in Rowe, who just completed a course of chemo in a fight against breast cancer: "We're both very stubborn."

Paris isn't sure how Michael felt about Rowe, but says Rowe was "in love" with her dad. She's also sure that Michael loved Lisa Marie Presley, whom he divorced two years before Paris' birth: "In the music video 'You Are Not Alone,' I can see how he looked at her, and he was totally whipped," she says with a fond laugh.

Paris Jackson was around nine years old when she realized that much of the world didn't see her father the way she did. "My dad would cry to me at night," she says, sitting at the counter of a New York coffee shop in mid-December, cradling a tiny spoon in her hand. She starts to cry too. "Picture your parent crying to you about the world hating him for something he didn't do. And for me, he was the only thing that mattered. To see my entire world in pain, I started to hate the world because of what they were doing to him. I'm like, 'How can people be so mean?'" She pauses. "Sorry, I'm getting emotional."

Paris and Prince have no doubts that their father was innocent of the multiple child-molestation allegations against him, that the man they knew was the real Michael. Again, they are persuasive – if they could go door-to-door talking about it, they could sway the world."Nobody but my brothers and I experienced him reading A Light in the Attic to us at night before we went to bed," says Paris."Nobody experienced him being a father to them. And if they did, the entire perception of him would be completely and forever changed." I gently suggest that what Michael said to her on those nights was a lot to put on a nine-year-old. "He did not bullshit us," she replies. "You try to give kids the best childhood possible. But you also have to prepare them for the shitty world."

Michael's 2005 molestation trial ended in an acquittal, but it shattered his reputation and altered the course of his family's lives. He decided to leave Neverland for good. They spent the next four years traveling the world, spending long stretches of time in the Irish countryside, in Bahrain, in Las Vegas. Paris didn't mind – it was exciting, and home was where her dad was.

By 2009, Michael was preparing for an ambitious slate of comeback performances at London's O2 Arena. "He kind of hyped it up to us," recalls Paris. "He was like, 'Yeah, we're gonna live in London for a year.' We were super-excited – we already had a house out there we were gonna live in." But Paris remembers his "exhaustion" as rehearsals began. "I'd tell him, 'Let's take a nap,'" she says."Because he looked tired. We'd be in school, meaning downstairs in the living room, and we'd see dust falling from the ceiling and hear stomping sounds because he was rehearsing upstairs."

Paris has a lingering distaste for AEG Live, the promoters behind the planned This Is It tour – her family lost a wrongful-death suit against them, with the jury accepting AEG's argument that Michael was responsible for his own death. "AEG Live does not treat their performers right," she alleges. "They drain them dry and work them to death." (A rep for AEG declined comment.) She describes seeing Justin Bieber on a recent tour and being "scared" for him. "He was tired, going through the motions. I looked at my ticket, saw AEG Live, and I thought back to how my dad was exhausted all the time but couldn't sleep."

Paris blames Dr. Conrad Murray – who was convicted of involuntary manslaughter in her father's death – for the dependency on the anesthetic drug propofol that led to it. She calls him "the 'doctor,'" with satirical air quotes. But she has darker suspicions about her father's death. "He would drop hints about people being out to get him," she says. "And at some point he was like, 'They're gonna kill me one day.'" (Lisa Marie Presley told Oprah Winfrey of a similar conversation with Michael, who expressed fears that unnamed parties were targeting him to get at his half of the Sony/ATV music-publishing catalog, worth hundreds of millions.)

Paris is convinced that her dad was, somehow, murdered. "Absolutely," she says. "Because it's obvious. All arrows point to that. It sounds like a total conspiracy theory and it sounds like bullshit, but all real fans and everybody in the family knows it. It was a setup. It was bullshit."

But who would have wanted Michael Jackson dead? Paris pauses for several seconds, maybe considering a specific answer, but just says, "A lot of people." Paris wants revenge, or at least justice. "Of course," she says, eyes glowing. "I definitely do, but it's a chess game. And I am trying to play the chess game the right way. And that's all I can say about that right now."

Michael had his kids wear masks in public, a protective move Paris considered "stupid" but later came to understand. So it made all the more of an impression when a brave little girl spontaneously stepped to the microphone at her dad's televised memorial service, on July 7th, 2009. "Ever since I was born," she said, "Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine, and I just wanted to say I love him so much."

She was 11 years old, but she knew what she was doing. "I knew afterward there was gonna be plenty of shit-talking," Paris says, "plenty of people questioning him and how he raised us. That was the first time I ever publicly defended him, and it definitely won't be the last." For Prince, his younger sister showed in that moment that she had "more strength than any of us."

The day after her trip to the Museum of Death, Paris, Michael Snoddy and Tom Hamilton, her model-handsome, man-bunned 31-year-old manager, head over to Venice Beach. We stroll the boardwalk, and Snoddy recalls a brief stint as a street performer here when he first moved to LA, drumming on buckets. "It wasn't bad," he says. "I averaged out to a hundred bucks a day."

Paris has her hair extensions in a ponytail. She's wearing sunglasses with circular lenses, a green plaid shirt over leggings, and a Rasta-rainbow backpack. Her mood is darker today. She's not talking much, and clinging tight to Snoddy, who's in a Willie Nelson tee with the sleeves cut off.

We head toward the canals, lined with ultramodern houses that Paris doesn't like. "They're too harsh and bougie," she says. "It doesn't scream, 'Hey, come for dinner!'" She's delighted to spot a group of ducks. "Hello, friends!" she shouts. "Come play with us!"Among them are what appear to be an avian couple in love, paddling through the shallow water in close formation. Paris sighs and squeezes Snoddy's hand. "Goals," she says. "Hashtag 'goals.'"

Her spirits are lifting, and we walk back toward the beach to watch the sunset. Paris and Snoddy hop on a concrete barrier facing the orange-pink spectacle. It's a peaceful moment, until a middle-aged woman in neon jogging clothes and knee-length socks walks over.She grins at the couple as she presses a button on some kind of tiny stereo strapped to her waist, unleashing a dated-sounding trance song. Paris laughs and turns to her boyfriend. As the sun disappears, they start to dance.

From being a kick-ass cook to a strict dad, here are the 5 things we learned about the King of Pop from Paris Jackson.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0kjc3VEwFM

#paris jackson #michael jackson #rolling stone magazine #childhood #prince jackson #the jacksons #blanket jackson #captain fantastic #jackson 5 #moonwalker #fatherhood

674 notes · View notes