#also for Those fucking people in the twitter replies tell me your location so I can tear at your flesh and gnaw on your bones
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Let's have a quick little conversation, Stranger Things fandom. This is a conversation for everybody, including those who create the amazing things we pass around our table of stories like bowls of mashed potatoes.
A lot of you guys are fucking mean. And I'm not talking regular mean. I'm talking a rotting, moldy, dilapidating, squelching sort of mean. I should know, I've given way too many speeches about this kind of shit. So, you're gonna listen good.
The new trend I'm seeing is bullying the bodacious babes within our community, and I won't fucking stand for it. I've had my fair share of bullying, both as the victim and as a bystander, and it's exhausting to have it spread into such a tight-knit space like this.
Let me reintroduce you to some wonderful technology on here, you hateful pieces of shit (no, I'm not talking about the people who are actually nice, but please continue to read this). (And, I'm not gonna be nice to people who are blowing up babe's Tumblr inboxes and anon messages and Twitter replies and AO3 comments. Or people sending death threats and threats of sexual violence. Because you don't deserve kindness. Not anymore.)
There's a "close tab" button located conveniently below your address bar. There's also a little bar on the side of your screen that lets you scroll all willy-nilly away from things you don't like. AND there's a "block" button! Oh, let's not forget the "mute tag" button! (Explosion sound effects here.) Isn't that crazy?! You can block anybody you want. You can scroll away. You can close out of a fic you're reading or a fanart you're viewing.
Isn't that wonderful? Because then, you don't ever have to see it again.
Fandom is a space for everybody, no matter what someone enjoys. Even if it's dead dove fics or unconventional kinks or relationship dynamics that may come off as "abusive" or "toxic".
If topics that are considered unsightly to you really bother the fuck outta your soul, then just ignore 'em. Ignore them. Leave them alone. Art, no matter the form, has always been made to make a statement; art is meant to be uncomfortable sometimes; art comforts those who may have gone through the same or similar experience.
Not everything is for you. That's what's so wonderful about tag filtering and muting tags and blocking users and content. That's what's so wonderful about the internet. You can get away from things that would otherwise be triggering for you.
You don't have to read everything. Or view everything. Or like everything.
Somebody else will like that piece of art, guaranteed.
And to artists, whether you're a writer or a painter or a scrapbooker or whatever you do that pleases your senses, continue to create. Continue to create because you do enjoy it, even if sometimes it seems that nobody does. Take breaks as needed. Walk away if you have to. That's alright. Taking care of yourself is so important and nobody is allowed to tell you otherwise. But at the end of the day, you are the poet and the artist and the muser. You are the creator.
The first person you should create for, because all fan work is self-indulgent on some level, is yourself. Always create for you. Create because it's something primal. Because it's an instinct.
Not everything is beautiful. But art can be beautiful. You make it beautiful. Your minds are beautiful. Everybody is gorgeous.
Fandom is like a museum, babes. Sometimes, the creator is going to be walking the same room as you, viewing their paintings sidelong. Keep your voices down, move on if you don't like the painting they made, and find something you do like. You're allowed to do that.
But by the gods, be thoughtful, be kind, and remember that the creator is always standing behind you in the art hall. And they're sharing their craft with you. And they don't have to. And sometimes they don't want to. But they do it anyway. Because it's important to create and tell their story and reflect on what is otherwise something shitty.
Telling stories is part of human nature. We've been doing it for centuries. It's in our blood. Don't be the reason somebody's blood turns cold or their pens fall dried or their mouths clink shut. Art is an objectively subjective form of culture, it changes from where you're going to where you've been and it's always changing and not every aspect is for you.
You do it for you, though. At the end of the day, your art should matter because it's an appendage of you. You're wonderful, you're beautiful, you're talented, and you're worthy of what you do. Because you're doing it. At the end of the day, you're doing it. That's something that matters.
But what matters most?
You do. You're the heart of everything you do. You're part of the thousands of arteries in the community we've built, you are the vessel carrying life in this community. And damnit, what a good job you do. You matter. At the end of the day, you will always matter.
Always. You will always matter.
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BnHA Chapter 315: I Didn’t Expect This to Blow Up
Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “guess which plot that you thought was dead is actually not dead and is making a comeback!” and we were all “EVIL HPSC??” and he was all “girl you know it,” and that’s the story of how we got a sexy Lady Nagant flashback with lots of guns and murder. Flashback!Lady was all “gotta murder peeps to preserve the people’s trust,” but then a little while later she was like “actually wait that makes no sense,” and so she shot her evil boss and they sent her to jail. Back in the present, Deku was all “okay fair, the hero system might in fact be a little fucked up, but hear me out... have you considered not helping AFO take over the world so he can murder like a bazillion more innocent people??” The chapter ended with the not-all-there Overhaul finally revealing himself to Deku, and I honestly have no idea where this is gonna go.
Today on BnHA: In what is unfortunately the single worst plan ever concocted by anyone in BnHA, Nagant is all “I’m going to try and get this Deku kid to panic and freeze up by putting someone in mortal danger.” Deku is all, “[doesn’t panic and freeze up at the sight of someone in mortal danger].” Nagant is all “omg no way.” Deku, who is now all of a sudden being so OP that even I have to acknowledge that it’s OP lol, is all “[smashes Nagant’s gun arm to bits]”, which sucks but is also really cool, and which also apparently makes Nagant decide that she actually likes this kid after all. Deku is all “NAGANT I REALLY LIKE YOU AND THINK YOU’RE GREAT SO PLEASE JOIN UP WITH ME AND STOP BEING EVIL.” Nagant is all “aw shucks (✿ •͈ᴗ•͈) well okay then” and everyone is all “( ･◡･) ✰ ( ˆᴗˆ ) ( ᵘ ᵕ ᵘ ⁎)” and then Nagant FUCKING EXPLODES LIKE AN EGG IN THE MICROWAVE AND FALLS TO HER DEATH!!!! except not really because Hawks saves her??? In conclusion, (a) THE FUCK, and (b) AFO TURN ON YOUR LOCATION I JUST WANT TO TALK.
so I have to tell you guys something, which is that barely ten minutes after I made that “please don’t send me spoilers” post the other day, someone replied to the comments in a stunning fit of “tell me that you’re twelve without actually telling me you’re twelve” energy and posted what seemed to be the copy-pasted spoiler summary from reddit or twitter or whatever lol. so here is my good news/bad news rundown of all that
good news: I have very well-conditioned ABORT!! reflexes and have trained myself to immediately look away from the screen (usually in dramatic fashion) as soon as I realize that whatever I’m reading is a spoiler
bad news: unfortunately as I was subsequently deleting said comments, I accidentally read the very last one
good news??: said spoiler was so unbelievably, absurdly over-the-top that I’m almost positive this person was just trolling. like, there’s just no way lmao
bad news: but in the unlikely event that it is true I will absolutely lose my shit I swear to god
(ETA: “NAGANT DIES.” that was the spoiler I read lol. like, literally all I read from the person’s comments was “My Hero Academia Chapter 315 Title: “Beautiful Words.” Chapter starts with...” and then I noped out of there, and then of all the comments to read as I was deleting, it had to be that one lol. I seriously was just like “SURE, JAN.” all “just how gullible do you think I am” sob. but I was wrong. a troll, but an honest troll they remain.
but anyways like I’m pretty sure Nagant isn’t even actually dead lol, so in the end this whole little adventure doesn’t even have a point to it, but for me it was a journey!)
anyway, so there are apparently two versions of the chapter today?? no idea what the difference is, but I’m going to go with the Bean version, because it’s the one at the top and I don’t feel like making decisions today
huh, so Overhaul is actually more coherent than Horikoshi was letting on
look at him having a whole back and forth conversation with her. side note, how is he still this jacked when he’s been sitting in a cell doing absolutely nothing for the past six months
anyway so he says he’ll go with her on one condition. I wonder what that condition could possibly be. do you think it could be the thing he literally hasn’t shut up about ever since he reappeared lol
yep! and damn -- maybe this guy will surprise me after all
still would be nice if you also felt a bit sorry for the little girl you tortured and traumatized, but this is something at least. maybe Deku will yell at him for that other stuff lol
(ETA: also can’t help but wonder if he wants to make amends because he put him in a coma, or because his plan was a failure and ended up destroying the family. just hoping you’ve finally had that “hurting other people is bad” epiphany dude.)
anyways so now Nagant’s arm is transforming again, and this particular transformation happens to be the only truly unsexy thing that Nagant has done thus far so I’m just gonna skip right on ahead lol
aaaaand we’re back to the delirious ranting
buddy. just. read the fucking room, guy
wow she really is aiming at Overhaul, then. those theories were spot-on
damn she’s really out here all “it really fucks with kids’ heads when you kill people right in front of them and make them blame themselves” like yo
I’m picturing her saying all this in a very loud stage-whispery tone while making very significant eye contact with Deku lol
uh oh but wait
um. okay. who’s gonna tell her. Nagant I might have some bad news for you about the kid you’re trying to capture here. specifically about the way he tends to do the opposite of what you’re thinking that he’s about to do
holy shit
so it’s basically just “tap x repeatedly to charge up your attack” lol
and okay, so that’s cool and all, but is anyone else wincing at the thought of what that must be like on his knees. oh to be young
anyway, but so to the surprise of basically no one, Deku did not, in fact, freeze. I am very sorry, Nagant. he’s just like this
LMAO
someone wanna tell me how getting yoloed in the fucking ribs by this fucking slingshot kid moving at literal sniper bullet speed is in any way even remotely better than getting hit by the bullet itself lol
(ETA: this is 10x funnier now that we know the bullet wasn’t even gonna hit him lmao.)
anyway so now Nagant is having an extended “!?!?!?” reaction about how Deku just moved with no hesitation, and I’m starting to get an inkling of fear that the rest of this fight isn’t going to go very well for her and maybe that’s what all the “hoo boy” is about
oh my god Deku are you about to Gomu Gomu no Rocket yourself at her you insane little man
now Three is popping up again and he’s all “I see you’ve learned your lesson and are now only using three quirks at once instead of five” like with all this effusive praise about how great and badass Deku is and sob, okay, yeah. this chapter is basically one of those machines that shoots tennis balls at people, except instead of tennis balls it shoots hot piping discourse
OH MY GOD
YOOOOOOOOOO but also, NOOOOOOOOOOO
lol oh my god it’s literally two opposing reactions at once wtf. do I love this or hate this. like just for once can Horikoshi actually let a badass lady character win their fucking fight without getting their arm ripped off, BUT ALSO fucking look at that absurdly cool “SMASH” onomatopoeia though. it looks like it’s about to float right off the page holy shit that’s some seriously good art
anyway so is this really the end?? do I need to break out my ಠ_ಠ faces
lmao okay yeah I can definitely see how this would piss a lot of people off
he basically one-shotted her and she’s all “damn this kid is so amazing that I’m about to do a complete 180 turn on all of my previous angst” lmao. Horikoshi is really shounening it up today
on the plus side though, maybe this means there’s still a chance for her to join up with him after all? unless that spoiler was true lmao, then all hell is gonna break loose
YESSSSSSS
OH MY GOD AND HE SAYS THE BULLET WOULDN’T HAVE DONE MORE THAN GRAZE OVERHAUL ANYWAY, wow, I’m actually more relieved by that than I would have expected. I mean I would have forgiven her either way, but it means that there was still more hero in her than she was letting on
YES!!! FUCKING YES, THANK YOU
lol but I mean, it’s also like, “oh so today they get to have brain cells”, thank you so much lol. sometimes it’s really hard to tell which times we’re supposed to question these character decisions that seem dumb, and which times we’re just supposed to full on embrace them and switch off our critical thinking
but okay, so in this case it really was Nagant going easy on him on purpose, and not just her fucking up for no good reason even though she used to do this for a living and was the best in the game. and I know in this case it’s probably just Horikoshi giving us some consolation headpats to soften the blow of her losing so abruptly, but you know what, shit. I’ll take it
also you guys the light is coming back into Deku’s eyes again for just a moment here and I’m having feels about it?? the way it still comes back when he’s reaching out to save someone, and following his own hero path instead of the much darker and lonelier Christopher Nolan path that’s been laid out for him instead that he never wanted?? it’s both reassuring and also very sad
YESSSSSSSSSSS
DO IT LADY OMG PLEASE?? PLEASE COME BE HIS NEW IRRESPONSIBLE ADULT SUPERVISION YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO
AHHHHHHH SHE’S GONNA DO IT AHHHH
p.s. I am now absolutely scared shitless that that spoiler was actually true sob. swear to god, I will throw this manga into a fucking volcano. but we’re almost at the end of the chapter and this seems just WAY TOO GOOD to be true fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck f
UCK
NOPE NAH SEND IT BACK, NOPE, NUH UH, DIDN’T ORDER THIS. “GULLIBLE” OKAY FUCK YOU?? “COUNTERMEASURES” NOPE, DON’T NEED ‘EM, WE’RE ALL FINE HERE. WE’RE ACTUALLY GOOD SO YOU CAN JUST GO, OKAY. PLEASE
fuck, lol, I don’t wanna do it. I don’t wanna scroll down what have I ever done to deserve this oh my god
WHAT THE HONEY-ROASTED FUCK
WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT FUCKING VOLCANO IN ICELAND THAT I KEEP SEEING ALL THESE PICTURES OF. WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT. LET’S GO
ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW
can someone please give AFO a really good, sharpish kick in the balls. just really let him have it. I’m so tired, what the fuck
-- ARE YOU KIDDING ME LOL WHAT
bro. I was literally going through my Excel folders to find the spreadsheet about female characters in BnHA that I made back when Midnight died. was gearing myself up for a wholeass rant. and honestly I might just let all of that continue simmering on low to keep it warm just in case lol, because to tell you the truth I have absolutely no idea what’s happening right now
my girl straight up does not have a face. she used to have a face. people usually need those, idk. like, even if she’s alive, her gorgeous eyebrows are definitely not making it out of this and I’m gonna throw a funeral just for them
how the fuck did AFO just blow her up?? how did he know what was going on?? and if he had a quirk that could explode people at will, why is this the first we’re hearing of it?? you’d think that might have come in handy at Kamino or Jakku, like what
(ETA: present!me, who’s had more than three hours of sleep and can now actually remember facts about the series, would like to remind past!me that AFO gave Nagant a quirk, and so this is probably just more Vestige shenanigans now on his part. that’s also probably why Air Walk suddenly stopped working out of nowhere. still doesn’t explain why he doesn’t go around blowing people up more often though but maybe he thinks it’s gauche.)
Hawks just straight up out of nowhere. just Mirioed his way straight into the chapter just in time to be too late sob. here I was looking forward to seeing your face when Deku showed up with his new best friend. can’t believe Horikoshi deprived us of that moment
on the plus side, WELCOME BACK, HAWKS’S FEATHERS. I have no doubt that in this chapter of Deku being an almighty threequirk-mastering god, and Nagant losing anticlimactically only to be immediately blown up because girl characters in BnHA can only be cool for one fight and one fight only, there are still some people who are focusing solely on the “how dare Hawks get his wings back when he is a MURDERER this is an outrage what about CONSEQUENCES” discourse, and to hell with all the other discourses lmao
anyway, so yeah. wow. and now it’s just occurring to me that maybe the real reason why Overhaul is there is so he can get a head start on that amend-making by actually doing a good thing for once in his life, and using his quirk to heal Nagant. assuming he can still do that
and so now Horikoshi has got me out here actually rooting for Overhaul. you know what, on that note I think I’m just gonna go ahead and call it a day sob
#bnha 315#overhaul#chisaki kai#lady nagant#midoriya izuku#all for one#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha
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Touch (Pt 6)
Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*
Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).
Special thank you to @salvator-heartbreaker who has helped me hash out this chapter and some future plot details; this would not be as amazing as it is without her help!
Chapter warning: Buckle up, y’all. This chapter is LONG. Like, 12k words long (separating it into multiple chapters was NOT an option). Prepare yourself for a roller coaster of feels. Also, please PLEASE be aware of the warning tags.
Recommended Chapter Songs: Overdose by grandson/The Drug In Me Is Reimagined by Falling in Reverse
Part 1 Part 5
Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)
Part 6 - The Long Night
After Dabi left, you cleaned up the various items around the room. You placed the pills back into your bag from where they were in your pocket. A moment later, you decided against that location and put the bottle under your pillow within your pillowcase. You changed your mind again, taking the pill bottle into the bathroom to stuff it with cotton. It would keep the pills from rattling. You returned the bottle to its hiding place under your pillow. If Dabi came back looking for more, you wanted to have them within reach and not where he’d immediately look for them. You placed the damp washcloth in your hamper and drank some water before lying in bed with your phone in your hand.
You were only on your phone for a few minutes before you felt sleep start to drag at your eyelids, so you turned off your light and put your phone on your nightstand. Sleep was elusive, however. You stared at the ceiling pensively. Something nagged at your mind, but in your groggy, tired state, you couldn’t figure out what it was. You felt each minute tick by with painstaking slowness, frequently checking the time on your phone while your thoughts ran a mile a minute. It mulled over what had transpired, what was said and done, and how you felt… It was like flipping through an entire novel in a matter of seconds and then trying to describe a specific, obscure scene hidden within its pages.
By your fifth minute, you gave up and sat up in your bed. Your hands went under your pillow, feeling the familiar bottle in your fingers.
Realization hit. You quickly turned on your lamp. You pulled the bottle out of your pillowcase and spilled the contents out onto your comforter. You counted the amount and your breath stopped.
No.
You counted again.
FUCK.
You always made it a point to know exactly how many pills you had of anything you carried, but especially so for these pills.
You quickly put the remaining medication back into the bottle, counting them as they fell in with a tap. Then, you got up out of your bed and hid the pills inside an unused pair of shoes which you then put into a black duffle bag in the top of your closet. You only hoped Dabi didn’t come looking for them. At this rate, if he was willing to steal from you, then he’d be willing to rifle through your things.
Betrayal, cold and hard, soaked into your bones. You tried to reason with yourself, to talk yourself through what you knew about addiction, what you had learned in med school. But taking what was learned in a textbook, with no emotional attachment, and applying it into this situation did little to assuage the feelings roiling within you. This wasn’t hypothetical. This was real.
Even worse than the betrayal was the cold hard fact: Dabi could kill himself. And all because you left him alone for less than a minute. Did he already take them? How long ago did he leave your room? Your brain didn’t have time to do the math as you dashed across the hallway to his door.
You didn’t bother to knock – not this time. Thankfully, Dabi must have been so out of it that he forgot to lock it. You barreled in like a fiery chariot knocking down Hell’s gate, slamming the door behind you loudly enough to wake the dead. You didn’t care. In that moment, nothing else mattered but getting those pills back.
Dabi sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up at you groggily when the door slammed. His movements were noticeably slower, his pallor a sickly grey and shining with sweat.
“You took my pills.” You seethed. “Give them back.”
“What?” Dabi slurred.
“My pills, Dabi! Three of them are missing! Give them to me!”
He looked down at his hands as if confused by what they were. “I don’t have them.” He replied.
“Bull-fucking-shit!” you shot back. “I swear to God, Dabi, I will search this room until I find them.”
He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I already took them. And stop fucking shouting.”
“You what???” You gasped. “What the fuck, Dabi?? Why would you do that??”
He stood up now, angry at your presence, at your justified rage that he knew he was responsible for but didn’t want to face. He was barely keeping himself together as it was. His insides felt like a writhing, fiery snake. His head felt filled with cotton. And underneath it all, the pain hummed low like a purring beast. He couldn’t decide if the pills he took were actually working or not. The relief he thought they’d give him evaded him like a shadow.
“I told you I needed more.” Dabi replied.
“Dabi, you can O.D. on this!” you shot back.
“I’m not gonna O.D.” Dabi scoffed as he swayed on his feet. He fought the sickness rolling over him in waves, great crests threatening to drown him like a raging sea. He didn’t need this right now. Not with you here. Fuck. When did he get so fucking weak?
Your body instantly became poised to catch him if he fell. He needed to throw up what he took. That was the only option. Your mind frantically tried to assess if he was weak enough for you to overpower him, to try to put your fingers down his throat to trigger his gag reflex.
“Your drugs are weak as shit compared to what I was taking before. I can handle it.” He continued. “I know what I’m doing.” His eyes were unfocused as they tried to stare down at you.
Suddenly, the wave crested, higher than he could tread. Immediately his mouth began to water in sickly preparation, his gag reflex kicking in while his gut clenched. He stumbled to the bathroom, shoving you aside in the process, just in time to empty the contents of his stomach. It was clear, made of only the water he drank and the partially dissolved pills that he had stolen.
A wave of relief washed over you while Dabi emptied what remained of the drugs into the toilet. A part of you was still angry, wanting to give him an ‘I told you so,’ but you held back, instead keeping an eye on him from the bathroom doorway to make sure he was okay.
Once he was done, he leaned back against the bathroom wall, a pained grimace on his face, the metal rings pulling along his cheeks. His breaths were ragged and heavy. “Fuck.” He muttered. He should have eaten the stupid crackers. What a fucking waste.
Once you were sure he was okay for the moment, you paced back into the bedroom to try to calm your nerves. He threw up what he took. That was good. Of course, that also meant there was no telling how long your meds would stay in his system now, and once they started to wear off, he’d continue to suffer through withdrawal since you couldn’t give him more right away. This was just the beginning for him.
A knock on the door resounded into the room, interrupting your thoughts.
“Don’t answer it.” Dabi rasped from his spot next to the toilet.
You stared at him for a moment and waited while discomfort settled over you like an itchy blanket. You understood his need for privacy, but you also needed help… at least to have someone bring some water and food. It was going to be a long night and at this rate, Dabi was going to become severely dehydrated
Another knock came through, more persistent this time.
“Dabi,” called Toga’s voice. “Are you okay in there???”
Twice’s muffled voice followed. “He probably wants to be left alone. Fuck this guy.”
“I’m not gonna just leave him, Twice. You heard him in there.” Toga replied in annoyance.
Dabi groaned in frustration, his head in his shaking hands in denial. Why did it have to be Toga of all people? She was annoyingly persistent, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and not taking hints when her prying wasn’t welcome. The last thing he wanted was her and Twice standing outside his door while he hurled into the stinking toilet. They’d probably barge in without permission. You seeing him like this was bad enough – but at least he could excuse your involvement as the team’s medic, even if the vulnerability ate away at him. But letting them see him like this? He’d rather light everything on fire.
“Make them go away.” He whispered hoarsely.
You leapt at the opportunity, rushing to the door. You opened it to see Twice in his usual gear and Toga in a pink pajama set, her hair pulled back into twin buns. Her hand was outstretched as if ready to grasp an invisible doorknob.
“Hey guys.” You said through a fake bubbly smile. “It’s okay, I’m in here with him.”
“What the hell is going on??” Twice demanded.
“We heard a door slam, and yelling, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone throwing up.” Toga said crossing her arms.
They heard yelling – did they hear what you had shouted at Dabi? About him taking your drugs? You mentally scolded yourself for being so loud earlier. There had to be some way you could play it off.
You felt your skin get hot with embarrassment. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m helping him out.”
“What’s wrong?” Toga asked nosily. “Is Dabi hungover? He sounds like he’s hungover.”
“Stomach flu.” You improvised. You hoped they believed it. If they did, it’d give Dabi a reason to be left alone by the other league members for a few days while you helped him out.
Neither of them showed any doubt with your explanation. Toga made a disgusted face while Twice sighed. “Well, that’s a fucking relief. But keep the damn noise down!”
You smirked at his dual reactions. “Sorry, Twice.”
“Do you need anything?” Toga asked. “Water? Food?”
“Drugs?” Twice chimed in.
You froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before you realized he probably meant the kind that wasn’t illegal.
“Water and food would be appreciated. Something easy on the stomach, like crackers. And bananas if we have any left. I already have the other supplies I need.” You commented. Then, you remembered - Shit. Your supply bag was still in your room….
“Sure thing, big sis!” Toga replied through a cheery smile, her fangs prominent. “Come on, Twice. You can help me carry stuff.” Twice followed after her and you closed the door with a breath of relief before the sound of Dabi retching again made you go check on him.
His fingers grasped the toilet seat while his body shook, his knuckles as white as the porcelain they held onto. Spit dangled from his parted lips, his nose running, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his body’s reactions to his poor choices.
After a minute, he leaned back and carelessly wiped his face with his bare arm, the fluids glistening on his skin in the light of the bathroom.
His face was pulled into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, his body slumped against the wall. “You should have taken Twice up on his offer.” He said with a forced grin through wet lips.
“Not funny, Dabi.” You scolded. “Drugs are the last thing you need. Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”
“Well I certainly don’t think water and some fucking bananas are going to fix this.” He replied sourly.
“Better than your solution of taking six of my pills.” You shot back. “A lot of good that did you, huh?”
He opened his eyes to give you a cold glare, his mouth opening to protest. But his words were cut short by another round of vomiting, nothing coming up but thin strings of yellow bile from his empty stomach while his gut spasmed and clenched. You furrowed your brow. His nausea was getting worse, his vomiting more frequent. You wanted to use your quirk to alleviate his pain, but you couldn’t. Not for this. If his body couldn’t register the pain signals his gut was sending to his brain, then there was a chance the vomiting would stop. Throwing up was what he needed to make sure the stolen pills were out of his system.
Even aside from the vomiting, there was the issue of using your quirk too much, too soon. You could no longer fall back on your pills to manage your own pain if you pushed yourself too far. Your lower back itched uncomfortably, as if the very thought woke up the scarred nerves there, old memories threatening to follow in their wake. You pushed them aside forcefully by focusing on the man in front of you.
If you over-exerted yourself too soon, you wouldn’t be able to help him later when things got worse. Once these pills wore off, which you weren’t sure when that would happen, you wouldn’t be able to give him new ones right away. You were already short three pills after his little stint, and even if you did give him pills, his body might still reject them if it wasn’t ready for them. That would only make things exponentially worse. It was better to skip a dosage now and get back on track with the remaining medication you had. You’d pair what you’d allotted for him with your own quirk as an added relief; you only hoped the combination would be adequate until his pills became available for pickup.
Once he was done dry heaving, you handed him a hand towel from the hanging bar next to you. You had no idea if it was clean – he probably used it to dry his hands after washing them - but it didn’t really matter. It was better than using his arm again. He took it in silence, his eyes avoiding yours in what you could only describe as shame. Your heart clenched. You knew he didn’t mean for this to happen. No one ever does. You wanted to reassure him, to let him know it was all going to be okay, but words escaped you. How could you even begin to tell him something like that while he’s retching into a toilet in the wee hours of the night?
Before you could think of something to say, there was a familiar knock on the door. You forced yourself to step away and answer it. Sure enough, Toga and Twice were there, their arms full of offerings.
“Here you go.” Toga said, her arms filled with six water bottles. Twice also presented an array of items in his arms – a box of saltine crackers, some canned soup with a pull-top lid, and a couple of bananas.
“Thanks.” You replied, taking the items and placing them on Dabi’s desk. You were grateful neither of them tried to enter while you unloaded their arms; perhaps they really did believe Dabi had the flu and were too scared of catching it.
“You can go back to bed if you want. We’ll be fine.” you suggested.
“Let us know if you need anything else!” Toga offered with a toothy grin. You smiled your gratitude and closed the door as they turned to leave.
Once you heard their footsteps fade down the hall followed by the closing of bedroom doors, you returned to the bathroom with a water bottle in hand. You knew food wasn’t going to be an option for a while, but at least this might help. Even if he threw it back up, it was better than bile. But before you could even hand the bottle to him, he convulsed, hugging the toilet again, gagging and coughing. You knelt next to him patiently, ready to offer the water in your hand or the towel now forgotten on floor… whatever he needed.
He spit the drool dangling from his mouth and continued to hover over the toilet bowl with a groan. Everything hurt. His abs, his throat, his sinuses… his head was still muddled from a variety of factors – dehydration, lack of sleep, the drugs. He hated himself, reduced to a useless fucking puddle like the loser he was, and all while you were here watching him. You, who even though he let you down - even though he stole from you - continued to stay and care for him. He didn’t want that for you, and he didn’t want the guilt of your presence continuously reminding him of how he failed you while his body fell apart on him.
“Get out of here.” He said gruffly. “You don’t need to be here for this.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” You replied. You knew he was pushing you away and you understood why, but that didn’t matter to you. Sure, you were mad at what he had done, but you also understood he couldn’t help it. His obvious shame was apology enough for now, and his well-being was more important to you than his pride.
“Leave.” He growled.
“I can’t.” You could feel tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to leave him. Not like this.
More dry retching overtook him, and guilt began to creep on you like a thorny vine, choking your words from your throat. He couldn’t fight you on this even if he wanted to; was it really fair to stay when he asked you to go? He made his decision clear – he wanted to be alone. Where were you supposed to draw the line between forcing your care on him for his safety versus respecting his need for privacy?
You stared at him as you warred within yourself. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and on the upside, he did throw up some of those pills. But what about later, when the pills wear off and the hunger returns? Could you trust that he would come to you, looking for what he knew you had? Or would he go elsewhere, and risk his safety on something potentially worse? You wanted to respect his wishes, but your body wouldn’t move.
Dabi’s world was spinning; round and round he went, as if the toilet had been flushed and he and his rejected pills were being washed away like the trash that he knew he was. He was breathing heavily now, painful groans falling from his lips. “Get the fuck out, Y/N.”
The sound of your name on his lips for the first time smacked you, your breath catching painfully behind the lump in your throat. You struggled to suppress the tears threatening to unleash themselves down your face. He said your name. He had never said it before. You had imagined that the first time he’d say your name would be a sign of trust and intimacy. This wasn’t that at all. Instead, it was a weapon, a foul word that stung you like a whip.
He didn’t want you here. Maybe your presence really was just making it worse for him. He’d focus more on not wanting you around and fighting your hep than he would actually trying to fight his withdrawal. You had to leave and hope that he would be able to come out of this on his own.
Without a word, you loosened the cap on the water bottle and set it on the floor next to him as a final offering before getting up off the cold tile to leave. You left the bathroom, while the sounds of his continued retching filled your ears. Each cough and gag from his battered throat deepened your guilt, reminding you how your irresponsibility had contributed to him getting into this mess. Yes, he stole from you. It still angered you. But at the same time, you were the one who had all your mental faculties and still left drugs within his reach when he came to you for help.
You placed two water bottles and the crackers on the nightstand for him. Then, you took the half-full trash bag out of his trash can and made sure it was near his bed, just in case he needed to throw up again later.
With one more glance at him through the bathroom doorway while he sat doubled over the toilet, you made your way to the door.
Please be safe, please be safe… you silently pleaded.
Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, you heard a thud.
“Dabi? Are you okay?” you called.
Only silence greeted you. A cold panic set in and you rushed into the bathroom to find Dabi unconscious on the floor, face down in a puddle of water. The water bottle you had left had tipped over, the cold liquid spreading across the bathroom tile and soaking into Dabi’s clothes. You pushed your panic aside as you immediately switched into emergency mode. You knelt by his side and rolled him over onto his back, cupping his face in your hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.
“Dabi??” You called. No response. You checked for a pulse and felt it fluttering beneath your fingers. “DABI??” you shouted as you lightly smacked his cheek. He didn’t respond. His color was lifelessly pale, but his chest rose and fell in slow breaths. He was breathing. You checked his pupils – dilated. He definitely still had your drugs in his system. How much, you weren’t sure. Once again, you were grateful that he had managed to throw up what he could.
His skin was burning. Was it already hotter than a moment ago? Was it a fever from the withdrawal? Or was it his quirk acting up, going haywire without him being able to consciously be in control of himself? The idea of his cremation randomly unleashing itself in the small bathroom made your throat dry up with dread.
You had to cool him down somehow. Dabi’s bathroom had a walk-in shower just a foot away, and you gave a silent thankful prayer to the universe. A bathtub would have made this entire fiasco exponentially more difficult.
First, you had to remove his clothes. They were trapping in his body heat at the moment, compounding his fever.
It wasn’t easy. Dabi was lean, but he certainly didn’t lack muscle, and what he lacked for in bulk, he made up for in height. It was awkward in the small space as you pulled his sweatpants off of him, exposing scarred legs with metal staples curving along his thighs. You left his boxers on. You couldn’t bring yourself to take them off of him while he was unconscious. His head lolled to the side while his eyes, now half-lidded, stared with an empty, unconscious gaze. His shirt was next, wet with sweat, water, and specks of bile. The fresh bandage that you had recently applied fell off as soon as the cotton fabric wasn’t there to hold it in place. The wound was healing, but it was still pink and raw. The slightest amount of pressure would reopen the sensitive tissue, undoing your hard work.
You needed your med kit.
Once he was undressed, you rolled him to his side. You didn’t want him to aspirate if he ended up vomiting again. Then, you ran the shower to let the water warm slightly. It needed to be lukewarm – cool enough to bring down his fever, but not so cold that it would shock his system and make him shiver. Shivering helped to increase body temperature, and that was the last thing he needed.
Once the water was running, you took one last look at the man laying unconscious on his side before making a mad dash out of his room and into yours to grab your medical bag by your bed. There was no time to double check the supplies in it; you only hoped you had what you needed. You grabbed a couple of clean towels from your own bathroom before running back into his room, thankfully unnoticed in the empty hall. It took less than a minute.
You bandaged his wound back up quickly, while he was on his side. It wasn’t the neatest work, but it would do for now. Already, his body temperature was noticeably higher than when you had left him. There was no time to check it with your thermometer - it was a race against the clock, now.
You rolled Dabi back onto his back to try and rouse him once again, picking him up slightly so he lay in your lap, while you called his name and cupped his cheek. His eyes fluttered open slightly, his head shifting at the sound of your voice, before his eyes closed again. You cursed under your breath and laid him back down the way you had him before while you checked the water temperature. It was warm enough, or so you hoped, since his own temperature kept rising. You turned off the water briefly to retrieve the unconscious man.
Finally, you were ready. You tried to grab Dabi from under his armpits, but his skin was almost too hot to touch for an extended period of time. Definitely quirk related. You grabbed a spare towel and tried again, this time protecting your hands and arms against his scalding skin. You wrapped your hands around his chest, your arms under his armpits, and began to drag him to the shower stall. You tried your best to be mindful of his scars and staples, hoping that dragging him across the floor wouldn’t tear anything. For a shower that was so close in proximity, it took a painstakingly long time to get him into it and properly positioned before you could step out and turn the shower back on.
Lukewarm water sputtered out of the showerhead, drenching his body from the chest down. The water steamed upon contact, reacting to the heat rolling off of him like asphalt on a hot summer’s day. Dabi stirred slightly, roused to consciousness by the sensation and the change in temperature. He looked around groggily until his blue eyes settled on you. You waited for him to say something, but no words came as his dazed eyes seemed to lose focus. The only sign that he was still somewhat conscious was the occasional slow blink while he watched you take a wet washcloth and squeeze it over his head to let the cool water soak his hair and dribble down his face and neck. The water trickled down his forehead to his brow, and you tenderly wiped it away with the washcloth to keep it from getting into his eyes. You followed the contours of his face with the cool cloth, along his jawline, across his cheeks.
Dabi closed his eyes for minutes at a time, only opening them briefly as you adjusted the water temperature slightly and again as your ran your fingers through his wet hair, moving the dripping strands from his forehead so you could see his face better. Color slowly began to creep back into his skin, the water no longer steamed. What you were doing was working, and you were grateful – so grateful – that you hadn’t left him yet. The rush of time slowed down. Dabi’s eyes closed again as you quietly hummed to yourself as you cared for him. It helped to calm your nerves and pass the time.
After what felt like ages, you finally checked his temperature, this time with the temporal thermometer you had in your bag. The number that beeped back at you satisfied you enough to turn the water off. You gave Dabi’s shoulder a small shake, and his eyes opened to look at you under heavy lids.
“Come on.” You whispered. “I need you to stand up.”
He licked his chapped lips as he braced himself into a standing position with your help and made the two feet distance to sit on his toilet, his wet boxers dribbling puddles of water onto the floor. You covered him in two towels, one for his head and one for his shoulders, before you stepped out of the bathroom for a moment to get him fresh clothes.
You realized quickly that he’d need to change out of his wet boxers – something you hadn’t considered earlier when you undressed him. You gulped briefly. Could he even do that on his own right now? He still was out of it and needed assistance just to stand.
There was no way around it. You’d have to help him.
You grabbed a pair of fresh boxers, black jersey shorts, and a white tee before returning to the bathroom. He was in the position you left him, the only difference being that he was now leaning against the wall while he sat on the toilet. His eyes were closed at first but they opened slightly when you nudged him gently. He still looked completely out of it.
Even so, you talked to him. “Dabi,” you whispered. “I have to change your boxers so I can put dry clothes on you. I’m going to help you stand up.”
He gave a slow blink but made no attempt to move or speak. As you wrapped your arms around his chest to help him up, he didn’t fight you, leaning his weight into you just enough to rise slightly from his sitting position. You weren’t sure how conscious he really was for this. Was he aware of what was going on, of what you were doing? Or was his body going through the motions, barely registering his environment? You hoped it was the latter.
“I won’t look.” You promised. You looped your fingers into the wet waistband and pulled it down, before letting him sit back down on the toilet. With your eyes respectfully averted, you pulled the wet material off the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet. You quickly dried his legs off before grabbing the clean boxers you had set up on top of his sink, the only dry spot left in the bathroom. Through the use of touch, you were able to put his feet into them and pull them up just above his bent knees. His shorts followed until both items were pulled up as high as they would go in his sitting position.
“One more time.” You said. With him braced against you, you grabbed both waistbands and pulled his clothes on. A moment later, he was sitting back down, properly covered. You proceeded with your administrations now that the hard part was done. You dried his hair with the towel still on his head, and then dried his torso and arms using the towel on his shoulders. By the time you were helping him with his tee shirt, he was starting to show some cognizance, pushing his arms out through the holes himself once you got them into position.
Quickly you flushed the toilet he was sitting on, washing away the contents from earlier, and gathered the soiled clothes and towels from the floor before taking them to the laundry hamper in his room. It was still dark outside, and you wondered what time it was. 3:30am? 4? You had no way of knowing; you had left your phone in your room. With the situation no longer critical, your adrenaline finally started to drop. Exhaustion pulled at you, a heavy blanket threatening to smother you until you surrendered. You were so tired, that even Dabi’s bed looked inviting at this point.
You forced yourself to keep going.
You grabbed one of the water bottles from his nightstand, hoping that you could finally get him to drink something now that the vomiting was over and he was starting to gain awareness again.
When you came back to the bathroom, Dabi looked up at you as you entered, his eyes truly seeing you for the first time.
“You’re still here.” He slurred, his voice raspy.
“You noticed, huh?” you gave a small smirk, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
He was quiet for a moment and looked down, confusion on his face. “I told you to leave.”
“Yeah, well I was going to, but then you passed out on the bathroom floor.” You replied. “I couldn’t just leave you there.”
He didn’t respond. The fight in him was gone for the moment. He was placid now, almost childlike. You opened the water bottle and handed it to him, but he turned his head away.
“Please, Dabi…” you begged.
He looked back at the item in your hand and stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and taking a small sip. He grimaced painfully.
Of course; after all that vomiting he did earlier, his throat probably hurt like hell.
You pointed at his neck. “May I?” You hoped he understood.
He seemed to. He lowered the water bottle from his lips to allow you access to his throat, and gently you placed your hand over it, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed against your cool touch. Your quirk seeped into him like honey into a cake, coating his throat and washing the burning pain away.
He swallowed again, this time without flinching. His eyes stared at you, still hazy, but with the hint of something lively in them –a flicker of kindling. He took your hand from his neck and moved it down to his abdomen.
“Here.” He spoke.
You understood, but you hesitated. Would you be able to keep your quirk focused on just the nerves of his muscles? Or would it go deeper than that, impacting the nerves in his gut? That could have its own effects – he won’t feel the burning in his gut, but he also won’t feel hunger for a while, and may not feel that urge to vomit again even if his body needed to later.
“Just a little bit.” You replied.
You felt your quirk trickle into him, like water through cracks in concrete. Once your quirk felt the resistance of the deeper layers of muscle and tissue, you pulled your hand away. If you pushed any further, it’d be too much. He might feel some pain still, but it should be mitigated at least.
“Drink more now. Please.” You ordered.
He obliged, drinking the water in large, thirsty gulps for the first time that evening. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth and handed the empty water bottle to you. You set it on his sink next to the faucet, in case it needed to be refilled later on.
“Come on,” you said. You kneeled down and put his arm around your shoulder, helping him stand. “Let’s get you into bed.”
He didn’t respond; instead, he let you lead him out of the bathroom to the edge of his bed where he fell into it. You debated on whether or not you could leave him there and finally retreat to your room for much-needed rest, but you decided against it. The meds that were flowing in his system were going to start wearing off soon. He will be hungering for more, and you won’t be able to give it to him this time. If you left him alone here, he’d either somehow end up back in your room hunting for that hidden bottle, or he’d go out on the street to try to score whatever he could, no matter the consequences.
There was no choice. You had to stay. And when his pain became too much, you’d help out as best you could. Maybe you could mitigate the symptoms enough to last him until tomorrow evening. By then, you could start him back up on your pills.
You hoped you could handle it. You’d already used your quirk three times tonight - twice just now, and once earlier when you treated his burn in your room. Already, the environment seemed a little harsher to you. Light was brighter, noises louder… It wasn’t too terrible just yet, but all of your senses were heightened more than they were before. The damaged nerves on your back, always hidden by your shirt, itched irritably. It was still bearable – for now.
A sense of trepidation filled you. You’d gone so long without over-exerting your quirk… it had taken only one time to experience it, and you vowed to never let it happen again. Then again, you never expected to be single-handedly dealing with drug addiction and withdrawal for a man who takes enough opioids to take down an elephant.
You peaked at him in his bed where he lay curled up on his side. His eyes were closed for the moment, but you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not. Without disturbing him, you managed to steal a spare pillow from his bed. Then, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you laid down in front of his door, his pillow your only comfort. If he tried to leave, he’d have to go through you. The window was unguarded, but you weren’t too worried – you were three stories up. The building was an old hotel, so all fire escapes were located at the end of the hall, and he was in no condition to try to climb down the rusty drainpipes.
Despite the hardness of the floor and the coldness of the air, sleep claimed you within seconds, the scent of Dabi enveloping you.
As you slept, Dabi stirred restlessly in his bedsheets, his mind drifting between a vague wakefulness and dreams.
There was humming. Someone was singing. It soothed him.
He blinked.
You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Something cool and wet passed across his forehead. Was this real?
He blinked.
Your face peered up at him, filled with a loving concern as your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his stitches softly. Was THIS real?
He blinked.
He stared at himself, his scars gone, his hair a deep red. His blue eyes echoed his other self like an infinite row of mirrors.
He blinked.
He tried to speak, but pills kept falling from his mouth, choking his words. He couldn’t breathe. His other self stood before him, hands cupped and outstretched as the pills filled them and overflowed, scattering over the floor like a child’s marbles.
He blinked.
All he could see was a blue sky, but there were sounds. The sound of children’s laughter, the sound of a ball being kicked. The was a faint smell of dirt in the air. He was happy.
He blinked.
A woman sat near a window, bathed in sunlight with a white bundle cradled in her arms. Something about her was oddly familiar, yet he couldn’t place her. She sang. “My little Shouto. My sweet, little Shouto…” A baby cooed. Her face turned to him, but her features were hazy, hard to see through the dust that danced in the sunbeams. She reached out a long, slender hand. “Come here, Touya. Meet your little brother.”
He blinked.
He saw the woman again, standing at the end of a lake dock in a white dress, her hair billowing like a white flag of surrender. The lake was smooth as glass, a white mist ghosting over its glossy waters. He knew her.
Mother.
He tried to call to her, but his words were silent, falling from voiceless lips like birds with broken wings. She put one foot out over the water and fell silently, disappearing beneath the murky depths without a splash. A cold dread filled him. Frantically, he ran towards the water, but before he could dive in, the water on the lake erupted into orange, writhing flames. The wood beneath his feet crackled and charred, flames licking at his legs, his arms, his face. The dock broke and suddenly he was drowning, boiling water filling his lungs. Unseen hands grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down, into the darkness, his flesh turning to ash beneath their touch.
Dabi woke with a shout, his eyes wide and filled with a wild fear. He felt restrained, his legs unable to move.
“Hold him down.” Said a familiar, gruff voice. The smell of cigarette smoke choked him. “I told you this would hurt, kid.”
Suddenly, your face came into view, hovering over him with your hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dabi. Dabi!” you called. You stared down at him with worry, dark circles under your bloodshot, tired eyes.
You were here.
The waking nightmare lifted and suddenly he was gasping for air like a deep-sea diver, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he broke through the surface into consciousness. “Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled to his ears. His eyes looked around frantically, taking in his room. A dark twilight was starting to emerge from the clouded, early morning sky outside, dark blue-grey contrasting with the yellow light seeping from the edges of his closed his bathroom door. The colors framed your face as you spoke to him
“Hey, it’s okay.” You said soothingly. “It was just a dream.”
His bedsheets were tangled around his bare legs like a snake. Dabi kicked them off and sat up in his bed with a wince. “I need some water.” An open water bottle appeared in front of him, which he gratefully took and drank.
“Are you okay?” you asked.
Dabi handed the bottle back to you without looking. “I’m fine.” He said gruffly; more so than he intended. But he wasn’t fine. Everything hurt. His head was pounding. His damaged nerves were starting to scream while his body felt as if it had been forced into a box that was too small, aching in places he never thought it could ache. Underneath it all, humming low like a wild animal growling a warning, sat an uneasiness - a dark, nervous energy - threatening to envelop him and wrap him up tightly in despair. Flashes of dreams – or were they memories? – threatened to drag him back down into the darkest parts of himself.
Dabi grappled for control, but he was losing.
You placed a concerned hand over his and he withdrew from your touch, the affection foreign to him. The heavy weight of shame sat deep in his gut as he took in your weary face. Somewhere, beneath the noisy din of his mind, a thought occurred to him: this was taking its toll on you too.
“Why are you still here?” he asked as he laid back onto his damp pillow, his arm over his eyes.
“Because you need me.” You replied.
He clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t.” The words were feeble and weak in his mouth, not an ounce of truth in them. You both knew it.
“I’m too tired to argue with you.” You stated as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose.
“Then go to bed.” He replied.
You wanted to growl in frustration, your own exhaustion making your fuse especially short. If he could just not fight you every step of the way, that’d be great.
“The last time I almost left, you fainted on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water while your body tried to combust itself. So no, I’m not leaving.”
Your tone allowed no more room for argument, your words forcing Dabi to sulk silently. He sat up from his reclined position, his long, scarred legs swinging over the side of the bed to plant firmly on the ground. His leg began to bounce and jitter, an attempt to relieve the irritated, unfocused energy that swirled inside of him like a cyclone. He felt like hell. He was a desert, his body and mind parched as the drugs in his system began to dry up. Even the slightest bit of movement set his nerves ablaze, pain coursing over his skin like a wildfire. He was tired… so fucking tired.
You reached across him, your proximity allowing him to smell the shampoo in your hair as your arm and shoulder pressed against him. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to peace break through his stormy mind like sunlight. It was short-lived though. Your closeness left as quickly as it had come, taking the sunshine with it.
“Hey…” you whispered next to him, a pack of crackers in your hand. You opened the packaging and handed him one. “Try to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.” He replied.
“I don’t care. You need to eat.” You replied.
He didn’t have the strength to fight you. Begrudgingly, he took the cracker and nibbled on it. There was no pleasure in it, his jaw going through the motions like a machine as he chewed and swallowed.
You continued to talk to him, your voice soft, as you handed him another cracker. “You’re going into withdrawal again.” You stated.
“I know.”
“It might actually feel worse this time.”
“It does.”
Your face blurred as another wave of fiery pain washed over him, making him double over, the cracker crumbling like ashes in his fist. He gasped and panted against it, his body shaking from the stress.
You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me help you.” You said. “Let me use my quirk.”
For the briefest of moments, Dabi’s pained expression lifted, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. “It won’t be enough.” He replied.
“Let me try.” You begged.
He stared at you. It was either this, or drugs.
He nodded.
You took his hand in yours and began to trace your fingers along his staples, your quirk seeping in. He inhaled a sharp breath. The pain dissipated where your touch landed. It soaked into his aching bones like heavy rainfall on a burning forest. There was a moment of clarity, the sensation so shocking that it distracted him from his suffering. Slowly you let your hands follow up the length of his arm, following his scars and leaving a humming numbness in its wake. Then, you took his other hand to continue the same treatment on the other side.
Dabi stared at his painless hand in vague fascination. It didn’t seem like it belonged to him. His vision blurred, memory replacing reality.
His hands were smaller now, the stitches gone. The skin was bubbled and blistered, and he could hear his own quiet sobs as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Hey, sweetie.” A soft voice called. Pale, white, delicate hands wrapped around his own damaged ones.
He looked up to see his mother smiling at him. It was a sad smile, full of love, but never quite reaching her tired eyes.
“It hurts.” He sobbed.
“I know.” She soothed. “It’s okay.” A cool frost began to ghost over his damaged skin, soothing the burning, throbbing pain.
“Why does my quirk hurt me, mommy?” he heard himself ask.
“It’s my fault, honey.” She whispered, tears stinging her grey eyes.
“It’s not your fault.” Dabi whispered.
Your touch on his collarbone pulled him back to reality on a thin, white thread.
“What was that?” you asked, your fingers pausing in their work.
“What?” he replied, disoriented.
“You said ‘it’s not your fault.’” You replied with a confused look. “What’s not my fault?”
“Nothing.” He responded as he turned his head away from your prying gaze.
You didn’t pursue it. Dabi was grateful. Instead, he felt your cool touch return to his collarbone to trace along the muscles of his neck and shoulders. While your touch helped initially, the cloud of suffering followed close behind from the places you had yet to reach, a parade of aches and throbs blaring their horns against his brain. His body focused on the noise and continued to shiver and shake while he struggled to keep himself focused.
His face was next, so you cupped his cheek in your hand and gently returned his averted gaze to you. His blue eyes locked with yours, and you stared into them for a moment, captivated by their beauty, aching with their suffering. He didn’t deserve this. Any of this. You could only hope that what you were doing was enough, that it could make a difference.
Your fingers rushed and fumbled clumsily across the lower half of his face and beneath his eyes. You couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps it felt too personal, even after all you two had been through so far. You barely touched his lower lip, the sensation of its roughness sending electric tingles up your fingertips. You desperately wanted to slow down, take your time, and cherish. But you couldn’t. Such exploration was far too intimate to happen here, now, under such heavy circumstances.
You paused for a moment in your administrations as sweat started to break across your brow. The light from the bathroom felt unusually bright to your eyes and you could feel a headache start to form. A shiver began to take you as your body became increasingly sensitive to the cool temperature of the room, each soft gust of air from the open window feeling like an icy blast. Even your hearing was more sensitive – you could hear Dabi’s heavy breaths as his body struggled; you could hear the early morning sounds of songbirds beginning to sing as the sky gradually lightened outside. The rumble of a car passing by on the street sounded like a freight train. All of your nerves were beginning to tingle, and you became increasingly aware of the texture of the clothing on your skin, the feel of Dabi’s staples beneath your hands. Most of all, the scarred nerves on your back were beginning their own little dance, sending small shoots of tingling pain up your spine.
It was already happening. The feedback from your quirk was starting to cross the threshold into painful overstimulation. It was happening far sooner than you had hoped. But then again, you’d already used your quirk three times within the past eight hours, and your body was already at its limits in other ways. Even quirks could be impacted by physical fatigue, dehydration, hunger… it was like trying to run a marathon on zero sleep and an empty stomach.
Dread settled into your empty gut, making a home there out of wild, thorny weeds. They tangled themselves in your limbs, slowing your movements as your mind began to race. Would you really be able to help him?
Your worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of multiple ‘dings’ coming from Dabi’s phone that sat neglected on his nightstand, as a series of text messages came through. Each ding vibrated your inner ear at the loudness. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of bedroom doors opening and closing in the hallway. Your hands froze over Dabi’s skin as you waited and listened. Muffled voices vibrated on the other side of the thin walls, your sensitive ears picking up every word.
“Why the hell do Kurogiri and Shigaraki have us getting up so goddamn early?” Twice complained.
Spinner’s voice answered. “He said he’ll explain it to us downstairs. Something about our next mission, I guess. Something to do with the Yakuza.”
A loud yawn came from Toga. “Couldn’t it have waited?? I still need my beauty sleeeeeep….” She whined.
Magne’s voice soon followed. “You’re already beautiful, sweetie.”
“You’re the best, Magne…”
Their voices faded as they entered the old elevator at the end of the hall, it’s off-key ding marking the closing of the doors.
A heavy silence followed. You and Dabi were alone now, the entire floor empty. A confusing combination of relief and anxiety washed over you. The privacy was good, but then again, there was no one around to help if you really needed it.
You returned your gaze to Dabi who sat in silence while his withdrawal continued to wash over him. If your quirk had helped so far, you couldn’t really tell. His breaths were still labored and his vision unfocused as his body shook slightly. He sat there as if waiting. Waiting for you? Or was he still falling in his mind, waiting to crash hard across the sharp jagged rocks of his withdrawal before you could catch him?
He had more scars you needed to tend to… on his legs, his back, his left side just below his ribs, and over his hips, the dark tissue disappearing beneath his shorts. This wasn’t even counting the rest of the pain he felt everywhere else in his body simply from not having any drugs in his system. You were only able to do damage control on the parts that hurt the most. What if it wasn’t enough? It wasn’t a possibility you had considered before.
You swallowed, your mouth and throat dry. You had to try.
“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said. “It’ll make it easier for me to reach your other scars.”
He didn’t respond to you, his gaze unfocused.
Scars… scars….
The word echoed in his mind, and he followed it as it led him down an invisible road to another memory.
“Eww, look at his scars!” a kid said to his friend, his finger pointing.
The friend wrinkled in disgust. “Gross!”
“Dabi?” a voice called. He turned and saw his sister. His brow furrowed. Something wasn’t right. The name didn’t match the movement of her lips…
“Dabi??” your voice cut through, and the memory disappeared.
Dabi looked up at you, confused. “Hm?”
“Your shirt. We have to take it off.”
He silently lifted his shirt over his head, while you watched him with worry. It wasn’t hard for you to figure out what was happening. He was having long moments of non-responsiveness, getting repeatedly lost in his thoughts. You didn’t know much about him, but you could hazard a guess that this guy probably did not have a happy backstory. Villains never did. No doubt the lack of drugs in his system was bringing up that backstory for him right now. The concern, however, was that that was something that was completely outside of your scope. Physical pain was one thing. Mental pain was an entirely different beast. All you could hope for was that your physical treatments could help him enough that he could handle his mental issues by himself.
You took a moment to assess his body and how it was responding to your quirk. His leg no longer bounced, and the shivering was reduced. He showed no hesitation or pain when he removed his shirt. It was definitely doing something.
It gave you hope.
You kept going, your hands washing over wherever the scars presented themselves. Your relief continued to pour into him, but it was impaired now, impacted by your body’s need to limit itself. It was like holding your hand in increasingly hot water – at some point your body was going to recoil to protect you before you burned yourself. You were pushing yourself dangerously far, but you didn’t have a choice. If you stopped now, all of this would be for nothing.
As you struggled to treat every damaged part of him, your heightened senses became worse and worse. And the scar on your back… the one that you always kept covered, the one you never told anyone about because of what it represented… that hurt the most. It burned nearly as fresh as it had when you first got it, a hot searing pain, and panic started to seep into your mind.
You forced yourself to focus on the present, to keep yourself in control. Your hands were on his legs now. You counted the staples as your fingers passed over them.
One, two, three, four, five…
This was the reason you needed your meds. Everything else you could handle on your own. But the scar… the scar always hurt if you pushed too far, and the memories associated with it were never far behind. And this was the farthest you had pushed in a long time
Six, seven, eight, nine…
But you couldn’t take your pills. And you couldn’t cry. Dabi would see it, and there was no telling how he would respond. You silently clenched your jaw and hoped that he didn’t notice the sweat across your skin or the way your hands were shaking now.
Finally, your hands reached his feet, and you couldn’t deny your fingers rushed across the staples that marked the end of your journey. Your touches were done, your quirk spent. Your body was tensed now, each muscle tightened in an attempt to keep yourself together.
You looked back up at him and watched him intently, hopefully, forcing your eyes to focus on him and only him, as you tried to tune out the rest of the environment that was demanding your attention. His body no longer shook. But his eyes were still glazed over and his hands were still wrapped around his core. Was he still in pain? Or was he holding himself for comfort?
Although the battleground of Dabi’s body was more balanced now with your help, the war within himself was far from over. His muscles still ached where your hands had yet to reach, and his head still hurt almost to the point of sickness. But most importantly, while your touch soothed the physical, the mental was left unbarred. The demons of the flesh were replaced by demons of the past, as memory after suppressed memory crashed back into Dabi’s defenseless mind.
“Don’t stop.” He begged in a strained whisper. “I need more.”
Your eyes widened. You didn’t have any more. You gave everything you could and now you were hanging on by a thread.
You no longer had the will or strength to hold in your emotions. Tears slipped down your cheeks, wet roads marking your failure, your failure to subdue his suffering as you had promised.
“I can’t.” you sobbed.
He stared at you foggily, confused by the tears on your cheeks. Were you crying?
“Are you crying??” demanded a deep, angry voice.
Dabi squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, as memory mingled with reality. It sounded real.
Dabi knew he was hallucinating from the withdrawal. Years of dependency had the wires in his brain crisscrossed, and now they were misfiring as it tried to process the trauma he had neglected. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was here. He sensed his towering, overbearing presence, could feel the heat of the fire rolling off of his broad shoulders. He wasn’t ‘Dabi’ in that moment. He was ‘Touya,’ small and weak. He couldn’t suppress the fear that followed, crawling up his skin like a thousand ants. He wanted to run from it, but he couldn’t.
This was hell. He was in hell. He couldn’t make the voices stop, couldn’t make the memories disappear. He was cornered, with no way out.
Dabi craved surrender, to satisfy the addiction and let it wash over him. He wanted it drown his shame and agony, leaving nothing but that comforting, vengeful rage he was so used to. It was the only thing that worked, the only thing he believed in. If he could just get the right drugs, enough drugs, then all of this would go away. It was his only option. Earlier was just a mistake, his broken mind reasoned. He wouldn’t have thrown up those pills if he ate something, after all. This time… this time, he’d be okay. He ate those crackers, didn’t he?
Desperation fueled him, fear and exhaustion consumed him as he locked his eyes on you with intense purpose. “I need those pills. NOW.”
You shook your head vigorously as your words fell from your trembling lips. “I don’t have them.” More tears slipped down your cheeks.
“ARE YOU CRYING??”
A child sobbed.
“Get up. I SAID GET UP.”
Dabi’s blood went cold. He knew this memory. No, no, no…
Dabi leapt out of his bed, nearly knocking you over in the process.
His frantic eyes spotted your medical bag against the wall and before you could even get off the bed, he was dumping its contents all over the floor. Scissors, gauze, over-the-counter pain medicine, and a variety of other items rolled across the hard wood with a clatter. You winced. He threw the bag aside when he couldn’t find what he wanted.
“Where did you put it??” Dabi demanded. His world spun, but he managed to find the wall with his hand and used it to brace himself up.
“I can’t tell you that.” You replied as you stood up.
“So now you’re keeping them from me?” he seethed.
Now that he knew the drugs weren’t in the room, you knew he would try to leave. You made yourself stand up, stifling a cry with a bite of your tongue as your shirt rubbed against your back, to position yourself between him and the door. Fear coursed through you. Even though he was weakened from all that he’d gone through, you knew he could easily overpower you.
You put your hands out towards him cautiously. “We either deal with this now and be done with it, or we deal with it all over again later when the pills run out. You’ve already been through so much. Please, Dabi, don’t give up. You can fight this.”
“You’re pathetic. Weak, like your mother.”
He covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking the voices from within.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t fight this. The pain was too much, the exhaustion too heavy, the emotions too raw. He needed the drugs. His survival depended on it. Without them, he would go insane. Hadn’t he suffered enough? He wanted to scream, to break things, to ignite his cremation and send everything to ash, including himself. But he didn’t. Perhaps it was the cowardice of dying, or the dissatisfaction of unfinished business, or even the simple fact that you were here with him. Instead, he tried to step around you, but you matched him move for move, blocking his exit. He was trapped.
“Get the fuck outta my way.” Dabi growled.
“No.” you said firmly, even as your body shook in fear and pain. Your eyes were trained on his hands. What if he decided to use his quirk? He wouldn’t… would he?
His face contorted in rage. Betrayal, his mind seethed. You cared more about protecting your precious stash than you did about him. How could you be so fucking selfish?
“You just want to keep the pills for yourself.” He spat.
His accusation shocked you. “W-what?”
“Admit it. You’re a fucking addict just like me. THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY!”
“I’m not!” you protested. “Dabi, I’m trying to help you!”
“I’m sorry!” Touya begged. “Let me try again. I just wanna be like you! I wanna be a hero, too!”
“You’ll NEVER be like me! You’re a DISGRACE! A failed experiment!”
“No, no, NO!” Dabi shouted as he squeezed his eyes shut, his fists pounding his head. He opened his eyes, a wildness in them that terrified you. He grabbed at you then, his long fingers wrapping around your biceps with shocking force as he prepared to physically move you from his path. You cried out in pain, his touch like knives against your sensitive skin.
“Dabi, stop it, you’re hurting me!” you cried.
Your frantic words cut through his crazed mind. He stared at you, bewildered, taking in the terror in your eyes, the tears on your face. He saw his hands gripping you, your arms bent up in front of you defensively in fear.
In fear of him.
He let you go, stumbling back a step. He stared at his open palms in horror, his chest heaving. He’d grabbed you. Hurt you. It was his worst fear come to life. He really was like him.
His hands morphed before his eyes, the scars and staples vanishing, and suddenly they were bigger, rougher. They were his father’s hands. And as he looked up, he no longer saw you. Now, he saw his mother, her eyes holding the same fear yours did a moment ago, a fear he’d seen countless times as she tried to defend her children. Those eyes were now trained on him, and it felt as if his soul was being ripped to shreds.
“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. He needed her forgiveness. Did he even deserve such a thing? He fell to his knees with a choked sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated.
You stared in shock as you watched him fall apart before you, rambling apologies and broken words falling from his lips. You whispered that it was alright, but he couldn’t hear you, too far lost in whatever nightmare he was stuck in. You knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles in the space between his shoulders.
He could feel it… his mother’s touch, cool on his back and warm on his soul. He was falling and no longer knew where he was. He only knew that this touch between his shoulder blades was an anchor to a place he couldn’t reach, a place he longed for but never believed existed for him. It was an exoneration, made of mercy and love, sewing together his broken pieces with a golden thread. He wasn’t worthy of it. He cried.
Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bore witness to his agony, this unknown monster that haunted him as he sobbed, completely dismantled and unaware of your presence. There was nothing you could do, no way you could help him through this. All you could do was be here for him. You wouldn’t let him go through this alone
You wrapped your arms around his head as you buried your face into his black hair, your own tears running down into his dark strands. His body responded, lean, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed himself against your stomach and suddenly the two of you were entwined, with him halfway in your lap, gripping you like a child would his mother as his body shook and his tears ran hot into your clothes.
With every inch of you on the brink, your body screamed at his iron-like grip around your waist. Even so, you twined your fingers into his thick hair, bracing the palms of your hands against his sweating skull. With one last surge, you drew what you could of your quirk, scraping the dredges of your ability, and pushed, deep into his brain where the pain still sat like a bullet in a wound that couldn’t heal. A choked sob escaped your lips as your body was pushed passed its threshold, your world exploding in color, sound, and pain. Dabi’s own sobs fell silent and his body went limp in your lap, his arms around your waist going slack. He was unconscious.
A deafening silence fell across the room, slowly replaced by the sounds of daily life from outside – the bustle of traffic, someone’s radio blaring, people laughing. It felt out of place in contrast to all that had transpired and clashed harshly with your ears. The sun was completely up now, the grey haze of morning burned away. It seeped past the cracks in the curtains, a beam of light streaking across the floor to kiss the face of the man now passed out in your lap. The brightness of the sunlight made you squint against it, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You watched the tension in his face disappear, furrowed brows and wrinkled forehead smoothing over, his lips parting in a relaxed breath. It was the first time you’d ever seen him look so peaceful.
You watched as your tears fell on his pale cheek to slip down and catch onto a metal ring. Suddenly, you were doubled over him, sobbing violently into his shoulder. The rollercoaster of all that had happened crashed over you in unrelenting waves as your body screamed at the entire loudness of the world around you. As you cried, the broken man beneath you slept. There was no waking him now; his own exhaustion had claimed him once you hit his withdrawal at its source.
After what felt like ages, your sobbing subsided, and your tears dried up. Your body and soul were spent. They screamed for relief, for silence, for sleep. Slowly, you removed Dabi from your lap before finally staring at him, asleep on the floor. There was no way you could get him back into his bed, but you’d do what you could to make him comfortable. Even the slightest bit movement was agony, but you forced yourself forward with painstaking slowness. You managed to get the pillow you had borrowed under his head and draped his blanket over him before you grabbed a water bottle for yourself and downed its contents. You followed it up with a banana, although your stomach roiled slightly, the pain in your lower back bringing forth a wave of nausea that you fought with clenched teeth and deep breaths through the nose.
Every movement was stiff and calculated to try to mitigate your own suffering as you gathered the items Dabi had emptied across the floor earlier. When you finally left his room, it felt like entering another dimension, the hallway oddly quiet and peaceful.
On tired, aching feet you crossed the hallway to your room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind you, you dropped your bag and headed straight for the bathroom. As you passed your closet, you eyed the duffle bag stashed up high in your closet, your mind longingly thinking of its hidden contents. You did your best to ignore it. The idea of having to go through it all again because you couldn’t exercise self-control was enough to keep you from giving into temptation.
Instead, you pulled your over the counter pain relief pills from your medicine cabinet and took four of them; they might not work as well as what you were used to, but it was better than nothing. Your body screamed for sleep, but you knew that sleep would elude you as long as your senses were going haywire and your back burned.
So, you closed your bathroom door to plunge yourself into darkness and turned on your bathtub, adjusting the temperature to an equilibrium that matched with your own body. You undressed yourself, slowly, grateful to no longer feel the itchiness of the cotton on your skin while the soles of your bare feet complained about the cold hardness of your bathroom floor. Once the tub was full and the faucet turned off, you entered the water slowly and submerged yourself until only your mouth and nose were above water.
Immediately, a familiar, comfortable silence fell over you as the water entered your ears and muted your hearing, your closed eyes blocked out any remaining light that the bathroom door couldn’t eliminate, and the water caressed your skin in a gentle, numbing embrace.
This was what you needed – sensory deprivation. Or, at least the best you could do with your current situation. A heated pool was more ideal of course, but clearly not an option right now. You could feel the edges of the tub press on your skin where you couldn’t quite fit or where the water wasn’t quite deep enough to fully support you with its buoyancy. But still, it was far better than anything else you had at your disposal.
If it weren’t for the fear of water getting into your nose and lungs, you would have fallen asleep right there in an instant. Instead, you lingered, your mind filled with memories and thoughts of the gauntlet you had somehow managed to survive. You wondered if Dabi would remember all of it when he finally woke up, or if some of it would get lost or buried.
Will he be okay after you used your quirk on his mind? You hadn’t thought about it when you did it – your instinct took over, fueled by desperation and emotional turmoil at seeing him fall apart in front of you against his will. You’d never used your quirk like that before, and it scared you.
There was nothing you could do but wait. Wait and see what happened.
You left the bathtub once the water started to get cold and dressed yourself in your softest article of clothing before falling into bed. Your blackout curtains did their best to block out the daytime, but nothing could be done for the noise, the old windows made of thin glass. But fatigue pulled heavy, its weight stronger than your quirk’s feedback. Time lost its meaning as sleep finally found you, pulling you into its gentle arms while visions of Dabi filled your dreams.
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Part 7
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#dabi x reader#dabi x you#dabi#touch#dabi touch#soft dabi#angst#TW: drug abuse#TW: drug withdrawal#TW: withdrawal#TW: abuse#tw: mental health#TW: emotional breakdown#TW: mental breakdown#TW: sensory overstimulation (not the fun kind)#TW: sensory overload#dabi is not in a good place#Dabi is a todoroki#Dabi is Touya#Touya Todoroki
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Harry Styles sumptuous new video for Lights Up took the world by storm last week. Exclusively for GQ, the young, half-American, half-British designer Harris Reed shares the inner workings of how Styles’ killer blue outfit for the brand-new solo song came together...
If you know about Harris Reed, you know. And if you don't? Well, keep up at the back. Reed is one of fashion's most exciting new talents, his designs lauded for their sparkly romance, their craft and unbridled otherworldliness. Reed came to GQ's attention a couple of years ago while he was still at Central Saint Martins, his designs already imbued with a silhouette that was both modern and nostalgic, all washed with an achingly cool, non-binary LA energy: his aesthetic has darkness, light, glamour and a non-threatening sense of their own sexiness. His designs aren't just gender-fluid, they're like wearing liquid gold.
Fashion's worst-kept secret is the fact that Reed has been working with Harry Styles for a couple of years now, making one-off outfits for the singer's spectacular stage shows and offering the musician looks that seem in harmony with his renewed sense of self and megawatt style. Last week, when Styles' lascivious, wonton, sweaty and damn good new song, "Lights Up", was blasted out into the world, we noticed it was one of Reed's bespoke designs that the artist had decided to wear for his second solo jaunt. As the video caught fire and went global, we called the ever-charming Reed to talk to him about working with Styles, how the outfit for "Lights Up" came about exactly and just how far he thinks Styles is willing to go with his new covetable gender-blurring aesthetic...
GQ: Hey Harris, nice talking to you again. How's it going?
Harris Reed: "Well, I have a stinking cold, which is the worst. Especially when you are supposed to be working and selling a collection, it can seem like it's ruining your life. But it's OK, I will get through it."
Congratulations on your design for Harry Styles' outfit for "Lights Up". You must be thrilled?
"Thank you, I am really happy. And it's cute as well that Harry made his little icon photo on Instagram an image of the outfit from the video. Quite pleased to say the least."
When did you first start working with Harry Styles?
"My big connect with Harry goes back to Harry Lambert, his stylist, who was the first person I ever worked with and the first person who pulled in any of my clothes years ago. I had that relationship with him starting about two years ago and after a while [Lambert] told me, 'I think you're ready, even though you're right at the beginning of your career, to meet this person...' I pulled some designs together – I didn't really know who it was at this point – but I put together some references. Jimi Hendrick and [David] Bowie and Mick Jagger – you know, just classic rock’n’roll iconic frontmen whom I could see in the designs. Then that's when I heard that it was actually for Harry Styles."
When did you first meet Harry?
"It was November 2017 at one of his shows, at the Hammersmith Arena, and I got a text message from Harry Lambert saying, 'OK, just meet us at the stage door.' It was insane – a sea of screaming girls, men and women were fainting and being taken away in ambulances... I was like, 'What the fuck?' It was insane. And so I found the stage door and went up to this woman who was wearing this huge red coat and I went, 'Hi, I am here to see Harry Styles.' Obviously she laughed in in my face, saying something like, 'Who the fuck are you?' I replied, 'I am going to be Harry Styles' designer.' Like that, I'm not sure where the bravado came from! She goes, 'Of course, come with me.' I was led me through the crowd and right then and there I met Harry and the rest is history, I guess."
How much steer did Harry give you initially for the clothing?
"Honestly, Harry [Styles] was truly the way I envisioned. I think it was Harry Lambert who originally gave me some references for the first work I did for him. It was never a strict brief, but initially I only had about a day to put something together, like, the day before. It was so late to the process. It was more how I could see my designs adapting for him. And then when I went into the meeting I was like, 'Let's do ruffles!' I went a bit crazy, and that's when [Styles] got a lot more involved and was steering me in the direction he wanted. But Harry [Styles] was so open to what I saw for him and what I wanted was an old-world elegance rather than seeing some hot guy in skinny jeans and a T-shirt jumping around on stage – which can work and is amazing - but I wanted to make this aesthetic far more romantic. Watching him as he performs on stage, he is so explosive and amazing at dancing and moving around... Listen, I have so much respect for Gucci and what they do for him, but because of that relationship he was wearing so many suits, so I felt like what I could offer was more fluid, a flounciness or a different silhouette, billowy sleeves and so on. Even the outfit I did for the 'Lights Up' video was sleeveless and the trousers had a slight flare, so he could dance and do his pelvic thrusting, which he loves to do."
The outfit for Lights Up, when did you start working on this particular style moment for him?
"I was coming back from my week-long hiatus in LA during the summer after finishing at Gucci, so I was exhausted. I was in New York and Harry [Lambert] got in contact to say, 'Hey, I don't know if you're up for this but Harry would love you to do something for the next video.' All top secret, of course. All he sent me were two Pantone colours of blue with a note: 'It needs to be in this shade of blue; I can't tell you too much else.' And I was like, well, OK. And at the time I wasn't drunk... But let's say I was enjoying myself in NYC and it was really late at night and Harry [Styles] was actually there shooting his Rolling Stone cover and, as a coincidence, his stylist was like, 'Can you get some ideas to me really quickly. He needs to be able to move in it and it needs to look like he's about to go on stage and take the world.' So I kind I thought, 'movement', 'take the world' and 'stage' and got to work..."
Did you design it straight away?
"Yeah, I was in a bar, [The Bowery Hotel] so I asked the barman for a napkin and he handed me this piece of paper and I did a chicken scratch drawing and sent it back to Harry right away. He was like, 'This is perfect.' I did so many more sketches at the time, but he liked this one, it was so easy and clean and it reminds me a bit of David Bowie's 'Dog Days' but more sparkly and upbeat and less linen and long hair."
Did you have time for fittings and so on?
"Erm, no! We made the piece literally in three days. I got back from NYC with that sketch and they were leaving on a plane to do the video imminently. So I landed in London, went to all my favourite fabric shops in Soho, running around like a crazy madman with all these Pantone swatches of fabric. I have dozens of photos of all these different hues of blue. We ended up using a blue silk moire as it needed to be water resistant, or not water resistant, just be able to work with water, so reflective and shiny without being too heavy and not too hot, as the video was being filmed in South America. And we didn't have any time to do a fitting, so I had to fit the whole outfit on myself. Harry and I have very different body proportions so we were just very lucky. I remember they flew to South America to shoot the video and Harry [Styles] texted me, 'It fits! It works!' And I was in fucking heaven. I didn't sleep for a solid three days doing that outfit so I was thrilled."
This isn't the first outfit you've made for Harry Styles. Where are all those incredible one-off designs stored? Surely this archive must be preserved somewhere?
"I can't say where it is located, but everything goes to an archive. It's basically like a giant refrigerator – a frozen vault – somewhere in London where I am not going to disclose. But the clothes all have 24 hours surveillance, which you can look at via an iPad, specifically done for his outfits, and they have all been cryogenically frozen in time to preserve them. That's also what is more surreal for me. After his first solo tour that I produced 14-15 looks for – he wore about six or seven – I was wondering where the others were and he was like, 'Don't worry, they are all under surveillance.' I was like, 'Oh, that's chic.'"
Can you tell us what is next in the pipeline for you and Mr Styles?
"Hmm... Let me see what can I say. I think people can expect some pretty crazy, fabulous things coming. I can't say too much. I think with Harry I am hoping this is really just the beginning and as he evolves with his own music, and I evolve as a young designer, I hope we can work on more possible projects and clothes and... things!"
Do you hear the music before you make the outfits for him?
"I think the way he speaks about the music, the way he speaks about the process is a real influence on me as a designer. I was lucky enough to go an see him in the studio this summer, and just seeing the passion and the ideas... I am someone who talks a lot with my hands and he's the same, like he's really orchestrating his whole universe. Even the way the 'Lights Up' video was teased, it's never just music with him as for me it's never just clothes – it's the message too. That is what inspires me. I hope I get to hear little teasers of new music along the way, although I always have his stuff sort of on a loop in the studio anyway... Old school rock’n’roll and dashes of Harry Styles along the way."
Do you ever get intimidated by the fact these designs will make up part of his musical legacy?
"Honestly, from a design perspective, I don't worry, because when he tells me he loves something nothing else really matters. And because I'm not just designing a black T-shirt or a simple pair of trousers, I am making a statement, so it actually takes the pressure off me. I don't worry about it if he doesn't. I worry more about a seam splitting open. I remember he wore a few outfits for his big tour of Asia and I made all those outfits on my £50 sewing machine while eating chicken nuggets at five in the morning. I was still studying, and I don't have a proper atelier, so its those technical worries that are the things that stress me out. People don't know this but there's a picture in Rolling Stone where he is near naked holding a ping pong bat and the caption is something like, 'Harry waiting for a garment to be fixed' and it was my garment and the zipper had ripped right off. But he sort of says, 'Let's take this fashion risk together', so nothing else matters. As I said, if he loves it, I am happy."
Ever feel like you're pushing him too far with your designs?
"[Laughs.] He is so lovely and I don't think he ever wants to tell someone 'no' but there's definitely been a time when I laid out the designs from the most timid to the craziest, and when we got the craziest, he does this thing with his lips where he smiles, but he he's like, 'OK, we're not going to go this far.' But it probably involved an outfit with his ass hanging out or some huge Liberace cape... So he's always open, but sometimes I can see in his eyes that he's not quite there with me. I try to read those little mannerisms."
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Thurs 29 Aug
HAPPY 26th BIRTHDAY LIAM!!!
It's Mr Liam Payne's birthday and let's just have a moment to appreciate him before we move shall we? What a delightful man he is, a gift to us every day! For his birthday, we were given the treat of unseen footage, 30 minutes of charming unedited Liam promoting his very first solo single! Lovely. It's really delightful, though hearing him say, "we’ve just finished making the album" in July of 2017 is a sobering reminder that we have yet to get that LP. We also got to see him be showered with well wishes publicly by friends and the entire industry, and a bittersweet but lovely update from him: "I was well and truly spoilt today... what an incredible birthday... it’s been a tough few months but it’s amazing to see the people who pull you through to the other side and make you realise how amazing your life actually is." May this coming year be easier and bring lots of exciting things your way Liam!
But the news of the day was dominated by the predictable but still dramatic highs and lows of a Louis promo cycle. Kill My Mind will be out Sept 5! We got the official announcements with cover art, release date, pre-save URL, handwritten note to the mailing list, and a Louis announcement video (he's wearing a KMM color scheme matching shirt, amazing, fabulous, the attention to detail is, as always, incredible.) All platforms have been changed to KMM graphics, with Louis' twitter using a fan made header ("I saw it yesterday and thought it was cool!") that was adjusted to show her credit on it better, so sweet! Louis took to twitter to let fans know that he was listening to concerns ("I hear your frustration about opportunities for fans outside of the UK. It’s something I’m reminding management and the label of over and over again. You have my word that from here on in it will feel more inclusive!") and looking for ways to engage with fans ("I’m always trying to think of new ways to involve you all") which in retrospect looked to have possibly been related to things that happened later. It doesn't quite address the primary concerns of the day, but some feel that the line about him reminding the labels implies that he may not be making some of the less popular decisions himself. Jordan Green tells us KMM is his favorite Louis track to date and "a banger," Paul Higgins says he's so proud and can't wait to hear the track, and too many media outlets to report piled on in excitement; our boy is a big deal ya know!
And then the results of the video attendance contest (and yes, it is to be in the music video for KMM) were announced. That part was fine, and congratulations to the winning fans, but it's the other people who were invited who are ruffling feathers (by which I mean more like sending half the fandom into an incoherent rage). While 50 spots may indeed have been given out at random, the usual label crew were also issued invites, and were bragging about it long before the contest even closed. The preferential treatment rankles but the real issue is that it's these people specifically, who behave horribly to fans they interact with, many of whom have said awful things about Louis in the past publicly, and who when not invited places by the label use shady and unethical means to track the boys' locations during their private time so they can 'happen upon' them for encounters and pics. It can be upsetting to see these behaviors rewarded; if it helps, you can be comforted, or stressed, or whatever, by the knowledge that Louis knows very well what we thought of it all- a good hour or so after twitter exploded into a giant garbage fire of accusations and acrimony over this, he was still online, indicated by reply to a Dave Allen tweet.
Rolling Stone has added more Harry content: today a companion article to the cover story came out, also by Rob Sheffield, and a playlist. The article had the music quotes that were in the other piece plus more that weren't ("I think of all the great songwriters I love- but they all had their pop songs.....You have to conquer the fear of pop" stands out) and info about some of the bands featured on the very long and thorough playlist. Also on the playlist, some 1D! Olivia is on there as you would expect: Lilo written and strongly-associated-with-Louis faves No Control and Little Black Dress were a happy surprise though. Rob Sheffield tells us on twitter that Harry is a "superb courteous driver" and "literally the best parallel parker I've ever seen," all right calm the fuck down buddy or I'm gonna think you're protesting a little too much, and Hall and Oates reacted to the news that Harry had wanted them to play his 21st birthday but didn't try to hire them because he thought it would cost too much (??) by tweeting that they'd love to play his 30th. RS has also posted a tl:dr of the cover article which is possibly useful. Bet you wish I'd do those bitch me too! But it's hard!
Meanwhile, Niall posted a selfie and a video from the Omega Masters and liked Louis' KMM post.
#Liam Payne#Louis Tomlinson#Harry Styles#Niall Horan#Niall#Harry#Louis#Liam#KMM#kmm video#Eleanor also posted a selfie right on schedule and as predicted#it's all very by the numbers#jordan green#paul higgins#dave allen#rolling stone#rob sheffield#THE FINEST PARALLEL PARKER EVER TO LIVE honestly wtf and when did he learn that he's always just pulling in wherever#omega niall#29 Aug 19#meanwhile niall#Louis shirts#just a heads up#i will probably take days off during this coming blitz of content#when it's slowish it's easy to do regardless of my actual life#but when there's this much i might not be able to fit it in every day#THAT'S WHAT MY DATE SAID ahem uh i mean#I'm always happy to recommend update accounts to anyone looking for other sources of info
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Newton’s Cradle
Card Number: 3105
AO3 Link
Square Filled: A2-Vibranium
Ship: None
Rating: G
Warnings/Tags: TeamSalty, Not Steve Rogers friendly, Peter is a little shit, Tony is a little shit, Team Iron Man, IronDad and SpiderSon, Post CACW
Summary: Steve asks where his shield is, Peter tells him.
Word Count: 1,546
Newton’s Cradle
Working in the lab with Mr. Stark was always Peter’s favorite thing. He’d never tell Ned, but Mr. Stark’s lab beat putting together the legacy Millenium Falcon Mr. Stark had gotten him for Christmas. The fact that he didn’t talk down to or patronize Peter like other adults really made the teenager happy.
When FRIDAY alerted them that Mr. Rogers (never Captain again. Not after what he did to Mr. Stark) was requesting access to the lab they were in, Mr. Stark instructed the AI to refuse.
Peter rolled his eyes at the disgraced Avenger’s audacity. He looked at Mr. Stark as if to say ‘ This guy, am I right? ’ and was met with a fond smile. “I still can’t believe President Ellis pardoned them. Half of them act like you owe them something, when they’re the ones who decided that they knew better than half of the United Nations.”
His mentor’s smile dimmed a bit, remembering exactly what he went through at the hands of his former friends. Sure, to the public, the Avengers were back together, but there would never be a joint mission with Captain America, Black Widow, the Hulk and Iron Man again. Hawkeye had decided to retire at the insistence of the President and Scott Lang was still on house arrest, but Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, and Sam Wilson were still permitted to act as Avengers.
Of the ‘rogue avengers’ as they were dubbed by Twitter, Peter liked Sam best. He wasn’t rude to Mr. Stark and didn’t ignore Peter, even though Peter didn’t trust him enough to reveal his identity. Sam didn’t trigger his Spidey sense and was always ready to join Peter in whatever game he was playing during his rare free time at the compound. He also knew that Mr. Rhodey liked Sam despite all of his mistakes, so he got points for that too.
Peter wished he could meet Dr. Banner, but Mr. Stark (along with half a dozen government agencies) were unable to locate him. All they could piece together is that the quinjet he flew off in was traced to Central America and at it’s last known location, there was evidence of the bifrost. Mr. Stark figured that Bruce and Thor would reappear in their own time (Peter wholeheartedly agreed) and kept the news of the quinjet’s disappearance quiet.
“Well, kid, the world is not always the way you think it should be. All we can do is the best with what we’ve been given.”
Peter’s disgruntled face at Mr. Stark’s statement made the man chuckle.
“Oh no, I’m turning into one of those terrible PSAs, aren’t I? Let’s go blow something up and avoid your homework.” Mr. Stark laughed and the small crows feet around his eyes made him appear more human than his imposing press persona led people to believe. “Or perhaps…” He trailed off. “I’ve been working on something special for you, it just may be time for you to see it and start tinkering with it to really make it yours.” Mr. Stark reached into one of his deep drawers and pulled out a glass canister full of swirling nanobots, setting it down with a flourish.
Peter leaned forward excitedly, resting his elbows on the cold metal work surface. The nanobots were swirling around, but every few seconds he could see the form of a red, blue, and gold suit. “Mr. Stark is this-- Did you make me a suit like yours?” Peter was speechless. He knew Mr. Stark cared about him in his own way, but this was huge. The only other person with a suit even remotely like Mr. Stark’s was Col. Rhodes and they practically grew up together! Peter was just some kid from Queens.
Mr. Stark grinned, “Sure is! It’s still got Karen in it as your co-pilot-”
“Boss, Mr. Rogers is not heeding your request to leave the area.” FRIDAY interrupted them.
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and made to stand up. “Welp, let me-”
Mr. Stark didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, because Mr. Rogers chose that very moment to punch through the door and storm inside the lab.
Peter froze, not knowing what to do since he didn’t have his spider-suit on and no one knew his secret identity. For all the Avengers knew, Peter Parker was an intern at SI and that was the way he liked it. Mr. Stark had already tapped on his reactor activating the brand new, not quite finished testing Mark L armor that had not yet been revealed to the world.
Mr. Stark aimed his repulsor straight at Rogers and jerked his head slightly, indicating that Peter should duck behind the worktop. Peter happily complied as he watched the two men stare each other down.
Tony retracted his helmet, but didn’t lower his arm. “Is there a particularly good reason that you’ve ignored requests from both me and FRIDAY to fuck off?”
“This is ridiculous, Tony. You’ve had your fun, but I’m gonna need my shield back.” Rogers said, his voice oozing condescension.
“I was under the impression that T’Challa provided you with perfectly good shields.” Mr. Stark said in the same tone.
“I want my shield, Stark.” Rogers spit out from gritted teeth.
“You have your shields, Rogers. T’Challa gave them to, didn’t he?” Mr. Stark replied.
Rogers dropped into an aggressive stance and Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “Tony, I’m not leaving this room without my shield.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Tony said. “Because you definitely are not getting the shield back. It never belonged to you in the first place and it’s none of your fucking business where it is now.”
Rogers looked like he was about to launch himself at Mr. Stark and Peter couldn’t stay quiet anymore. “Clacky balls!” He shouted as he burst out of his hiding place. “It was made into clacky balls.” Peter pointed to the Newton’s Pendulum on the desk in the back of the room. Ten identical chrome spheres were suspended in an equally gleaming frame.
Rogers’ mouth snapped shut as he stared, flabbergasted, at the desk toy.
Mr. Stark’s giggle cut through the tense silence. “Newton’s Cradle, Peter!” He said as he schooled his features back to polite indifference. “Clacky balls, honestly. What are they teaching you kids nowadays?”
“Are you telling me that you’ve turned the world’s rarest, most valuable resource into-” Rogers sighs. “Clacky balls? For a desk you barely use?”
Mr. Stark shrugged. “I didn’t say it, the kid did. I said it was none of your fucking business what I did with something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Come on, Tony. We both know Howard wanted me to have that shield. He handed it to me personally.”
“Yes. He did give it to you. You were the one chosen by your country to be it’s hope. A country that later asked for a little accountability, but that’s not something you’re a big fan of, is it?” Tony sounded furious. “On top of snubbing the US, you were ready to take on the entire world to protect the man who killed him. Which, by the way, dick move for keeping that little nugget to yourself. Zemo’s plan was dumb as all get out, but thanks to you, he definitely broke up the boy band. For good.”
Rogers glanced at Peter, his cheeks coloring. Mr. Stark noticed and shook his head in contempt. “Noooope. You seriously do not get to be ashamed right now. Not when you and your idiots walk around here like you did us some favor by coming back.” Tony rolled his eyes.
“You treat us like criminals, Tony. You have to see it from our point of view. The UN can’t tell us how to protect the world, they’ll just use us as political pawns and attack dogs.” Rogers explanation sounded weak and Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“You were pardoned. In order to be pardoned, one first has to commit a crime.” Tony quipped and Rogers clenched his jaw. “Also, you’ve committed another one, breaking into my lab, congratulations. Are you going for a streak?”
“Mr. Stark, he’s not worth it. FRIDAY, can you alert someone that we have a cleanup on aisle 4?” Peter couldn’t help the slight dig.
Rogers, realizing that he would not, in fact, be getting his old shield back slumped in on himself and turned away. “Things didn’t have to be this way, Tony.” He said sadly as he made to leave.
“Fuck off, Rogers.” Tony replied.
Peter watched him go until he rounded a corner and then picked up the busted door, leaning it against it’s frame. “I’m sorry I told Rogers about the clacky balls, but I couldn’t just stand by if he attacked you.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong kid, I let him push my buttons as usual.” Mr. Stark ruffled Peter’s hair affectionately. “Besides, I didn’t use all of the vibranium for the Pendulum, that was just the leftovers. The bulk of it was made into our housing units. This Iron Spider is the Bugatti of nanosuits. T’Challa wishes his kitty outfit was as cool as ours.”
Peter laughed and soon they forgot all about Rogers as they spent the rest of the afternoon tinkering with the Iron Spider.
#tsb2020#tonystarkbingo2020#fanfic#irondad and spiderson#steve rogers is a bag of dicks#at least in this one
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Harry Styles sumptuous new video for Lights Up took the world by storm last week. Exclusively for GQ, the young, half-American, half-British designer Harris Reed shares the inner workings of how Styles’ killer blue outfit for the brand-new solo song came together...
If you know about Harris Reed, you know. And if you don't? Well, keep up at the back. Reed is one of fashion's most exciting new talents, his designs lauded for their sparkly romance, their craft and unbridled otherworldliness. Reed came to GQ's attention a couple of years ago while he was still at Central Saint Martins, his designs already imbued with a silhouette that was both modern and nostalgic, all washed with an achingly cool, non-binary LA energy: his aesthetic has darkness, light, glamour and a non-threatening sense of their own sexiness. His designs aren't just gender-fluid, they're like wearing liquid gold.
Fashion's worst-kept secret is the fact that Reed has been working with Harry Styles for a couple of years now, making one-off outfits for the singer's spectacular stage shows and offering the musician looks that seem in harmony with his renewed sense of self and megawatt style. Last week, when Styles' lascivious, wonton, sweaty and damn good new song, "Lights Up", was blasted out into the world, we noticed it was one of Reed's bespoke designs that the artist had decided to wear for his second solo jaunt. As the video caught fire and went global, we called the ever-charming Reed to talk to him about working with Styles, how the outfit for "Lights Up" came about exactly and just how far he thinks Styles is willing to go with his new covetable gender-blurring aesthetic...
GQ: Hey Harris, nice talking to you again. How's it going?
Harris Reed: "Well, I have a stinking cold, which is the worst. Especially when you are supposed to be working and selling a collection, it can seem like it's ruining your life. But it's OK, I will get through it."
Congratulations on your design for Harry Styles' outfit for "Lights Up". You must be thrilled?
"Thank you, I am really happy. And it's cute as well that Harry made his little icon photo on Instagram an image of the outfit from the video. Quite pleased to say the least."
When did you first start working with Harry Styles?
"My big connect with Harry goes back to Harry Lambert, his stylist, who was the first person I ever worked with and the first person who pulled in any of my clothes years ago. I had that relationship with him starting about two years ago and after a while [Lambert] told me, 'I think you're ready, even though you're right at the beginning of your career, to meet this person...' I pulled some designs together – I didn't really know who it was at this point – but I put together some references. Jimi Hendrick and [David] Bowie and Mick Jagger – you know, just classic rock’n’roll iconic frontmen whom I could see in the designs. Then that's when I heard that it was actually for Harry Styles."
When did you first meet Harry?
"It was November 2017 at one of his shows, at the Hammersmith Arena, and I got a text message from Harry Lambert saying, 'OK, just meet us at the stage door.' It was insane – a sea of screaming girls, men and women were fainting and being taken away in ambulances... I was like, 'What the fuck?' It was insane. And so I found the stage door and went up to this woman who was wearing this huge red coat and I went, 'Hi, I am here to see Harry Styles.' Obviously she laughed in in my face, saying something like, 'Who the fuck are you?' I replied, 'I am going to be Harry Styles' designer.' Like that, I'm not sure where the bravado came from! She goes, 'Of course, come with me.' I was led me through the crowd and right then and there I met Harry and the rest is history, I guess."
How much steer did Harry give you initially for the clothing?
"Honestly, Harry [Styles] was truly the way I envisioned. I think it was Harry Lambert who originally gave me some references for the first work I did for him. It was never a strict brief, but initially I only had about a day to put something together, like, the day before. It was so late to the process. It was more how I could see my designs adapting for him. And then when I went into the meeting I was like, 'Let's do ruffles!' I went a bit crazy, and that's when [Styles] got a lot more involved and was steering me in the direction he wanted. But Harry [Styles] was so open to what I saw for him and what I wanted was an old-world elegance rather than seeing some hot guy in skinny jeans and a T-shirt jumping around on stage – which can work and is amazing - but I wanted to make this aesthetic far more romantic. Watching him as he performs on stage, he is so explosive and amazing at dancing and moving around... Listen, I have so much respect for Gucci and what they do for him, but because of that relationship he was wearing so many suits, so I felt like what I could offer was more fluid, a flounciness or a different silhouette, billowy sleeves and so on. Even the outfit I did for the 'Lights Up' video was sleeveless and the trousers had a slight flare, so he could dance and do his pelvic thrusting, which he loves to do."
The outfit for Lights Up, when did you start working on this particular style moment for him?
"I was coming back from my week-long hiatus in LA during the summer after finishing at Gucci, so I was exhausted. I was in New York and Harry [Lambert] got in contact to say, 'Hey, I don't know if you're up for this but Harry would love you to do something for the next video.' All top secret, of course. All he sent me were two Pantone colours of blue with a note: 'It needs to be in this shade of blue; I can't tell you too much else.' And I was like, well, OK. And at the time I wasn't drunk... But let's say I was enjoying myself in NYC and it was really late at night and Harry [Styles] was actually there shooting his Rolling Stone cover and, as a coincidence, his stylist was like, 'Can you get some ideas to me really quickly. He needs to be able to move in it and it needs to look like he's about to go on stage and take the world.' So I kind I thought, 'movement', 'take the world' and 'stage' and got to work..."
Did you design it straight away?
"Yeah, I was in a bar, [The Bowery Hotel] so I asked the barman for a napkin and he handed me this piece of paper and I did a chicken scratch drawing and sent it back to Harry right away. He was like, 'This is perfect.' I did so many more sketches at the time, but he liked this one, it was so easy and clean and it reminds me a bit of David Bowie's 'Dog Days' but more sparkly and upbeat and less linen and long hair."
Did you have time for fittings and so on?
"Erm, no! We made the piece literally in three days. I got back from NYC with that sketch and they were leaving on a plane to do the video imminently. So I landed in London, went to all my favourite fabric shops in Soho, running around like a crazy madman with all these Pantone swatches of fabric. I have dozens of photos of all these different hues of blue. We ended up using a blue silk moire as it needed to be water resistant, or not water resistant, just be able to work with water, so reflective and shiny without being too heavy and not too hot, as the video was being filmed in South America. And we didn't have any time to do a fitting, so I had to fit the whole outfit on myself. Harry and I have very different body proportions so we were just very lucky. I remember they flew to South America to shoot the video and Harry [Styles] texted me, 'It fits! It works!' And I was in fucking heaven. I didn't sleep for a solid three days doing that outfit so I was thrilled."
This isn't the first outfit you've made for Harry Styles. Where are all those incredible one-off designs stored? Surely this archive must be preserved somewhere?
"I can't say where it is located, but everything goes to an archive. It's basically like a giant refrigerator – a frozen vault – somewhere in London where I am not going to disclose. But the clothes all have 24 hours surveillance, which you can look at via an iPad, specifically done for his outfits, and they have all been cryogenically frozen in time to preserve them. That's also what is more surreal for me. After his first solo tour that I produced 14-15 looks for – he wore about six or seven – I was wondering where the others were and he was like, 'Don't worry, they are all under surveillance.' I was like, 'Oh, that's chic.'"
Can you tell us what is next in the pipeline for you and Mr Styles?
"Hmm... Let me see what can I say. I think people can expect some pretty crazy, fabulous things coming. I can't say too much. I think with Harry I am hoping this is really just the beginning and as he evolves with his own music, and I evolve as a young designer, I hope we can work on more possible projects and clothes and... things!"
Do you hear the music before you make the outfits for him?
"I think the way he speaks about the music, the way he speaks about the process is a real influence on me as a designer. I was lucky enough to go an see him in the studio this summer, and just seeing the passion and the ideas... I am someone who talks a lot with my hands and he's the same, like he's really orchestrating his whole universe. Even the way the 'Lights Up' video was teased, it's never just music with him as for me it's never just clothes – it's the message too. That is what inspires me. I hope I get to hear little teasers of new music along the way, although I always have his stuff sort of on a loop in the studio anyway... Old school rock’n’roll and dashes of Harry Styles along the way."
Do you ever get intimidated by the fact these designs will make up part of his musical legacy?
"Honestly, from a design perspective, I don't worry, because when he tells me he loves something nothing else really matters. And because I'm not just designing a black T-shirt or a simple pair of trousers, I am making a statement, so it actually takes the pressure off me. I don't worry about it if he doesn't. I worry more about a seam splitting open. I remember he wore a few outfits for his big tour of Asia and I made all those outfits on my £50 sewing machine while eating chicken nuggets at five in the morning. I was still studying, and I don't have a proper atelier, so its those technical worries that are the things that stress me out. People don't know this but there's a picture in Rolling Stone where he is near naked holding a ping pong bat and the caption is something like, 'Harry waiting for a garment to be fixed' and it was my garment and the zipper had ripped right off. But he sort of says, 'Let's take this fashion risk together', so nothing else matters. As I said, if he loves it, I am happy."
Ever feel like you're pushing him too far with your designs?
"[Laughs.] He is so lovely and I don't think he ever wants to tell someone 'no' but there's definitely been a time when I laid out the designs from the most timid to the craziest, and when we got the craziest, he does this thing with his lips where he smiles, but he he's like, 'OK, we're not going to go this far.' But it probably involved an outfit with his ass hanging out or some huge Liberace cape... So he's always open, but sometimes I can see in his eyes that he's not quite there with me. I try to read those little mannerisms."
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shikuta @ lj on Why Ryo decided to leave Kanjani8
That edition of bunshun that came out this March has been proved to be 100% correct (from the timing, to the decision itself, to what he said) so it's not like there's much more left to say, just pieces to scrap all together. And this is my theory.
The points bunshun made with that article have been:
1. Ryo wanted not to quit alone at first but to get everyone to quit KANJANI, the reason being the group not being able to keep up the usual the standards after what happened with Subaru and Yasu's situation;
2. Some members agreed on going hiatus, none of them on leaving;
3. Since that decision Ryo has been in bad blood with both Yoko and Hina, to the point of Yoko saying 'I can't work with that jerk anymore!'
4. The final decision has been made in March
From now on it's just a matter of fixing our timeline using the infos we do know.
1. Subaru leaves, Ryo is the first one to regroup the members and decides to take the lead. He's still on board with having a six members group: plans an entire concert with six people in mind and even creates an extra for a single release. No problems in sight, tour still has to start.
2. Tour preparation is over and tour begins, we're around mid-September if I don't remember wrong. Ryo is is still on board with the band, does the majority of opening speeches, seems to have no problems to cover for Subaru simply by splitting his lines between himself/Yasu/Maru. Tour is at the beginning.
3. Around December/January (I suppose, since KJ8 clearly stated they had around 5/6 meetings about the issues and I like to think the split them in two months, at best) Ryo announces his decision to leave, to be official then in March. Six months have passed, so what could've changed? Directing that concert, that's what has changed.
Many fans, and even Kanjani, talked about how both KJ8 and Ryo had different opinions about the direction the band should've taken, with basically KJ8 being 'yes' and Ryo being 'no'. None of them, however, even bothered to mention the reasons behind this point of views. If Yasu was fine and KJ8 had found a way to replace Subaru (as we saw them during during GR8EST) then why Ryo felt the need to split them up? Mind you that at first he didn't say he wanted to leave as a member, but that he wanted them to leave as a group, as a whole, while also keeping their positions in the agency.
My best guess is that, while directing and organizing GR8EST he realized the limitations the group had to face due Yasu's condition and the astounding amount of stress they were putting on him. That's why the decision came midway the live and not before; that's why he proposed the group to quit all together, that's why (but I'll explain this later) he didn't even leave a note when he left. He realized KJ8 had nowhere to go without putting Yasu at risk and probably told the others 'well, that's it. We've already reached our peak, now let's quit before doing any disasters'.
And from this point on, hell got loose.
According to the article both Hina and Yoko had ATROCIOUS fights with Ryo, with the two of them probably being in favor of keeping the band as it was and Ryo instead suggesting for them all to disband before it were too late. The fights kept going on and you could almost, barely taste them even during the varieties: during the whole year Ryo and Yoko almost never interacted with each other except when asked to; the last Telehone Game happened in January (back when he told them all his decision), after that no more.
None of the two factions reached a compromise and so, by the end of march, Ryo announced his decision: not in order to go solo but to not betray his principles and part of the promise he made to Subaru. A band that keeps moving forward while sitting on the back of an ill guitarist should not exist.
By the time Ryo left in September, KJ8 went once again against his suggestion of taking things slowly, and decided instead to start a 47 tour so improvised and desperate they didn't even have the venues booked per time. Ryo took this last blow and left without even a note or a sign of life on his jweb.
This, in my opinion, also explain how does it come both KJ8 and Ryo gave almost no explanations or kept things vague at best: for KJ8 it would mean to admit they're trying to carry on while also overworking a man that is in deep pain; and for Ryo would admit spitting on the whole group.
So, no press conference for them all together, really vague interviews to the point even Jin (Akanishi on twitter) pointed out how pointless they were and Ryo being out of the door in one day and with almost zero explanations.
Honestly this seems to be the most reasonable explanation to me.
-
2nd reply by shikuta @ lj
Point is... members proposed to go hiatus.
If you manage to get your hands on previous ANN episodes you'll hear Ohkura talking about how in the past, some members proposed to stop activities for a while. Some of them agreed, Ohkura included, some others did not. Ryo was certainly in favor.
One of the first Boku, actually, had Yasu talking about concert preparations for GR8EST, how at some point he told to the members, crying, that he didn't feel like he was up for this tour, that he didn't want to take any part on it. Again, some members agreed on stopping this carousel, Yoko and Hina did not. Tour was made.
So, it's not like Yasu's opinion held really any value in this particular stance: deciding whether to put a group on a stop is a decision that the band as a whole should made. Ryo tried to get them to this point, considering Yasu's health, two of them were deaf apparently and decided to carry on, hence Ryo had enough and left. It's really simple as that.
Because, let's be honest here, Yasu is not fine, will never be fine. Don't let J&A fool you, they're going to work this horse to the death.
It's been two years since the surgery and he still does experience both phono and photophobia. Can't sit on an hard chair without a cushion. Had to drop scuba-diving.
The network has been forced to change a lot of Chronicle segments simply because Yasu wasn't up to the task anymore: no more long walks for the 'looks like this/is like that' segment, no more Dodge Game, no more Ikemen Camera. They put, instead, segments where he can sit and talk, like the cuisine one or the manga panel or the one with guests talking around a table.
All those moments you've seen during concerts, the so called 'Yasuda Moments' are simply speech impediments, him forgetting words, confusing similar sounds. 'Post surgeries moments' that still affects him and probably will never entirely leave.
All of this would pose no treat for your average office worker that is back to work after a year of rehab. But for a machine that is programmed to jump, to sing, to run, to play, to move from one location to the other, months after months, your doc's definition of 'fine' holds no meaning.
Yasu knows that, Ryo knew that, Yoko and Hina knew that, the youngest ones knew that as well.
We're one year post surgery and three months after personal hiatus when this happened.
The man that according to KJ8 and the agency is 'fine' has even trouble to carry the weight of his own guitar. Has to move, take a deep breath and relax shoulders in order to dissipate the pain.
Ryo's eyes, trained on him, notice all of this and take a mental note to tell others to slow a bit.
KJ8's response, the day after he leaves, is a simple 'fuck it, we going touring again you asshole'
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(Transcribed w/ Permission from @jessfromonline) Thread: Many people are now out on the streets for the first time. as such, let's talk very basic, everyone should know this, 'this should be general and not sensitive knowledge' protest, action, and street tactics. let's get organized and be effective!
Source: https://mobile.twitter.com/jessfromonline/status/1268620358950649858
(Note: I am not this person, this is a transcript of their twitter thread I made with their permission)
Have a protest buddy. do not go to a protest without a buddy. preferably have a crew.
if you have a crew, it should still be split into buddies. crews should choose a spoke (spokesperson) who calls movements and communicates with people.
if you have a large crew, you should have a spoke + lieutenants/LTs/whatever you wanna call them. their job is disseminating calls but more importantly, to track the people grouped under them. when shit pops off, it's easy to lose people. LTs watch to see if anyone in their subgroup is missing, and spoke checks for the LTs. a system of accountability. STILL buddy up in subgroups.
If you've got a good bloc on the ground, you can call 'spokes' to get a spokes council together and make larger decisions about what to do.
Your crew should have a basic, 1-syllable, generic word, that changes at every action, which you can call and each crew member replies with the word. feels dorky but worth it. arrange all this ahead of time. this allows you to quickly count your crew & check no one dropped.
You should have an offsite person, preferably two. Here is a guide for doing offsite.
designate 1-2 comms people. they have phones and retrieve info on cop movements from offsite via signal. on a vpn, burner phone if you can.
ideally no one besides comms should have a phone on them. easier to track. tradeoff: if you lose someone makes it harder to figure out what happened. consider battery-out phones for non-comms people.
write a number for legal support hotline in your area on body in sharpie
Before a protest, work out with your crew what your risk levels are. you can have different levels but try to avoid buddying across levels. will you brawl with fash? cops? risk arrest? loot? burn? graffiti? dont make those decisions in the moment.
I have no easy advice for what happens if you lose someone. have comms immediately report to off-site who can try to track them down. if you're large you can send an lt+subgroup to look, but they may have just gotten out and left. they could be arrested or with medics. off-site can start checking jails and hospitals for them. see off-site guide for what info you need for this and how to collect. if you have better advice for when people drop unexpectedly, put it in the replies.
Never talk to cops never talk to cops never talk to cops never talk to cops. if you're arrested dont talk. if they approach you during dont talk. you can yell harassment but dont do it once you're arrested. you can sing if you want. group singing in jails keeps spirits up. (Singing is a super spreading activity for covid, pointed out at end of this thread).
If you can, know your local PD. some departments publish whitepapers on their tactics. talk to local protest veterans in your area to learn about what your city's cops do. every area is difference and this can make the different between success or failure.
Use all the gear you got. helmet, goggles, gloves, umbrella, etc. carry water if you can (ONLY ONLY WATER TO FLUSH EYES. ONLY.) you gotta stay hydrated too. generic clothes, packs, etc. if possible. more common the better.
Don't carry too heavy but it's really worth it. helmets feel ridiculous? you'll regret not taking it when you take a round to the head.
Consider having handles for your crew. it's a lot better to yell someone's handle than their name when you need their attention.
Handles should be short (1-2 syllables) and minimally linked to the person. practice using only a person's handle. let's move on to broader thinking (might jump back if i think of stuff)
Situational awareness. you can practice this all the time but it's v important during an action.
What are your exits? have they changed? what are your numbers vs. their's? what's their posture? what's behind, in front, sides? what gear to they have? re-evaluate constantly.
i'm going to say it again. exits exits exits. where can your crew go if it gets too hot. if you dont have a clear exit try to move as soon as possible.
Extending on that: police will often try to kettle, aka surround you and trap you in. keep the bloc moving to the cops' weakest side to avoid a kettle. don't be afraid to tell people what to do. they'll thank you if you avoid a kettle. move without em if you have to but dont isolate your crew too much or you're easy to pick off and arrest.
Also, be careful: cops may take advantage of this to get you to slowly push farther and farther from your objectives. sometimes you gotta stand your ground. know your numbers and know your strategy. sometimes it's time to stay. a spokes-council might be able to decide. talk about this ahead of time.
Don't yell where the exit is with cops around, but do disseminate it in a crowd. your crew, minimum, must always know.
Keep your crew looking in all directions and regularly switching. dont get snuck up on.
Don't get picked off. cops will arrest 1 person quicker than 10, 50. non-covid times, the advice is to "tighten up!" the bloc, so they cant snatch and grab. YMMV during these times. evaluated based on the situation.
Banners rule for this. theyre not just propaganda. if you have a heavy banner (tarp, etc.) in the front, they can't as easily grab through and arrest. stay behind it if you can.
Learn to communicate clearly and tersely under pressure. people underestimate this skill. you dont need 'please' or extra words.
Don't chatter. learn to give a 'sitrep' (situational report) in which you report all the info from 16. spokes, ask you LTs for sitreps. give them when new folks arrive.
Back to the individual: if you can't keep up, DON'T GO. hard lesson to learn. as a person with chronic digestive issues, i've fucked this up. if you're incapacitated you're a liability. consider learning to run offsite, or going to less intense actions. know what to expect based on recent police activity, level of risk planned for the action, the capabilities of your crew, etc. i know you might feel obligated to be in the streets but if your crew has to care or slow down for you instead of acting, that's hurting not helping. but try not to let this discourage you from trying if you can. unless you're sure with your health and/or fitness you can't, it is good to try. we need numbers. but dont push yourself when you cant. there's more to the work than the streets.
Dont share unconfirmed info. dont repeat info from people you dont trust. ive seen so many actions where someone thinks they see a cop and then everyone is yelling "cop" and freaked out and scattering and theres no cop. be careful. misinfo is worse than no info.
Some of this is gonna feel ridiculous and tryhard. being good at this takes trying hard. be vulnerable and push your crew to do this. you'll be safer and more effective because you do.
Eat well, plenty of protein rich food the day before. hydrate well day of. physical condition matters for this.
Sometimes you gotta pee. you can pee in an empty bottle, or you can pee on the ground. MANY people wear diapers. this isnt the time for shame. do what you need.
When you gotta do something like pee, change, sometimes even drink, if you're in bloc, you gotta hide. get to the center of the bloc if you can. call 'cover me' or 'flag' (if the crowd has flags) and they'll wrap you. kneel and do what you gotta do.
Some of this advice is for when you have a coherent bloc, but there's been less of those in this round of protests. still, keep it in mind.
If you're in bloc, consider bringing generic clothes to change into in a bag. gym clothes and local team sportwear are great. either do 28 and slip out somewhere under cover, or scatter and hide, and change in your hiding place. bring a bag to put your bag in.
How are you getting in and out? can you pay for public transit in cash (this still means being on cameras, keep your hat down)? can someone drive you in (drop off far, so they cant see plates)? lock up your bike somewhere?
This is counter-intuitive, but unless it's a covert action, where your goal is to get in and out without ever being noticed, keep your ID and a bit of cash in your pocket. ID will get you in and out of jail faster. again: NOT FOR COVERT ACTIONS. and dont drop it.
Try to know your success and failure conditions before your crew goes out. when is it no longer worth it and time to bail? what are you trying to accomplish and how do you know you're doing so? try to create criteria if you can
in large, multi-site protests like we're seeing rn, if all you're doing is occupying cops, you're helping a lot. standoffs mean they arent somewhere else. looting they HAVE to respond to because property > people for cops. small groups can make big differences here.
Share your sitreps with other spokes if you can. if you notice a kettle, tell everybody and try to move everyone. have some chutzpah: you can do it.
DON'T LEAD PEOPLE INTO FENCED IN PARKS OR ENCLOSED ALLEYS PLEASE JUST DON'T PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU. HAVE MANY EXITS.
Consider carrying print maps of the area. dont mark them with objectives in case they get taken. review maps of the area ahead of time.
We already talked offsite and comms, i won't cover offsite much here, read the guide
Scouts! a good scout team is invaluable. especially bike scouts. get a signal chat and people on bikes in strategic locations reporting movements.
Don’t put everybody in the scouts chat. keep a few offsite people reading the scout chat and relaying in to comms people.
If somebody gets arrested that you're in a chat with, put 'dead the chat' and everybody should immediately leaved. someone should contact the person that killed the chat to find out who got picked up and exclude them from the new chat.
If y'all are super coordinated and have a ton of planning (not happening much right now) consider having a marshal in charge of calling moves for the whole bloc. spokes-council should still be convened and can challenge, but even the spanish anarchists elected military officials. in the field, you need a chain of command to operate quickly and effectively and outcompete cops.
Read this thread. remember, you dont have to be able to go toe-to-toe with cops. you just have to make your group not worth the consequences of dealing with.
Where are you going when the protest/action is done? are you all rallying at one point? have a plan.
Everyone check in with offsite when you get back. you all need to know everyone got home safe, or start checking jails/hospitals.
Offsite should know who is organizing jail support so they can pass that off when needed.
This is all easier if you know folks ahead of time. show up to your local left orgs. even if it doesn't feel like you're doing a lot yet, those relationships matter.
WHITE PEOPLE: put yourself between police and people of color. they are much less likely to be as brutal with you. this should be established policy in your crew, esp if your crew is (as it ideally should be, if not ask why) multiracial.
WHITE PEOPLE: while Black opinion isnt a monolith & you dont have to regard the scolding of every Black liberal (see thread): if there are Black people/other people of color around and they're not escalating tactics, you shouldnt be unless its agreed. See this thread.
What does your crew and your bloc do if someone is injured? for some blocs, if medics have them, you leave them behind with medics and keep moving. it can be bad to jeopardize and trap the whole bloc for one person who is with medics who they are gonna be with anyway. on the OTHER hand, some blocs reasonably dont want to leave anyone behind and want to stay to cover people with medics (police sometimes respect medic neutrality, sometimes don't.)
most important is: KNOW WHICH Y'ALL ARE DOING. DONT WAFFLE BACK & FORTH, DONT SPLIT THE BLOC.
Quick addition cuz it shouldn't be missing: if you're carrying a phone dont have touch ID on your phone, police can legally compel you to activate touch ID but they can't compel a password. also turn off location services and wifi unless you absolutely need them.
diff cops have diff legal options as well! in the middle of old city in philly, there's a federal park with park rangers. if they nab you, it's probably a federal charge, way worse. we're more scared of the rangers lol. know local uniforms if you can.
While we're here, some other extremely useful threads:
buying shit and not getting caught
riot control projectiles
take shifts! i didn't think to include it because it's longer term, but it's vital. we've certainly been dealing with it in philly.
this is a good COVID-19 specific tip. need to be a lot more careful about singing in custody during the pandemic.
having regular check-in times with offsite are a good idea
there's 50 tips for being effective in the street. might come back and add more later. i'm not the 'expert' and YMMV and you can disagree and your city might operate differently. that said:
i can tell you these are learned lessons from years out there & if you use them you'll do a lot, lot better than if you dont. you and your crew will be safer, and youll achieve your objectives more often. ounce of prevention worth a pound of cure. put in the work, and let's win.
---
End transcript. People should take a look at that thread because it is being constantly updated with a lot of good information. Stay safe out there and fight this shit.
Source: https://mobile.twitter.com/jessfromonline/status/1268620358950649858
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shawn meets... | aria
SUMMARY: in the life of a rockstar, shawn mendes comes across some unique people. sometimes, things stray from the norm. (AU, shawn x every one of my oc’s)(continuation of goth gf)
AN: time jump lmao. sry in advance.
***let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist
previous chapter
aria’s [abandonded] origin story | aria’s playlist | masterlist
Eight months later.
Shawn was beyond tired. Shawn was not allowed to be tired. Shawn, the sun has almost gone down and we still have so much to do today! Stop sleeping and pay attention!
Honestly, nobody was keeping track of how many interviews had been done today. Shawn should have kept track, that way he would know how many were left before he was done for the day. He was only half listening to what his manager Andrew was saying.
“A lot of Internet stars want you these days,” he said. “This girl was the only one who had something interesting to do with you. Good thing you stayed in your sweats today.”
Oh yeah. A majority of the interviews Shawn did today were done over the phone. For some goddamn reason, he and his whole team had to move from place to place for each one. This was annoying, and this was Hollywood, apparently. At least he didn’t have to change for this interview, whatever it was going to be.
Andrew was leading the team through a plaza somewhere in Los Angeles. Shawn was just on autopilot at this point. He took a dinner break a couple of hours ago, but he just wanted to be done already. He wanted to go to bed, even if he wasn’t planning on sleeping. He couldn’t really sleep these days, and it was by choice.
The team stopped in front of a door that said “DANCE STUDIO” in white letters. As usual, Andrew made Shawn wait outside with Jake the bodyguard while the rest of the team went inside. It was a moment to let things sink in and breathe while he was almost alone. Shawn had to put on his happy mask once again, even if it was the last thing he felt.
“How you holding up?” Jake asked, watching him carefully.
Shawn knew what he was asking, but shrugged it off. “Just a little tired.”
“Nightmare,” he said with a nod.
“What? No, I don’t have those anymore.”
“I wasn’t asking, I’m telling you.”
He stayed quiet. It’s not like anything could be done about it right now. There’s other things to worry about. Andrew always told Shawn just to not think about it. Think about happier things, like walking into this damn studio.
Andrew came out of the room after a few minutes, gesturing for them to enter. Here goes another round of answering the same questions he’s been asked all day.
There were two studio lights stood on either side of a camera set up in front of the mirrors that spanned across the wall. It wasn’t the huge Hollywood set up he had gotten used to. There were chairs lined up against the wall away from the camera, and there was no crew either, just two girls handling everything. The life of YouTubers.
A blonde girl in glasses was fixing the lens on the camera, but she looked up and smiled at Shawn when he entered the room. The other girl with curly brown hair was doing the splits in the middle of the hardwood floor. She looked up as well, and was quick to get up and greet him.
"Hi! I'm Aria Mercer, it's so nice to meet you!"
Aria was very short, given that her head was tilted up to look Shawn in the eyes. She was in red sweats and a One Direction tee, making him feel better about his drab appearance.
"And I'm Sophie Jensen!" said the blonde as she approached the group. "We've heard so much about you! We love your music!"
Shawn grinned. "Thank you, it's nice to meet you too."
"So, you showed up in the appropriate attire, that's good," Aria said. "You ready to dance?"
Shawn's eyes widened. "That's what we're doing?"
"Your people didn't tell you?" Aria shot a mock disappointed look to his team, who had all collectively went to sit in the chairs against the wall. "But yeah, I'll be teaching you a few simple moves. Nothing dangerous or strenuous."
Sophie went back to the camera, looking into the viewfinder and pressing a button. "It's recording. Whenever you guys are ready."
For once, Shawn was glad Brian wasn't here to witness this. Lucky bastard got to go back to the hotel early. Still, he was going to see this in the foreseeable future, and that was enough to make Shawn nervous.
"Gotta warn you," he said to Aria, "I'm a huge klutz."
"It's okay, we'll have fun!" she reassured, and she reached over to rub his arm.
Her tiny hand left so many tingles on his skin. Shawn resisted the urge to scratch it away as Aria greeted the camera.
She didn't obnoxiously project her voice like other YouTubers. She wasn't like the rich socialites who were running the platform these days. She was a dancer, and she was bubbly and full of energy.
"Have you ever danced before?" she asked Shawn.
"I literally fall over twenty times a day," he replied. "Dancing feels out of my element, but I'm down to learning."
Aria giggled. "And you've got me as your teacher, so everything will be okay."
The first thing she taught him was the formation for a simple ballet turn. Shawn learned very quickly that standing on one leg with your toes pointed was challenging, to say the least.
"Okay, stay like that," Aria said, stepping towards him. "Let me fix your posture."
Shawn wanted to laugh, but he would lose his balance. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, Aria circling his body.
"Okay, relax your shoulders," she said, patting the area, "but squeeze your back muscles, it'll keep you straight. And squeeze your butt muscles too, it'll keep your legs straight."
She didn't touch that area, but her tiny hands were low on his hips. "Hm, so broad. You definitely have a dancer's body."
"Thanks?" he strained out.
"Elongate your neck as well, chin up."
His muscles were starting to hurt, clearly not used to having them flexed this way. He quickly gave out and lost the position.
"You do all that just when you turn?" he asked Aria.
"Claro que sí! And that's just the surface. There's spotting so you don't lose balance. And then there's the art of making it looks graceful and effortless."
With that, she did the turn. No, she did a pirouette, maybe five turns in a row. Shawn had a new appreciation for dancers now.
Aria taught him more moves, like the five positions of ballet. They were simple enough, but Shawn felt like his ankle might pop off during fifth position. He felt quite goofy with his arms up in the air, but Aria looked, as she said, graceful.
"And back to fourth, and plie," she said, bending her knees.
It looked easy, Shawn never skipped leg day. But with the position his feet were in, he was far from elegant. He couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked in the mirror.
"I take it you've danced your whole life?" he asked her.
"I have. And back to first."
"What's, like, the craziest move you can do?" he asked, now curious. He also wanted to see how flexible this girl was.
Aria tapped her finger to her chin as she thought about it. "Huh… good question. A fouette, I think. Either that, or an aerial."
"I have no idea what either of those things are, you have to show me."
An aerial, he quickly learned, is a no handed cartwheel. Aria took three large steps and practically did a front flip. Again, she was graceful as hell and made Shawn feel inadequate even though this wasn't a profession he planned to pursue.
A fouette was an incredibly complex turn that left Aria panting after she did ten in a row. She was a fucking champ.
When the video was done, the team was quick to rush Shawn, surround him, and get him to the next location. For once, he wasn't having it. He was quite taken with Aria after the short 30 minutes he spent with her.
"Wait!" he snapped, yanking his arm out of Jake's grasp. "Can't I thank our lovely host?"
Aria, who had quickly occupied herself by talking to Sophie, looked up in his direction.
"We have to go!" Andrew strictly told him.
"Just give me a minute!" Shawn said back.
With several stern looks, the team backed off. Shawn then approached Aria with more confidence than he should have had after being brutally humbled by the art of dance.
He put on his best smile. "Hey, just wanted to thank you for the experience."
"No problem." She smiled. "Showing people the way of dance is kinda my thing."
"Well, you're really good at it."
"Aw, thanks!"
Shawn looked at her, then at Sophie. Then, he gently took Aria's shoulder and led her away from the other girl. He cleared his throat before speaking again.
"Look, uh, tell me if this is too forward, but… I was wondering if you wanted to come by my hotel later tonight."
Her brown eyes widened, and then she looked down. "Dio mío. ¿En serio?"
Shawn blinked. "You just spoke Spanish."
"Sorry, I'm just a little thrown off. You're being serious?" She was blushing.
"Yeah. Kinda wanna see what else you can do with those legs." He smirked.
"Me va a dar algo," Aria mumbled. Then, she caught herself. "This is crazy."
He tilted his head. "How so?"
She chewed her lip as she looked at him. There was a look in her eyes that held the answer to his request. "You ever had like… a free pass? Like, you and your significant other talk about your crushes and which celebrity you'd go for. You're my free pass."
Shawn raised his eyebrows, flattered. "So that's a yes?"
Confliction spread on her features. "How long are you in town for?"
"I leave tomorrow." His heart started to race.
"I'll message you on Twitter later, okay? I, uh, need to see if I have something already planned."
"We have nothing planned!" called Sophie, obviously eavesdropping.
Aria's cheeks went even more pink as she looked at Shawn. "Okay, I guess I'm free!"
"Awesome. I'll send you the address." Shawn winked, even though he wasn't very good at it.
Still, Aria was beaming as she went back to her friend.
~
The only person who was supportive of this impulsive decision was Brian. It was a good thing Shawn brought him along on this weirdly wonderful journey. Shawn told him everything over dinner with the team, leaving out some details of the dancing part.
Brian high fived his friend. "It's about time you come back to your old self! Shawn the bachelor, revived!"
Shawn couldn't quite remember his old self. He hardly had any time to think about it. Brian sometimes reminded him of that old self, it was good to have him here.
"She was really hesitant," he said, "she might not even show up."
"But you took the initiative, and that's a good sign! Besides, if she ghosts you, it won't be hard to find someone else."
That was mildly comforting. More fish in the sea, and Shawn's sea recently expanded.
"Gotta get under someone to get over someone," Brian added.
Shawn couldn't argue with that. This Aria Mercer girl was a good place to start, given that she was completely different from the last girl he was with. This girl was smaller, and more bubbly. Flexible. Amazing curly hair. Shawn could definitely get down with someone who wears more than just one color.
If only he could find beauty in color again.
It wasn't until he was back in his hotel did Shawn start getting nervous. He sent Aria the address and his room number through a Twitter DM, forgetting to add a cheeky "can't wait to see you." After that, he jumped in the shower. Sure, it was just a measly hookup, but he wanted to be clean at least. He even made the effort to order a bottle of patrón to the room.
The bottle was delivered by the time Aria notified him of her arrival. Shawn thanked the room service person with a crisp twenty and quickly ushered them out. Shawn placed the patrón and two glasses on the table, and then checked his reflection in the mirror.
He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, but still jumped when there was a soft knock on the door. Maybe he should have waited an extra thirty seconds, because Aria still had her fist up when Shawn wandered.
She quickly put her arm down and grinned. "Hey."
"Hi. Come in," Shawn said.
His heart was pounding wildly when the two of them were officially shut inside the hotel room. Aria walked in front of him, making him get a look at her bare legs in tiny pink shorts. She placed her tiny backpack on one of chairs at the table.
Shawn noticed the golden lightning bolt and two clear circles on the pack, piquing his interest.
"You like Harry Potter?"
"Hm? Yeah!" Aria said. "I'm obsessed."
"What house are you?"
"Hufflepuff! You?"
Of course the first girl he hooks up with in months is the same Hogwarts house as-
"Gryffindor," he replied.
"Cool."
Silence fell between the two of them as they stood in front of the bed. Aria looked around the room, biting her nails. Shawn couldn't figure out how to step into the next part of this night. He wasn't typically nervous or awkward, but that was only because before this, he was getting intimate with the same person consistently. There was no reason to be nervous then.
"So, uh…" he trailed off.
"Do we just…?" Aria asked, taking a few steps closer.
Neither of them remembered hookups being this awkward.
"Do you want a drink?" Shawn asked, but Aria spoke over him.
"Come closer."
So he did, feeling his heart in his throat. Nervous energy radiated all over, it was almost suffocating. It wasn't the fun type of nervous.
"Closer," Aria said softly.
There was an inch of space left between them. Shawn was looking at her, but she wouldn't return the gaze. He gently placed his hands on her upper arms, slowly moving his head closer, bending more than usual given the height difference. This was like a bandaid that needed to be ripped off. Once that was done, then everything else could come naturally.
"I can't do this," Aria said when their noses were touching, her voice slicing through the silence like a knife.
He moved back, removing himself from her completely. His body suddenly felt much less tense, almost relieved. Before he could even think of anything to say, Aria kept talking.
"I thought I could do it because you're my free pass, and you're insanely gorgeous. But I need to be honest - I have a boyfriend."
Shawn felt his stomach drop. "You-"
"But he gave me his blessing!" Aria frantically interrupted. "I texted him, and he sent me a voice clip of his approval! You can listen if you don't believe me!"
She hurried to her Hogwarts bag, opening up the zipper and digging inside. Meanwhile, Shawn sat down on the bed, his mind spiraling.
He wouldn't have been able to do this either. Come to think of it, he wasn't even that attracted to Aria. He hardly knew her, apart from the fact that she posts dancing videos on YouTube. Hell, he didn't even think about what he wanted to do with her, he just went through the motions.
Aria turned back to Shawn, phone in hand. She stopped in her tracks, noticing his hunched shoulders. "Are you okay?"
Shawn didn't really speak of the ache in his heart to anyone. Again, there was just no time. Sometimes he was tempted to call Camila on the rare days off, but she was just as busy these days. He thought about texting Alessia, but she didn't speak to him anymore. Shawn didn't talk about it, but keeping it in wasn't doing it anymore.
"You were honest with me, so I owe you just the same," he began. "I only wanted to do this because I'm going through a breakup."
He expected her to scoff, or make some comment about how pathetic he is, but Aria simply sat down next to him. Her brown eyes were soft and sympathetic.
"Getting over someone by getting under someone." She echoed Brian's words. "I've been there."
"Hey, I'm sorry for putting you in this position-"
"It's okay," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I did the same thing when I was twenty years old. Actually, the guy I'm dating now was one of my rebounds."
Shawn cleared his throat. "Is that how you ended up together?"
"Nah, that's a whole other story. But while we're being honest, I have to tell you. Sleeping around isn't gonna heal your broken heart. A wise man once said that numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it."
Ain't that the fucking truth. Shawn felt the ache deep in his bones. It hurt so much it knocked the wind out of him.
"Did you love that person?" Aria asked after a moment.
Shawn couldn't stop himself. "I was so in love with her. She was the first person I ever loved, and it was everything I could have asked for."
"And it feels like you'll never find that again," Aria continued, rubbing his back.
Shawn nodded and took a breath. "Look, I'm sorry I'm dumping this on you. This is probably the opposite of what you expected to happen."
To his surprise, she grinned. "You're lucky I'm nice and have a need to protect heartbroken individuals. If you had hit up my friend Sophie, she would have kicked you while you were down. Besides, sometimes it's just easier to vent to a stranger."
Well, she wasn't wrong about that. Shawn felt more ramblings bubbling up the longer he sat with her. So maybe he would end up spending the night with Aria Mercer.
"Tell me about you, though," he told her. "I don't want this whole thing to be depressing."
The two of them sat up against the headboard, chatting for a while. Shawn learned a little bit more about Aria. She's been dancing since she was a toddler, but she took a hiatus from it after graduating high school. Her favorite color is red, she's a Virgo, and she graduated from that fancy university for vloggers two years prior. That's where she met her first love.
"I got really lucky that the first guy I dated was my first real love," she explained.
"The guy you're with now?" Shawn asked.
"No. That's Joe. My first love was named Dan," she said. "I gotta say, it's been almost five years since we broke up - and I'm very happy with Joe - but a small part of me is still soft for my ex."
Shawn nodded his head as he listened. "Why did you guys break up?"
Aria opened her mouth to answer, but she gave him a look. "You first."
"Fine, but we're opening that patrón."
She giggled. "Okay. I'll pour the glasses, you start talking."
For a moment, Shawn thought about it, thought about Ann. He hasn't seen her since the breakup. He has been back to Toronto in the four months they've been apart, but he never went looking for her. Why would he?
"She… she's insanely private," he began as Aria returned to the bed with two glasses. "She didn't want me talking about her in interviews, or even to my friends. I mean, people in our circle knew about us, but she always thought I was going to tell everyone her secrets or something."
"So paranoia was the cause?"
"I wouldn't say paranoia. I know she wanted her privacy, and I tried very hard to respect it. But people still managed to find her social media and some went to the extent of following us around in public."
Aria made a face. "Oof. I know what that's like."
"Yeah. I kept waiting for her to ask me to stay before they flew me out here. Kept waiting for her to tell me to drop everything and stay with her. But she never did. She pushed me to pursue this, and she chose to stay behind."
"That shows that she really loved you. She wouldn't let you give up all of this for her. We all make sacrifices for our careers."
Those words sunk in as they both took a drink. Shawn screwed his eyes shut momentarily as the bitter taste consumed him.
"Isn't all of this supposed to be worth it?" he wondered. "I know she's not the only girl out there, and she was incredibly different from me. But I haven't gotten the studio time I was promised. I haven't written a song in weeks. All I've been doing are photoshoots and interviews!"
Aria shifted in her seat, kicking off her shoes. "Hey, it will be worth it! Look, me and my ex broke up for kinda the same thing. He's also a YouTuber, and he was gonna go on tour. He asked me to go with him, to drop out of uni, but we were already falling apart. I just knew there wouldn't be room for me in his world. So we broke up, and I stayed in school. In that time, I formed a dance group, I got to interview one of my favorite bands, and I protested the shutdown of our campus."
Shawn took another sip of his glass. "Have you talked to your ex since?"
"Nope! Actually, he came out as gay last year, and I sent him a congratulatory tweet. He didn't reply." She chuckled sheepishly before draining her glass.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. Then, Aria made a face, screwing up her eyes.
“We’re not pretending that this is good, right?” She held up her glass.
“Hey, it cushions the blow,” Shawn replied.
She scoffed and began typing on her phone. “You like slushies? Tacos? I’m postmating Taco Bell.”
Soon enough, they were munching on a 12-pack of mediocre tacos and putting patrón in their large Mountain Dew slushies. The mood lightened a lot quicker, and soon they were talking about other things. Soon, Shawn was laughing and half the patrón was gone. Boundaries and walls were coming down.
“What band did you interview?” Shawn asked.
“Five sauce,” Aria said. “It wasn’t even an interview. I made a dance to one of their songs and taught it to them. It was a jokey-joke video, but I got to talk to them and thank them for making amazing music.”
She pulled up the video on her phone and showed it to him. It was pretty hilarious to see the members of 5 Seconds of Summer try to dance as well as Aria did. It was like the video she did with Shawn today.
“I wanna meet them,” he said wistfully. “And I wanna meet Niall Horan.”
Aria gasped. “I love One Direction! Is Niall your favorite?”
“Honey, you have no idea.”
They talked about celebrity crushes. Aria’s were Demi Lovato, Liam Payne, and, still, Shawn.
“And I still didn’t make the cut,” he joked.
Aria smacked him shoulder. “We got this far. But evidently, I love my mans too much.”
“More than your ex?”
“Oh yeah.” Aria grinned to herself.
“You said his name is Joe, right? Is he a YouTuber too?”
That was when they fell down a YouTube rabbit hole. Aria showed Shawn her boyfriend’s videos, the ones she was in prior to their relationship. Apparently, they were friends for five years before becoming an item last fall.
“I don’t wanna talk too much about my love life, though,” she said. “Y’know, knowing that yours is…”
Shawn waved it off. “Hey, I’m feeling a buzz. I love love, even if I don’t have it. Tell me, girl.”
Aria thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s a fun fact. Me and Joe saw Bella’s video that had you in it.”
He gasped softly. “Really?”
“Uh-huh! So Joe looked you up on Spotify and, and it was raining too! We had a cozy day with blankets and kissing and stuff and we listened to your music. And…” She paused, smiling softly. “When You’re Ready was playing the first time I told him that I love him.”
“Dude… that’s fucking beautiful.” Shawn placed a hand on his chest and sniffed. “I wrote that song about my ex.”
Aria scoffed. “Well, now it’s about me and Joe! It’s a Jaria song!”
Shawn was going to remember that. It’s a Jaria song.
“Why don’t you just go to him now?” he asked her.
“He lives in London,” she replied. “I want to live with him, but neither of us can agree on a place to live. He likes it hot, I like it cold. I don’t wanna be too far from family. We’ve still got our careers to think about.”
“But you were going to hook up with me?”
“Because he told me I can! Look!” She picked up her phone again and played a voice clip.
A male, British voice filled the room. “Well, how often do you get to say you fucked Shawn Mendes? Go on, love, have your fun. But if Dianne ever comes round again, I’m shooting my shot!”
“Who’s Dianne?” Shawn asked.
Aria waved it off. “No one. But do you see? I was telling you the truth. Joe and I fucked a lot in the past and fucked other people too! It’s kind of an open relationship, or… it was. I need to talk to him about that now.”
“Wow…” A memory came to mind. “My ex wanted to fuck one of the girls from Little Mix.”
Aria sat up on her knees. “I love Little Mix! I’ve choreographed so many dances to their songs!”
“Show me!”
If Aria was sober she might not have done it. She stood up in front of the bed and performed little snippets to four different Little Mix songs. She was so passionate and happy. If only she was single, and if only Shawn wasn’t hung up on some flowers…
~
They didn’t sleep together, but they shared a bed. They both woke up early the next morning to loud knocking on the door. Having been through this for a few months, Shawn didn’t have to guess what it was. He was probably running late to something, or the team was just in a hurry to get the day started.
“I’m sorry,” Shawn sleepily mumbled. “You’re gonna face my manager.”
“Fun,” she mumbled back.
She rolled out of bed quicker than he had anticipated. She grabbed her shoes and stumbled to her Harry Potter bag on the table. Then, she gave Shawn a salute.
“See ya round, rockstar.”
“Hey,” Shawn called as he sat up. “Thanks for sticking around. I know you didn’t have to, and I really appreciate it.”
She smiled. “Let me know when you’re in LA or London or something. Maybe you’ll get to meet Joe.”
“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”
“And listen, don’t let your people push you around all the time. They work for you. Demand more studio time if-”
More sharp knocks. Aria sighed.
“You have more power than you think,” she continued. “Demand more studio time. Demand counseling if you really need it. Don’t let them take advantage of you.”
Shawn nodded, feeling a pit in his stomach. “Thank you, Aria.” He stood up and went for a hug, his chin barely touching the top of her head. Who knew a girl that small could be so powerful?
Anyway, Aria made a quick but polite greeting to Andrew as she exited the hotel room. As soon as she was gone, the team filled her absence. Tiffany walked in pulling a clothing rack with today’s outfit choices. Anna came in with her bag of makeup and hair products, gesturing for Shawn to come sit in the chair by the table. Jake walked in looking strong and mighty as hell. Brian was the last one to enter, two coffees in hand.
He had an eager grin on his face as he approached his friend. “How was she?” he asked, handing him a coffee.
Before Shawn could answer, Andrew piped up.
“Speaking of women,” he said, “since you want to get over someone, we got someone else for you to theoretically get under. I talked to Justin on the phone last night, and he thinks it’s time everyone saw the romantic side of Shawn Mendes.”
“I don’t want a girlfriend,” Shawn said. “Actually, I have some stuff I wanna talk to you about.”
Andrew said nothing as he typed on his phone. When he finished that tasked, he disregarded everything his client had said. “You’ll like this girl. She’s a friend of yours, after all.”
next chapter
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taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @justordinaryjen @chillingbythesea @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsunflower @someoneunimportantxx
#shawn mendes#shawn mendes fanfic#shawn mendes imagine#shawn mendes blurb#shawn mendes smut#shawn x oc#shawn meets fic#hehehehehehehehehehehehe#things are gonna get wweird after this
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@anon asked : [@ghostgirl on twitter] Question! I was watching one of your recent videos about investigating while pregnant. Aren't you scared for the baby? I know some people get really superstitious about that stuff, but you didn't seem at all bothered! As an expecting mother myself, I wanted to know if it's okay to wander go on a possible ghost tour in New Orleans! LOL
“ oh ! that’s a great question ! ” lilly shifts , settling herself in front of the camera , legs crossed in front of her on the bed in her recording room . she hasn’t done an ‘ answering your twitter questions ’ in forever and she had genuinely been worried no one would reply . one hand rests against a barely visible baby bump and her lips pull to an excited grin . “ this is exactly the kind of question i was hoping someone would have ! i’m so glad that you guys stuck with me this long . and i’m even happier that i can actually give some advice that might be useful for once in my fucking life . ”
there’s a bright laugh , nose crinkling and she can already imagine arnold pointing it out ... again . but she can’t bring herself to care about the eventual teasing . “ at first , i was worried about the little one . i wasn’t sure how the baby would react to the physical demands of ghost hunting . but baby’s a natural ! i swear they move whenever i get an evp . arnie’s gonna have to force me to leave the baby at home for investigations . ” she’s teasing of course . but the idea of carrying a baby around during an investigation is a hilarious one . “ i do my research . i don’t go anywhere that risks a heavy attachment unnecessarily . if there’s a history of them ? the location is tabled until after the baby’s born and we go back to the drawing board . i also keep protection on me at all times . runes , sigils , anything that makes me feel safer . in general though ? there’s no harm at all as long as you feel safe . the safer you feel , the happier your baby is . it’s all about making sure you’re at peace with what you’re doing . trust your gut ! if a place feels darker than you’re comfortable with ? stay the fuck away . if a location excites you and has you curious and eager ? go forth into that ghosty world ! have fun with it ! if you want to go on a ghost tour in new orleans ? do it ! let your guide know that you’re expecting and they can help ! the guides are there for you .
now , i do have a few things i do differently now that i’m pregnant . i don’t go into my cursed and haunted objects building nearly as often as i did . i try to keep my visits to once every two weeks to minimize exposure . i do a deep cleanse after every visit and take the next few days to just sort of relax so that i know i didn’t bring anything back into our home with me . i’ve also moved all of my haunted objects out into that building temporarily just to be safe . i never kept anything i knew was cursed in the house , but you can never be too careful . though , if i’m being completely honest about that , i moved those when my step daughter started staying over more . don’t need her getting some sort of attachment . i’d never forgive myself .
but generally , sweetie ? you go out and have fun with those ghosts ! don’t let anyone tell you what’s best for you and your baby ! ”
#&& VERSE ;; main#&& IC ;; answered#&& LILLY ;; headcanon#drstmbrg#just gonna throw this into my headcanons tag#and arnold's tag because important
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So it’s only one week until 221b con, think it’s time I post this!! Here’s the post no one asked for!
221b con intro post
Name: Steph (you can call me any variation of this :D A popular one is Stephi :p)
Pronouns: She/her
Age: 37
Located: Ontario, Canada 🇨🇦
What do you do in fandom?: Occasionally write a meta, do fanart, curate the fandom’s Largest Johnlock Playlist (over 1000 songs, thanks to you guys!), rec Johnlock fics, organize a weekly watchalong, reply to asks of all kinds, offer my advice, and try to be a Big Sister to everyone who needs one :) Essentially whatever the fandom needs, that’s kind of what my blog has become: “Steph we need this in the fandom, so you’re now doing that XD”
How long are you staying?: Getting in Thursday evening and leaving Monday.
How are you getting there?: Flying. Let’s hope third time is a charm, because EVERY TIME I GO TO ATLANTA SOMETHING GOES WRONG WITH MY FUCKING FLIGHT. This is why I don’t like flying.
Cosplays: Naw, though I do have an Kingdom Hearts Sora sweater that I’ll probably wear to my KH Panel :P
Where to find me: Well, I’m on 4 Panels (I don’t know the times because the schedule’s not up yet): 50 Shades of A, Cuddle and Fluff Fic, Healing Through Fic (2nd panel), and the Kingdom Hearts panel. Not sure where else honestly, probably wherever @yorkiepug @havetardiswilltimetravel @astudyinsnoggy are, and any new friends I’m meeting! :D
Drinks: Pretty much anything other than whiskey because it makes me cry and Corona because it’s gross. I prefer Rum and Coke, but I’ll drink just about anything. I’m a bit of a lush though if I’m drinking wine, LOL
Hugs: HELL YES I’M SO TOUCH STARVED PLEASE. I’m not even kidding, I really am, and it makes me so sad. I will freaking cuddle you to death if you allow me to XD Just ask me first, though, please! Or tap me on the shoulder and open your arms :D
Pictures: Absolutely, just please let me know you’re photographing me first! <3
Anything else?: I’m SHY AS HELL, and rarely make the first move because I’m terrible with faces and names so I’m not sure if who I’m seeing is who it is. PLEASE seriously, if you want to talk to me, just come up to me, tell me your name and Tumblr name, and give me a hug, and you can totally hang with me :D I love meeting new people but I’m a TERRIBLE conversationalist and have social anxiety because of it (constantly think everyone is judging me).
Optional Contact Details: I’m on Hangouts as inevitablyjohnlocked, and twitter as @inevitablyjohn1. I also have Snapchat, FB Messenger, and iMessage; PM me and I’ll give you those deets, I’d rather not have them public. The latter two are the easiest ways to reach me, since I won’t check my tumblr app very often while I’m gone… it uses too much data and I as a Canadian we have no such thing as unlimited data and have to pay extra for roaming data. :|
Reblog this intro: Yes, absolutely!
#about me#221bcon#221b con#steph's adventures in atlanta#ew gross it's me#mon visage#i might have candy with me to make people like me#people generally don't like me as soon as i talk#:P#or maybe i'll carry my sketchbook with me#and draw stuff for y'all
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Game of Thrones 8.3 “Battle of Winterfell”
HOLY SHITSICKLES, YOU GUYZ!
That episode was AH-MAZING. I know it wasn’t exactly the shower of death we expected--I mean, there was TONS of death, don’t get me wrong, but our ultra-beloveds are still safe...for now--but it was still epic. Totally worth having to squint for over an hour at a laptop screen brought obscenely close to my face.
Honestly, I thought it was just me until I logged onto Twitter after the episode and everyone was like:
I also made the grievous error of signing into social media before the episode aired and I saw that “Arya” was trending. I thought that she had been killed and I was about to riot.
My brother had actually seen the episode before me--we share an HBO Go account with my uncle because as a lifelong bachelor, he can afford all those channels we cannot--and when I turned it on the battle was at the midway point; I was spoiling myself. I texted my bro “I WILL KILL YOU” and he replied with an emoji of a house. IDK if he plans to defend himself with a house or hide in a house or drop a house on me like I’m the Wicked Witch of the East.
As the episode opens, it’s nighttime (of course it is), and Sam’s hands are shaking because it’s really fucking cold. The Winterfellians are ushering everyone who ain’t fighting into the supposedly SAFE IT’S SO SAFE YOU ALL WILL BE SO MUCH SAFER crypt and performing last minute prep. Theon and Co are wheeling BranBot to the Weirwood tree where he will be used as bait to lure out the Night King.
Sansa and Tyrion and Co. are up on the ramparts. Sansa, naturally, does not look very excited for this party.
The actors’ also. They had to shoot 55 nights in a row.
We get our first glimpse of Drogon and Rhaegal of the episode, AKA the Good Dragons. Because we need to decipher on this show.
Everybody’s in position. The canons are ready. The awesome catapults are ready. The Dothraki are ready. The Unsullied are ready.
All the animals, too, are in place. Including Ghost!
Jon/Aegon approaches Dany and her dragons on a hill overlooking Winterfell so they can get a decent view of the happenings below and get better air on their dragonplanes.
There is SO much to unpack with Jon and Daenerys. They have lots of, uh, “stuff” to deal with, like that he’s technically her nephew and she’s more concerned that he has a claim (and a bigger one) on the Iron Throne than that he’s her blood relation and they’ve had lots of sexy sex. And also that the brother she grew up hearing raped Lyanna Stark actually loved her and married her in secret, thus producing Jon.
But, er, now is not the time and they know that so they gots to put aside their feels and kick some ice zombie butt and save humanity. I imagine this is how Sophia Bush felt when she still had to work with Chad Michael Murray on One Tree Hill knowing he cheated on her with a teenaged extra.
Sort of. Minus the whole “we might die” part.
Melisandre rides up after being in Volantis all this time. Remember how she said she’d come back to Westeros just one more time? Well, that time is here. The Red Woman asks Jorah to tell the Dothraki to lift their swords, which he hesitantly does. Melly grasps the front dude’s Arakh, chants some freaky Lord of the Light mojo, and then all the Arakhs, one by one, become alight in flames like Beric Dondarrion’s.
Even Tormund is awed.
The Red Woman continues on, wishing “Valar morghulis” to Grey Worm, who instantly returns with “Valar dohaeris”. Davos, up in the ramparts, having been warily watching Melly, finally gives the order to open the gate. He...is not a fan of Melisandre. She may have brought back Jon from the Great Beyond but she burned Shireen alive.
However, now is not the time for disputes among the Team Alive population. If they wanna beat Team Undead, they gotta work together.
Davos goes to meet her and she assures him that there is no need to execute her or anything cus she’ll be dead before dawn.
Davos:
Up on the roof, Arya catches Melly’s eye. And she don’t look like she’s throwing out the welcome banns.
Melisandre is on there because she kidnapped Gendry all those seasons ago. You know, to do that sexy, leechy blood magic on him.
And BOOM. The first wave sets off. Mostly consisting of Dothraki on horseback, with Jorah leading them into battle. Huge alight boulders are also placed inside catapults and set flying. Ghost is seen running beside the horses, teeth gnashing.
Srsly, they need to save that direwolf. The PTB at GoT have already killed the other wolves, with the exception of Nymeria, who has run free, and David and D.B. have confirmed that Crazy Cersei killed Ser Pounce after Tommen died. There is NOT a good track record with pets on this show.
All the Dothraki race into the fray to meet the undead, ululating and shouting war cries in the Dothraki language. They’re proud. They’re confident. They are WARRIORS. They know what they’re doing. They’ve been raised on this shit.
And then...
That’s the ENTIRE DOTHRAKI HORDE! Just...gone in a few minutes, holy shit .Did GoT just erase the Dothraki?! Just like that, what the fuck?!
Anyone else feel indignant on behalf of the Dothraki?
Jaime looks like he’s about to shit his Iron Pants.
The second wave all look at each other like “WE ARE SO FUCKED” until some animals and finally people--including Jorah--return to the line. Ghost better be one of them!
Up on the hill, Dany’s in a panic because, again, the dead desecrated her entire Dothraki forces. And she is understandably devastated; they weren’t loyal to Jon, they were loyal to her. She was their Khaleesi. Their original plan was for them to remain on the hill and take flight there and wait for the dead to come to Winterfell’s gates but we all know that ain’t gonna happen. Jon, awkwardly, tries to intervene when Dany begins to leave, but Dany perseveres. The dead are already here and the Night King is a-comin’.
On the line, everyone’s waiting with bated breath. Sam looks about ready to pass out. Tormund’s glorious red mane blows in the wind, which the captions keep telling me “whistles”, so I know it is strong. Grey Worm puts on his helmet. The Unsullied army bend and position their weapons and....
The ensuing scuffle is pretty much insanity and confusion. There are dead body parts mixed with the same people we know and love trying to fight them off and, like, totally forever kill them. Brienne shouts “STAND YOUR GROUND!!” like a badass but is immediately overwhelmed and Jaime, upon glimpsing his CO and fellow knight (and maybe something more?) going down in the mud, jumps in to help her.
Dany and Jon ride in on the backs of Drogon and Rhaegal and it is never not awesome watching dragons spitting fire at their human overlords’ enemies.
Up on the roof of Winterfell, Arya and Sansa are flabbergasted as they watch with dismay the battle below. The blood, the fire, the (good) dragons. Finally, Arya turns to Sansa and implores her sister to get into the (VERY SAFE EVERYONE WILL BE SAFE THERE SWEARSIES) crypt.
Sansa doesn’t know how to use it, she is not trained in combat. Arya just tells her to stick the wights with the pointy end.
Good advice, Arya!
At the Weirwood tree, Theon and Co. are doing their bestest to keep the BranBot safe while he attempts to lure Ol’ Nighty out of his hidey-hole. And on the battlefield, Jorah falls off his horse decapitating ice zombies, Jaime is going through the dead like toilet paper (or whatever they used back then...what did they use?), and Sam is...well, he’s trying, poor lamb. Ultimately though, he becomes overwhelmed and Mr. Edd has to save his butt.
Sealing his fate.
Stabbed through the back of the head, that is quite dolorous.
Sansa goes down into the crypt, where all the nearby tenants who have no fight training are gathered already. Wordlessly, a ball of nerves, she meets the eyes of Missandei and Tyrion, the latter of whom, naturally, takes a drink.
I’d drink, too, in that scenario.
In the air, Jon and Dany are on the backs of their respective dragons, which I guess is the ye olde version of aerial warfare, battling the elements as well as the gross horde down below. It’s snowing and raining and they’re stuck in a low hanging cloud or maybe some fog idk I can’t SEE.
Someone shouts to fall back and the gates to Winterfell are opened--by Lyanna Mormont’s command, that pint sized badass--and men start piling in. Grey Worm orders the Unsullied to protect the retreat as best they could and stand their ground, damnit.
Jon finally comes out of the cloud but Dany doesn’t, and he lands with a worried look on his face. More men pour in through the gates while Brienne and Jaime usher them inside.
Arya, from the top of Winterfell, uses her archery skillz to take out the munchers creepin’ up behind Woof.
It’s a milestone every teenage girl reaches and it brings a tear to your eye, it does.
Grey Worm gives the order to fall back and light the trench and we the audience are like--
I cannot say enough how dark this episode is. I have my screen up to 100 percent brightness and I am still squinting doing this recap.
He’s really referring to Dany here, whom he’s trying to signal with torches, but she and Drogon are still stuck in that wholly inconvenient cloud/fog thing. Truly, the worst weather has converged on this one location in Westeros on the one night that they really need clear skies. All that’s missing is a hurricane.
But Davos speaks for us all.
So, Team Alive is all scrambling around trying to light the trenches with torches but they can’t because they’re kinda preoccupied battling the undead. That is where Melly steps in. After reciting some of that weird mojo in High Valyrian, the deep trenches throughout the Winterfell grounds become alight.
And the rest of us blink our eyes repeatedly in thanks.
The wights are separated from Winterfell behind the trenches and the Hound’s kinda freaking out because he doesn’t exactly like fire, having had his face nearly melted off by his brother, the Mountain. So he disappears.
Down in the crypt, everyone is hearing all the crazy going on upstairs and Varys is like “At least we’re already in a crypt, eh?” and no one’s amused.
Tyrion is anxious. He wants to be doing something, damnit! Like he did at the Battle of Blackwater. Maybe seeing something that no one else has figured yet. But Sansa, Lady of Hindsight, tells him to sit his ass down. It won’t do anyone good if Tyrion joins the Army of the Dead. Tyrion makes a smartass remark about how there is no organization less suited to his abilities and Sansa, Milady Logic, is all “Witty remarks won’t help you, all we can do now is wait. That’s why we is down here, because we can’t do nothin’” and Tyrion pauses before--
Tyrion, Lord of Winterfell? A Lannister?! Why not? Weirder shit has happened on GoT. Weirder shit is happening right now.
Then, Sansa squashes that by laying this on the table: it’d never work between them because of the Dragon Queen. Their divided loyalties would come between them. But before Tyrion can reply, Missandei, who has been eavesdropping on their convo, cuts in like “Yeah, damn that Dragon Queen! Y’all wouldn’t have to worry about that crap without her because...we’d all be dead, so...”
Whatever you think of Dany, there is no way the North would live without her and her armies and dragons. They’d be overrun within minutes.
At the Weirwood tree, Theon and Co. have formed a barrier before BranBot. Theon remarks that the trenches have been lit, then, haltingly, turns to BranBot and starts to apologize for, yanno, turning on the only family that ever loved him and claiming Winterfell for himself.
Dime store psychics around the globe should replace their crystal balls with miniature BranBots.
Then he says he’s going to go now, just like that, and he wargs into a raven to find the Night King’s position.
Gee. Why didn’t I ever think of that to get out of conversations?
“Hey, Bee, how’d you do on your stats exam?”
“...oh, uh, I did, er, ok. I’m gonna go now.” Wargs into chicken.
Ah, there’s Ol’ (really Ol’, Ancient Ol’) Nighty, riding Viserion, looking all creepy and stuff.
Not quite, Nighty, not quite.
Zombies are an impatient lot. They’re hungry and dead and they’re doomed to shamble around the earth forever. So, if a few have to be sacrificed in order for the rest of Team Undead to cross the trenches, so be it. One by one, the ice zombies literally throw themselves on the line of fire, sandwiching their ewwie bodies until the rest of the horde can safely use them as a bridge to cross. An Undead Bridge, if you will.
When Davos realizes what they are doing, the look on his face is quite classic horror movie:
You know when you’re watching a scary movie and the protagonist or whoever hears something or sees something but isn’t quite sure what it is, only knowing that it’s bad mmkay? That is that look.
Davos shouts the order to man the walls of Winterfell. Elsewhere on the battlefied, Jon is still in the same spot he landed, anxious about Dany. He glimpses a dragon emerge from the fog and, at first, he thinks it’s Daenerys but it soon becomes evident that it’s the Night King riding on Viserion.
Winterfell, meanwhile, is all cloaked in a cloud of mud and rain. The soldiers and Northerners are clambering to keep the White Walkers from penetrating the walls of the castle.
They have to keep them from legit climbing the damn walls.
If I’m ever a zombie, I want the Night King to make me. Apparently, rigor mortis is not a thing in wights.
The wights keep climbing until some of them start to get over the wall despite Jaime, Brienne, et. al. slicing off head after head. They just keep coming. The Team Undead horde is massive.
I bet the denizens of Winterfell are wishing for a nice, stationary mall right about now.
Soldiers are going over the railings, Sam’s whimpering butt has to be saved again, and the Hound is utterly frozen. It’s all just anarchy.
Beric and his Flaming Sword of Justice attempt to get Woofie’s attention again but to no avail. Arya’s doing her thang with her pointed staff, taking out wight after wight with Davos looking on, impressed (knight or not, you have been bested by a teenager, old man).
And then, this:
ZOMBIE GIANTS!
ZOMBIFIED MOTHAFUCKIN’ GIANTS.
“Fee, fi, fo fum, I smell the blood of EVERYONE.”
It pushes her to the side like she’s a goddamn sack of potatoes and it’s smacking people around with its club like they’re nothing but rag dolls. Arya falls down a set of stairs as wights group in to attack her and smacks her forehead on the side of a wall. Not up to her usual Faceless Man self after that, she stumbles and nearly falls off the roof, which finally energizes the Hound to action.
On the ground, Lyanna’s had enough of being tossed around by White Walker McGigantor.
She screams, races toward it, it grabs her in its huge fist, and, blood pouring out of her mouth and nose and it crushes her, she STABS IT THROUGH THE FRIGGING EYEBALL.
It’s a fitting end for an awesome character. Lyanna made such an impression on everyone and her cumulative screentime was just over fifteen minutes on the show.
In the air, Jon and Dany are finally reunited again when out of nowhere sails the Night King and his trusty Undragon.
Looks like someone has been chewing too much Winterfresh!
Viserion lets loose a stream of Winterfresh friendly fire and Daenerys ducks and whimpers as her undead baby tries to kill her. When the Night King sails off, Jon and Dany look at each other before mutually agreeing in some unspoken communication to dive.
Aww, they are communicating without words already! Bestill my lowkey-shipping-for-incest heart.
In Winterfell, the White Walkers have managed to break into the halls of the castle and, in less...white climes, they look less frozen and more, well, zombie. Arya, with her trusty staff, is attempting to sneak through her ancestral home without alerting Team Undead.
Unfortunately, she stumbles into the library and, weird, there are a lot of wights in the library. I didn’t know ice zombies were such avid readers.
What? Ice zombies need wank material, too, you know.
That is, if their genitals haven’t fallen off.
Our girl is creeping through the library, dodging errant undead in her wake. Desperately, she dives under a table, but the blood from her head wound is dripping on the floor, which attracts a nearby wight.
You know, like a shark.
The wight bends down and almost catches her, giving us all a mini heart attack, but Arya is gone. Phew.
BT-dubbs, that wight is none other than Javier Botet, who has made a sort of career playing monsters, including as the Leper in 2017′s It.
He was cast on purpose because he can contort his body in absurd ways. And I apologize for making you look at the Leper again. Yeesh.
Grabbing a book, she sails it across the floor to distract the zombies, runs into one going around the corner who then meets the fun end of her blade, and escapes the library.
Who knew a library could be so dangerous?
Arya escapes into a chamber and softly closes the door behind her, leaning back against it. She seems to be safe for a moment and then--
Ser Brus of House Bannyr. He’s a buddy of the Mountain.
Wights start pouring in and Arya runs. She runs, runs, runs--down through the narrow, damp, ill-lighted walls of Winterfell, bleeding from her head wound.
Meanwhile, just below her down in the crypt--
It’s SAFE it’s so SAFE, you guys.
The denizens of the crypt wait with bated breath and gasp when two desperate soldiers ram against the crypt door, begging to be let in. Sansa looks conflicted, wanting to help the soldiers but not at the cost of any of her people.
In the corridors, Beric Dondarrion and his Flaming Sword of Justice and the Hound are tiptoeing through Winterfell when they hear battling and growling noises (thank you, captions) and Arya falls through a doorway with wights quickly after her. The Hound picks her up and they all race down the hall, Beric throws his sword at a couple of White Walkers but they soon begin to overwhelm him. Arya gazes back at him in desperation as the Hound tries to get her away, and Beric is stabbed by one of Team Undead. He stands there, limbs akimbo face aloft as if praying to the Lord of the Light.
I love this scene. It further underscores how much Arya has come to mean to the Hound. Before, he was frozen, nothing could jolt him out of his panic but the image of Arya in peril. And he spends the rest of the episode fighting not so much for the living but for her.
Beric manages to stumble down the hall after Arya and the Hound and they lock a door behind him. Arya sits him against a wall while the Hound barricades the door with anything nearby.
Muttering unintelligibly, the man who was resurrected six times closes his eyes forever.
Melisandre appears behind them after Beric passes, letting them know that he served his purpose. Arya knows her; the Red Woman promised her that they’d meet again and there they are. She also promised that Arya would close many eyes in her young life, which was also right. Brown eyes. Green eyes. And blue eyes.
The wights are growling and scratching at the door, eager to come in and kill and feast on human flesh and blood. Arya stares while Melly bends down and whispers in her ear--
At the Weirwood tree, the wights are finally a-comn’ for BranBot and Theon and his men get into position with flaming arrows (I am now really in the mood for smores). Simultaneously, Dany/Drogon, Jon/Rhaegal/ and Ol’ Nighty/Viserion are duking it out in the air above them, the archers below attempting to knock the Undragon out of the sky.
It’s like a WWII aerial dogfight, but with dragons. So, like, a dragonfight.
Someone has entered his rebellious goth phase!
Srsly, what other show offers a mid-air dragon fight?
The dragonfight ends, somehow, only with the Night King falling off his chosen Undragon.
Rhaegal makes a shaky landing--there is plenty of turbulence in the North, after all--and Jon rolls off his favorite dragon. Dany continues the hunt for Ol’ Nighty and when she finds him, she gives the order for Drogon to do his thang.
It...doesn’t work out as hoped.
The Night King grins and throws his ice staff at Drogon, the weapon that took down Viserion. Fortunately, the ensuing hit isn’t fatal and Dany turns tail and gets out of there before it is.
Jon whips out his trusty sword and begins following the Night King. But when Ol’ Nighty realizes he’s being followed, he turns around, bestows upon Jon a “teacher catching you doing something naughty” stare, and...does his thang.
Team Alive desecrated many of your army? Just make a new one like that. Using his dark hippity doo da, the Night King raises all the soldiers (formerly) of Team Alive who fell in battle. And there’s a fucking lot of them. Including fallen Unsullied back at Winterfell’s gates and even Lyanna Mormont.
At the castle, Jaime and Grey Worm look on in confusion and horror.
New inductees to Team Undead swarm in on Jon as the Night King and some of his disciples make their way to Winterfell.
In the crypt, it was only a matter of time until this happened:
Y’all need some stronger building materials. This cannot be up to code. What would the leader of the HOA say?
Everyone in the crypt scatters in panic, minus the unlucky few who become Thing Food.
At the Weirwood tree, Theon and Co. are doing their best Robin Hood while BranBot is still checked out. I guess he’s in the raven, trying to get a location on the Night King? BranBot, do us all a favor and crap on his head.
(You missed! He was totally open, Bird! Damn.)
Jon almost gets overwhelmed until Dany and Drogon come to the rescue and manage to char the ice zombies without turning the one guy who is alive into a crispie critter, too. She tells him to go, be the hero we need, and he runs off.
However, before Drogon can fly off, he, too, is quickly overcome with wights, tearing at his wings, climbing all over his spine. He roars and twists and turns and Dany goes tumbling off.
Drogon flies away with some wights still hanging onto him, trying to get all the annoying dead OFF. They must itch like crazy.
He leaves his mommy behind and suddenly Dany is alone in a battlefield surrounded by Team Undead. She has no weapons. Her main weapon was Drogon. He is how she defeats her enemies. What the hell is she gonna do now?
One of the wights falls off Drogon and has blue eyes only for Dany. Who is alone. Vulnerable. Fucking sitting in the dirt.
But, what luck! Jorah of House Fryndzonne appears out of nowhere to decapitate the wight with Heartsbane and protect his Khaleesi.
I’ve been looking for an excuse to use that. Not a big anime fan but I love Hetalia.
Jon makes his way back to Winterfell, stickin’ and stabbin’ and gruntin’ and growlin’ and bein’ manly. He’s had it up to here with them ice zombies, you guys.
Theon and Co. are working all the harder to protect BranBot while he’s still Like A Bird. Theon’s men all go down and soon he’s left alone to defend the automaton that was once Brandon Stark.
In the crypt, Tyrion and Sansa are hiding behind a cement monument. Their wordless communication, expressed through the eyes alone, sends a chill down my spine. There is so much unsaid in that mutual gaze, and the acting here is superb. Props to Peter Dinklage and Sophie Turner.
Sansa, shaking, whips out the dagger Arya gave her, and Tyrion kisses her hand.
If they both live through season 8, maybe those crazy kids could make it work? Tyrion would be a kick Lord of Winterfell. I can see him in a furry cape.
Elsewhere, Viserion is utterly destroying Winterfell.
Dany and Jorah are desperately stabbing at ice zombies on the battlefield. Tyrion and Sansa carefully run out from behind the monument. Jon just barely dodges a wave of blue fire as Viserion continues to destroy Winterfell. Theon is doing is damndest to shield BranBot from the White Walkers, but he’s evidently slowing down.
And then, oh crap, there he is. In slow motion, like he knows all eyes are on him.
Hey yeah yeah, they’re Calyfornya.
Jorah is working alllllllll his muscles trying to protect his Khaleesi. Jaime and Brienne are backed up against a still standing wall of Winterfell as wights close in around them.
The Night King and his Night Kronies are coming for BranBot.
The remaining wights part for their Icicle Overlord. He stands there glowering down at Theon and BranBot. BranBot tells Theon he is a good man and thanks him and the audience is like--
I thought BranBot wasn’t programmed to say thank you. Ask Meera.
Theon grasps his pointed staff firmly, yells, and runs toward Ol’ Nighty, who, of course, grabs it and stabs him right through the gut.
Sorry, Theon. You managed to survive Ramsey (and getting your Reek cut off) but the Night King was your undoing. You lasted most of the show, though. That’s more than can be said for most characters.
Speaking of lasting most of the show--
Beric, Theon, now Jorah. Everybody stab now!
Jon is hiding behind some debris. The Night King walks ever closer to BranBot. Jon gets up and screams at Viserion for some reason. BranBot gazes up at the Night King. The Night King begins to reach for his ice sword, and then--
Arya Stark, like the fucking avenging angel she is!
I love that she was the one to destroy the Night King. She and Lyanna Mormont were both frigging awesome this episode.
Moral: don’t mess with a girl.
Maisie Williams said in EW that when she initially read the script she was afraid people would think she didn’t deserve it or something. To that I say pish posh. “Arya” has been trending for days.
After he explodes, all the wights begin to fall, including Viserion. Team Alive was right. Kill the Night King, his disciples are toast, too.
The crypt people come out of their hiding places and silently view the carnage. Arya looks over at BranBot and smiles a little. BranBot just sits there without offering a thank you. I guess he only malfunctioned that one time with Theon.
Unfortunately, the zombies aren’t the only ones that fall. Jorah is hurt and hurt badly. He buckles on the battlefield, surrounded by inactive wights, bleeding from seeming every orifice. Dany bends down before him, crying and holding his head.
He dies in her arms. A fitting end for Jorah of House Mormont, forever loyal to his Khaleesi.
So is Dany’s dragon.
Aww. That’s...cute. Like a dog with wings. And scales. That breathes fire.
The Hound, Melisandre, and Davos walk out of Winterfell just as dawn is breaking. The Hound and Davos stop at the door but Melisandre keeps going, looking determined. Shedding her trademark red cloak, she marches forward, ridding herself of the ruby necklace that has kept her young for centuries.
And then, growing older before their eyes, she perishes. Her mission is complete.
And that’s the end of the episode. Cue end credits.
Salt and crackers, that took FOREVER. Every free moment I had I was recappin’. But the episode was awesome and the cast says the next episode is even more awesome so I can’t wait!
Now comes the march on King’s Landing, the taking of the crown, and, hopefully, Cersei gonna die. Who’s gonna have her head? Will it be Jaime? Arya? Tyrion? My bet is Jaime.
Also, congats are in order for our Sansa Stark. Sophie Turner got married to Joe Jonas last night after the Billboard Music Awards. In Vegas with an Elvis impersonator presiding, which is fantastic.
#game of thrones#game of thrones recap#game of thrones 8#nickolaj coster-waldau#gwendoline christie#Sophie Turner#peter dinklage#Kit Harrington#emilia clarke#iain glen#alfie allen#isaac hempstead wright#maisie williams
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ironstrange fic: Star-Man
this fic is almost totally SFW, but in case it’s too much for tumblr's delicate sensibilities and i give it the vapors, i’ll be uploading it into my AO3 account soon.
also, taking the opportunity to announce that i have a twitter here: https://twitter.com/babywarg
i'm sure this theme has been used in fic before, in a much better way...but i woke up this morning wanting to give mah boiz angst and would not be denied.
title may or may not have been inspired by david bowie's song of the same name. that, plus the notion that people who go round in space age really, really slowly compared to us mere mortals.
have you guys seen this uber-cute and uber-touching fan art by 黒雨? you really should. it may help set the tone for this fic. or not. but look at it anyway because it's uber-touching and uber-cute: https://twitter.com/blackrain_1019/status/1043466939480174592
many thanks once again to my wonderful beta @eclair <3
on to the dramu!
***
Tony threw his arms out wide. "You wanted to see me, doc?"
The playful look on his face made it look like he was angling for a hug. But it wasn't a good time for hugs. Not right now.
"Tony," Stephen carefully began, "I'm going away for a while..."
Tony's arms fell to his side. A look of worry crossed his face.
"To where?" he asked. "How long?"
The questions sounded so innocent, they might as well have belonged to a 7-year-old boy who had no idea he was going to be abandoned by his parents. For good.
He almost seemed too young, too simple to understand what was going on - but those were words that had never before been used to describe Tony Stark.
"A long time," Stephen answered. "Something's come up. Can't we just leave it at that?"
Tony began to frown. He crossed his arms over his chest.
"I don't know, can we? Or maybe you know me better than that, Steve."
Steve. The name was a dagger in Stephen's chest. He should never have let Tony know about it. No one had called him that in years, and whenever Tony did it, he only ever did it with complete awareness of how much it hurt.
"I do know you better than that. You deserve an explanation."
"Damn right I do. And you better give me a straight one. No tricks."
Stephen avoided the dare, looked around. "Maybe we should sit."
"Maybe right here is fine." The tone was cold. But still a good deal warmer than unforgiving.
Stephen sighed, and obliged. "Tony...there's a presence approaching the Earth. It's strong. Very strong. I haven't found a way to repel it. The only thing I've found is that..."
"What?" Tony interrupted. "That it's useless for you to look up how to defeat it on your own?" His voice became softer, almost pleading. "Dude, you're an Avenger now, remember? You're part of a team. That means you get people to pass some of the hard labor on to."
Stephen had to smile. Tony prided himself on being the fix-it guy. He liked being hands-on. Thrived on it.
It was Tony's familiar way of saying "let me help you." But Stephen couldn't afford to listen.
"As the Earth's Sorcerer Supreme," Stephen softly replied, "I'm afraid all of the hard labor is on me."
He proceeded to explain that the presence was a uni-dimensional entity, drawn to planets with vast reserves of psychic power - in short, planets with their own Sorcerers Supreme to defend them.
It fed off psychic energy, and when it was done with one planet, it became more powerful, so that the next planet on its path only had less of a chance to survive. Somehow it was able to detect which planets had a Sorcerer Supreme less able to withstand its assault. It had already left several planets completely destroyed on its aimless journey, each planet's Sorcerers Supreme powerless against it.
There was only one way to avoid it...
And that was to pretend that the Earth had NO Sorcerer Supreme.
"Simply put, the creature needs to think the Earth isn't worth bothering with." There was no time to delve into the intricacies of psychic hierarchies, the fact that there were records in magical tomes of this having been done successfully by other Sorcerers Supreme before, laws on unstoppable objects vs immovable forces not applying to preternatural opponents...and of course the futility of moving the Earth out of the creature's path, so he chose to leave those little details out. "While I'm gone, I'll make sure that the Earth will be enveloped in a deceptive shield - sort of a large flashing sign that says 'Nope, no Sorcerers here, not an astrally advanced enough species' so that the entity, whenever it gets here, will move on."
"You didn't answer me," Tony acidly interrupted, and Stephen froze. "Where are you going? How long will you be gone?
"Other worlds. Maybe other dimensions. Being away gives me less of a chance of being ferreted out. And 20 years." He shrugged. "Give or take."
He didn't quite expect Tony's tantrum afterwards. Or maybe he did. He just never thought it would affect him as much.
"20 years?" Tony yelled, close to his face. "20 fucking years, Stephen?!"
At least it wasn't "Steve." That way, Stephen could take the heat.
Tony paced back and forth, fuming.
"What did you expect to hear from me? Good luck, have fun, bring me back a souvenir? Take me with you? I can't believe it, you're just telling me this! You didn't even think of asking me before making such a huge decision, did you? About asking the other Avengers?"
"I have no time to brainstorm with you, or with the rest of the team," Stephen answered calmly. "The entity is coming tonight. I need to get this done now."
"Get 'this' done? What --"
Stephen stepped up to Tony.
Planted his palm gently on Tony's forehead.
Whispered into Tony's ear, "Hush."
There was a brief flash of light where their skin made contact.
And it was over.
Memory spells aren't reliable, the Ancient One had said to him. You can pick and choose the memories you want gone, but there's no assurance they'll STAY gone. You'll have to live with the consequences, Stephen, no matter what.
Tony staggered back. Seemed disoriented for a minute.
Then, his gaze refocused, and he spread his arms wide.
"You wanted to see me, doc?"
There was no playfulness in his voice, this time. Only curiosity.
He'd come because he was summoned. By the Earth's Sorcerer Supreme.
Not by Stephen. Or Steve. Not by anyone he knew more intimately.
Stephen had to fight for the pain to not to reach his face.
One year of fights, of trysts, of kisses, stolen or otherwise, of promises and curses and unspoken vows.
Of love.
Gone.
"Tony," Stephen carefully began again. His voice might have broken slightly, but he hadn't meant it to. "I'm going away for a while."
***
Time moves differently across universes and worlds, and there's much a Sorcerer Supreme could do in 20 Earth years. There were new species to meet, new magic to learn, many new things to discover.
In the meantime, Stephen drew only enough power from the energies around him (not the dark dimension: never that) so that he never aged, never slowed down.
At any rate, it was always a temporary arrangement.
It was the entity's fault for moving too goddamn slowly. 20 years was the minimum wait time for it to pass. If the psychic energy-eating behemoth had been moving faster, it wouldn't be as hard for anyone.
As it stood, Stephen had to wait it out. He had no contact with anyone from Earth, no one who might betray his location to the creature, or compromise his resolve to stay away. This meant Wong, Christine...or Tony Stark.
And then if, after 20 years, he returned to find the Earth in pieces, he planned on using the Time Stone to look back at where things went wrong, then to go back in time, and use the knowledge he'd acquired in all his years away to fix it.
But! If nothing bad had happened to the earth while he was gone...then, well, Doctor Strange's gamble had paid off.
No one knew that he and Tony had a sort of relationship, so no one else's memory needed to be wiped. All he had to take care of was Tony - headstrong, shrewd Tony, who would defy logic and move heaven and earth to find Stephen and be with him again...potentially leaving the Earth unprotected as he went on his futile search.
- that is, if he even remembered what he needed to find Stephen for.
Stephen’s reasoning was this: If Tony's memories of their year together were dealt with, there would be no complications. The Earth would never lose its best defender. And upon his return, they would just be friends again, colleagues again, Avengers again.
Stephen's 20-year escape plan would be so very simple.
And yet...
There were times when he missed Tony so fiercely, that he contemplated visiting other dimensions, other realities, where Tony existed and he didn't. Where there was no Stephen for Tony to fall in love with. Or where they both existed, but were not in love, and would never be. Perhaps they would never even meet.
At the same time, he knew that visiting other dimensions was a risky thing, and there might be no way back for him...especially if he found a particular dimension where he wanted to stay.
There were times when small things he encountered on his journeys reminded him of Tony, and he had to steel himself to prevent his own memories from leaking out and buoying him back to Earth.
There were times when he wished...that when he finally did come home, Tony would remember.
And greet him with open arms. Obnoxiously strong embraces. Warm, fuzzy kisses. The brightest of laughs.
And a ton of stories and shared memories, "remember when"s that would bring a smile to his lips.
And forgiveness.
He often contemplated using the memory spell on himself, but he decided against it for a number of reasons.
One of them was that he deserved to suffer.
There should have been time for a proper goodbye. Then, maybe, being without Tony wouldn't hurt this much.
But it did, and it should.
The only way Tony would end up remembering their time together would be if Stephen's memory spell would fail. And he had worked hard at making sure it would not fail. He had erased every single private moment he and Tony had shared. He had only left the missions, the camaraderie, the mutual respect they had for each other as men of science, as soldiers.
No room for sentiment. No drawbacks.
No tricks.
***
Approximately 20 years later, a Stephen Strange who looked and sounded exactly as he did when he left, braced himself, and opened a portal back to Earth.
And...
He came back to a technological marvel.
Stark Industries had become the world's leading source of scientific innovations - a world that left hardly any room in it for magic. Everything was efficient, streamlined, for a faster and less patient civilization. Shielded from the biggest psychic threat it had ever experienced, and protected by the Avengers and their affiliates from most physical dangers, the Earth experienced a new technological renaissance.
And in the front and center of it all was Tony.
He looked great, for the record. Salt-and-pepper hair and beard, wrinkles where there didn't used to be any, lean and strong-looking even with muscles less defined - but still, brown eyes that shone with intelligence, wonder, and an unquenchable inner light. Still with impeccable (if now old-fashioned) sense of style.
He greeted Stephen with a firm, hearty pat on the shoulders, like a compatriot would.
(This older Tony would never call him “Steve.” Would never push his buttons knowingly. Would never demand to be part of his life outside the battlefield.)
"Back like a star-man, hasn't aged a day," Tony quipped. "Welcome home, star-man."
Stephen only smiled.
He would have been happy to leave their first meeting at that. But back in his old and dutifully preserved Sanctum, he was surprised to find a pre-recorded message from Tony.
In it, Tony insisted on taking Stephen around, as soon as his schedule (Tony's, not Stephen's) permitted. So many things about the world had changed, Tony explained, and who better to keep the bewilderment at bay than one of the chief architects of this bright new future?
Stephen was about to refuse first thing in the morning - one of the mystic arts he'd mastered was, in fact, adapting to radically unfamiliar environments, so "bewilderment" was hardly ever an issue.
But before dawn of the next day, Tony had already parked a very flashy red hovercar in front of the large symbol on his Sanctum, and had woken him - and all the other residents of the Sanctum - up by knocking loudly on the glass and yelling like an attention-starved child.
The rest of the day was basically a joyride through high-tech New York and its environs, with hyper-verbal Tony gladly playing the role of tour guide. It was true, so much had changed - but not Tony.
Exploring a new reality with a deeply familiar Tony turned out to be pleasant.
It was - did he even dare think it? - very much like a date.
Tony all but physically bent over backwards trying to impress him, introducing new and upcoming inventions like a toddler showing off his toys, and how clever he was.
Stephen remembered when Tony used to do that almost every day. He couldn't help it: he still found it charming.
More than once, he caught Tony staring at his face. Whenever he did, Tony would draw attention off it by blurting out an idea or an interesting anecdote from the last 20 years.
And, more than once, Stephen thought he felt Tony standing a little too near, leaning a little too close to him.
He told himself: his own guilt must have been playing tricks on him. Tony didn't remember. He couldn't.
***
The day ended late, with Stephen feeling exhausted. No doubt Tony did as well, because the two men stood on the Stark Tower (v.3.6) deck side by side, without saying a word.
It was like they both knew the hour of parting had come, but neither wanted to admit it.
Presently, Stephen took the reins. "I have to go, Tony."
From where he stood, he could feel Tony stiffen up in alarm.
"To where? How long?"
They were strange questions to ask, and Tony knew it. He dropped his flustered gaze.
"You mean the Sanctum. Of course. Well, it is kind of late, doc. Must be past your bedtime."
Stephen smiled.
"Past yours, too, old man," he couldn't resist shooting back.
Tony stayed silent, not looking at him. Stephen guessed this meant there was no offer of a hovercar ride back to the Sanctum. No matter.
He started to walk away, to a clearer space where he could set up a portal home - but Tony's hand shot out and caught the hem of his cloak.
He stopped. Looked back at Tony. Who still wasn't looking at him. Still wasn't letting go.
"Old man. Yeah, that's me." Tony's voice was so hushed, it was difficult to hear him. "Too old to suit up. Should've ditched all of my suits, or given them away to young blood, but I haven't. Sometimes I take one of them out and go off looking for something. Sometimes I end up finding trouble, but most of the time, I don't find anything at all."
He let go of the cloak, but Stephen didn't go anywhere. He stood, facing Tony, who was starting to seem agitated.
"And I don't know why I'm telling you this, except it feels like I've finally found what I've been looking for. All this time. All this time. And I can finally take off the suit now. Because that's it. I'm done. And..."
His voice broke.
His shoulders started to shake.
He hid his face with one hand, and folded an arm across his chest - folded into himself, in a desperate attempt to hide.
But Stephen didn't let him. Not after all this time.
He drew his arms around Tony. Held him close. As close as he should have held him last time. And all those other times they'd missed.
Tony buried his face in Stephen's shoulder. He let Tony break against him. Wave upon wave of grief and longing and regret crashed down upon them both. It felt to Stephen like standing in front of a storm, and he felt like breaking, too.
A quick, furtive look into Tony's mind said he didn't remember. Not a single detail of their lost year together.
But he didn't have to. The memories weren't stored in his mind.
They were in his aging body, his cells, the very fabric of his being.
As they were in Stephen's.
All this time.
When he had calmed down a bit, Tony stood back, still holding on to Stephen’s arms, and let out a small, bitter chuckle.
"I don't know why I'm asking you this. Think of it as a pathetic old geezer's wish." He looked up at Stephen's face. "But...stay. This time. Please. No tricks."
It was the look in his eyes that finally got to Stephen, reached in and tore him inside out.
He closed the distance between them again and planted a long, lingering kiss in Tony's hair before Tony could see the first tear fall.
"No tricks," he gently promised.
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Not So Bad In L.A
A/N: It’s finally posted y’all! I’m so sorry it’s been so long since I last updated, life has kind of just been a bit busy and I was definitely in a writing jam/had some major writer’s block! But I got past it and I hope this was worth the wait! Love you all, and as always, if you have any questions/concerns/suggestions/want to get tagged/all of the above, please let me know! I love hearing from you beautiful people!
Chapter 5: The Light Is Coming
February 3, 2017
Word Count: 3.9k
Masterlist Fic Masterlist
Previous Chapter
“Excuse me, you’re doing what with who?!”
You and the girls were all sitting together in your living room, nursing a bottle of Moscato. It was the afternoon after Harry’s birthday party, and Nick had texted you early this morning, undoubtedly dragging his hungover feet on the way to the breakfast Harry had mentioned. Not only did he want to make sure you got home alright the night before, but being the nosy man that he is, felt the need to ask what went on with you and Harry while he was ‘knocking back countless tequila shots’.
“Don’t make it a bigger deal than it is, Sav. It’s lunch with a new friend.”
“Sure... lunch with a new friend who happens to be Harry fucking Styles.” Bri laughed, going to answer the door as the doorbell just sounded through your apartment.
Bella chuckled, picking up the now empty bottle of wine and frowning, “How are we out already?” she got up and walked into the kitchen, yelling; “Have you told Morgan about your new friend yet?”
“Not yet, no. She wants to take the USMLE soon so I don’t wanna bother her.” The USMLE is a 3-step test a hopeful doctor has to take in order to be eligible to get their medical license. She was trying to take it as early as possible, and you had to constantly remind her that she was definitely going to ace it since she was the smartest girl you’d ever met.
“Better tell her now before she sees you on some twitter account or some shit.” Sav laughed, “Also, I don’t want to be like a downer, but you know Harry might ask about your family, right? Are you – are you like, prepared for all that?”
The room got quiet and all eyes fell on you. You fiddled with the blanket resting on your lap and felt your chest grow a bit tighter. Bri and Bella had both re-entered the living room; Bri resting against the door frame and Bella taking her place back next to you on the couch.
“I um, I haven’t really thought about it.” You shrugged. You absolutely adored your family. When you lived at home, you valued nothing more than spending time with the people you love. And deciding to leave them was the hardest thing you ever done. But like most families, there were some things you just didn’t talk about. Some things you just didn’t want to even think about.
“Alright, how about we don’t be debby downers right now, and instead, we talk about this package that just came for Y/N.” Bri smiled, walking over to sit on the hardwood floor in front of you, handing you your package
“Ooooh, did your new boyfran send you something already?”
“Honestly, it was probably Ronnie. You know Y/N’s mom loves sending mail.”
“It’s from Youtube.” You smiled, opening the large box, “It’s um – it’s my plaque for reaching 100,000 subscribers.” YouTube was something that you never really talked about. It was something you did on the side after each one of your trips and people seemed to enjoy it. You loved creating a video where people could really capture the feel of a location before getting the chance to go, or even just watch the video for fun. You had somehow conned 100,000 very dedicated people into watching your videos and you couldn’t be more thankful for them.
“YES BITCH!”
“I know I’m speaking for all of us when I say you really deserve this. Seriously, you work your ass off for the magazine and then come home and work on your videos and I’m just really proud of you.” Bella smiled, raising her glass. Having your best girlfriends around you and supporting you during a journey that you didn’t know you would ever embark on was more important than any sort of award you could receive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry texted you early the next morning. You were sitting at your kitchen island, basking in the early morning sunlight that was shining through your windows and enjoying a bowl of Cheerios, when your phone dinged. You knew it wasn’t Nick, as he was still passed out on your couch. And it wasn’t any of the girls, as they were all getting ready for work. The five of you had a riveting night of watching The Office (Nick of course butting in and making comments about the original UK version) while playing a drinking game: take a shot whenever anyone makes eye contact with the camera. It was a quick way to ensure getting drunk, albeit not a great idea for the 3 of 5 of you who had work that morning. Nick was leaving to go home later tonight, after spending nearly a week showing you his favorite spots around LA, encouraging you all to drink more in those 3 weeks than you had since moving, and spending some days just cuddled on the couch watching movies. It was nice having him there. Granted, he had spent a day or two with other LA based friends of his, but waking up to him in your living room was nice, because you knew you most likely wouldn’t be seeing him again for some time. Glancing down at your phone, you smiled at the incoming message.
“Still willing to have lunch with me? Around 11?”
Part of you had thought he’d forgotten about his proposition. That maybe he was more drunk than he lead on that night and had just forgotten about you. Before his party, the two of you had been texting for almost three days straight, so it was odd when you didn’t hear from him the last day and half. You shook your head and thought the same thing you had been telling yourself; “He’s a superstar Y/N, he’s busy.”
“I think the real question is do you still want to have lunch with me?”
You sat and continued your chat with Harry for quite some time, deciding what kind of food you were in the mood for and a central location for you both (which according to Harry wasn’t a necessity on his end). But to your surprise, he continued the conversation. You felt like you had known him forever, but after thinking about it, you really didn’t know much about him… Other than what you learned by being a fan, and so you decided if you were going to be friends with the infamous Harry Styles, you were going to get to know the real Harry Styles.
“What the fuck are you smiling at, at 7am. There’s literally nothing to be happy about this early.”
“Nick, you wake up at like 4am for work, this should be nothing for you.” You chuckled, finishing your cereal and reaching to place your bowl in the sink across from your seat at the island.
“I’m generally not this hungover when going to work.” You opened your mouth to argue that statement, but he beat you too it and held up a finger, “I said generally.”
Not bothering to stifle a yawn, he reached into the cabinet to grab a mug and made himself busy making his morning coffee. Having him in the house was nice. Living with three other girls could get a bit hectic sometimes. There was usually lots of whining and yelling to be heard echoing through the house at all hours of the day, heels left all over the living room after long days of work, and you don’t remember the last time you were able to wake up and not find someone digging through your closet. It had been so long since you lived with a guy and it was nice being reminded of how simple it was.
“Alright look.” Nick mumbled as he turned around and leaned on the opposite counter to face you, “I’m leaving tonight, so you know I have to part with some brotherly advice.”
You sighed.
“Sorry.” he rubbed his eyes, “Anyways, I’m aware you’re talking to Harold and-“
“Grimmy no! I’m stopping you right there. We are not talking. We literally just met and are friends. I don’t even know if you can call us friends.” You knew this would be coming at some point before his departure. Nick always had a way to sneak in some weird form of protectiveness over you anytime he was around.
“You’re texting and meeting up. Call it what you will, but listen to me. Just be careful alright? I love the lad like he’s family, but when you’re with Harry, you’re not just with Harry. There’re always people watching and always something to be said about it. I just don’t want you surprised by anything.”
The ding of another incoming text message made you both look at your phone, smiling softly at Harry’s unknown perfect timing.
“Thanks Grim, I appreciate it. But I’m a big girl.”
“Look, I’m just trying to make sure your ass doesn’t get posted all over social media. If anyone’s gonna do it, it’s going to be me.”
“No one’s posting my ass anywhere. I’d have to have one in order for that to even happen.” The two of you broke out into a fit of giggles, eventually shushing each other in fear of waking up the rest of the house.
“Thanks for letting me crash with you these last couple days.” He smiled as you got up off your stool to make your way to stand in front of him.
“Thank you for coming to see me. I missed you.” You replied and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, “Now, I’m gonna go take a shower and get ready for my lunch plans with Harry and evidently the rest of the world.”
It was approaching 7:30am when you made your way into your room, watching Bri as she left your closet, holding a pair of black booties and uttering a sleepy “Morning.” You had about three hours before you had to meet up with Harry, realistically only two with getting ready and LA traffic. Your only dilemma was what to wear. You’ve seen how Harry dresses and can only assume what his standards are. Only problem was you didn’t own anything quite so designer. Shaking your head, you walked into your closet. After all, it was only lunch with a new friend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon arriving, you immediately knew that you and Harry had very different ideas of a causal lunch. Soft music and the murmur of conversations being held filled the air and you could faintly hear the sound of water in the distance.
“Hello. How may I help you today?”
You turned to see a young girl, most likely no older than 18, standing behind the podium and looking at you expectantly.
“I um, I think I have a reservation?” you then realized that you never talked to Harry about how this was going to work. Did you give the girl his name? What if someone heard and freaked out? Did he put it under an alias, and if so what was it? You probably looked like a crazy person standing there just starring at her blankly, “I’m meeting a friend, but I don’t know what the reservation is under.”
The young man standing next to her turned and interjected, “Mr. Einstein at table W12. I can escort her.” He made his way around the podium and pointed towards the back doors that led outside, “If you’ll follow me.” The restaurant was filled with predominantly middle-aged couples, which made sense considering it was a Friday at 11am. As the hostess in front of you opened the back doors, a small breeze blew through and your flowy white pants swayed with it. You had decided on pairing those pants with a green camisole top and a pair of small nude heels, figuring that if you were to somewhat dress up for any lunch, it would be this one. It crossed your mind for a brief moment that whoever this man was leading you to could in fact, not be Harry, but someone else waiting for someone to arrive, however, you then caught sight of his curls. Harry was seated in the far corner, head down looking at his phone, while one hand scratched the back of his neck. You could see his knee bobbing up and down and he was steadily chewing on his bottom lip, like whatever he was doing on his phone was causing him duress. But as soon as he heard your footsteps approaching, his head popped up and looked directly at you.
“Y/N. Hi.” He smiled as he stood up, opening his arms for a quick hug before the hostess led you right to an open chair at the tabl, ”Thank you Danny.” He nodded to the young boy.
“It’s good to see you again! Sorry I didn’t text you earlier, I was doing work stuff and Grimmy was over most of the day yesterday and you know how he gets.” He laughed
“No, don’t worry about it! Thanks for the invite…… Mr. Einstein.”
“I try not to give my real name when going out. Kind of causes a big thing that I just want to avoid, you know? Thought Einstein would be a good enough give away, considering you did call yourself that you when we met.” He chuckled
The two of you chatted for a bit, not really about much, mostly you telling him about a new piece you were working on for the magazine. He was very intent on just listening to you talk, which was something you hadn’t really experienced before. Growing up, you were always fighting for attention between your friends and family members, since there are so many of you. Not that how you grew up was a bad thing, just having someone who was genuinely interested in what you had to say was a nice change of pace. But you had made a promise to yourself this morning, you were going to get to know Harry, so you finally decided to take the topic off of yourself.
“Alright well, if we’re going to be friends, I can’t be the only one who talks. I happen think you quiet enjoy talking about yourself.” You surprised yourself being so up front with him, but like you’d been thinking since you first met, you felt very comfortable around Harry.
“Oh, do you now? What else do you think you know about me?” he smirked, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table.
And that’s how it started. Instead of playing the typical 20 questions game to learn about each other, you just spewed out different assumptions you had about the other. It ranged anything from where you’re from to your favorite animal to what your favorite kind of cake was.
“Okay, okay. You’re a One Direction fan.” he guessed. At this, you could feel your ears perking up and warmth in your cheeks. Averting your eyes, you glanced to your side at the water.
“What lead you to that assumption?”
“I may have made a few inquiries before lunch today.” he shrugged, “Am I correct?”
“Hmmm yeah, I guess you could say that. I um – my best friends - Bella, Sav and I have been fans since you guys finished X Factor. And it just kind of snowballed from there. We had been to like five shows. Were looking forward to hearing album number five live, but there was a hiatus announced before that could happen.”
“Yeah, well I hear they wanted to try the whole ‘Solo’ thing.”
“Yet, only one has released music.” you pondered, jokingly.
He smiled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, “I happen to have it on good authority that the devishly handsome one is working on his music.”
“Devishly handsome? Niall really does have something special about him, huh.” You joked, sipping your water and staring at him over the glass, “Joking. I look forward to hearing it one day.”
The two of you quickly fell back into your game of information and bouncing assumptions off one another, laughing when someone got one correct and correcting them when it was wrong. He raised his eyebrows when you corrected him on your favorite song – his guess being Waste a Night by Kings of Leon “simply based on your reaction to it at the concert.”
“It’s actually Girl Crush by Little Big Town.” You nodded,l to yourself, waiting for a laugh or even an unenthused ‘really?” but it never came.
“Great song.” He nodded, like he was making a mental note of the song
“I’m confident in this one.” You smiled smugly, “Your favorite band is Fleetwood Mac.”
“One of them, definitely. Huge influence growing up and getting into music. Good thing we aren’t keeping score, ‘cause I’d be out for the count.”
“All those years being a fan are finally paying off. But, because I’m off the record winning and feeling very generous, I’ll give you give three extra assumptions – uninterrupted. Go.”
“You can’t put me on the spot like that! Okay, um your favorite food is rice?”
You looked at him quizzically, “How-“
“You ordered extra rice with dinner. Educated guess.” He shrugged before moving onto his next one, scrunching up his nose like he knew this one would be wrong “You have a dog?”
“Wrong. No dogs allowed in the apartment. Bri’s allergic. Leaning towards getting a kitten soon tho!” you grinned, excited by the thought of having a sweet lil bub prancing around your apartment.
“A cat person, duly noted.” Smiling, he tucked some hair, that had been blown into his face by the increasing wind, back behind his ear, ““Alright.” he sat quiet for a moment, thinking of his next comment, “You’re an only child.”
There it was. The question that you dreaded but always gets asked. You should have known it was coming at some point soon, considering you had been talking to each other about your personal lives, including families, for almost an hour. It was normal; the person you were making friends with wanting to know about your family. But it made the knot in your stomach zoom up into your throat. You could go one of two ways, give Harry the full truth like you know he would want, or the less painful way and tell a white lie. He wouldn’t even know if it was a lie, right? I mean, it’s not like he would dig into your family history. Mentally you sighed, deciding that telling the truth was the only option. It wasn’t something you wanted to hide. It didn’t seem fair.
“False. I um, I have a brother and a sister.”
“Really? What are they like?”
“Well, my sister Morgan is 20 and she goes to school at The Medical University of South Carolina. She wants to be a pediatrician.” you grinned, thinking about her in the Winnie the Pooh scrubs she showed you last night.
“And your brother?” Your smile slowly faded and suddenly the body of water next to you was the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. Did you want to do this? Share this with someone you really barely knew? Hell, you didn’t even like talking about this with Grimmy or the girls. Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you decided what to do.
“Brandon’s my older brother. He’s honestly the best person I’ve ever known. He went to The School of Visual Arts in New York. He wanted to be a videographer. He was amazing.” you paused, glancing over at Harry, who was intently waiting for you to finish talking. The gleam in his eyes was present when he noticed your use of the past tense, silently understanding what that meant. “He was the kind of guy you just wanted to be friends with, ya know?” you continued, “Like he could talk about sports with you for hours, but you wanted to talk about music? He knew that too. Art? Cars? He was your guy. He just got along with everyone.”
“Well, he sounds fantastic.” Harry nodded, reaching across the table to grab your hands
“He is - was.” you gently shook your head, “He um, he passed away almost 3 years ago. I think everything just got to be too much for him? I’m still not entirely sure.”
The waves softly crashed to your left and you could hear the hustle and faint bustle of the street to your right, but the two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. “I’m sorry. This isn’t a very fun conversation to be having on a lunch date.” you let out a small fake laugh but he shook his head
“No, it’s alright. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. Means a lot.” he smiled, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.
The two of you sat quietly for a moment, enjoying each other’s company, and you noticed Harry’s hand still resting on yours. It was big enough to almost engulf yours entirely, and it gave off a nice wave of heat. Just enough to make you forget about the chilling wind that blew past the two of you. Your waitress had come to drop of your bill and much to your protest, Harry had insisted that he pay. Something you knew he would try to do from the moment he asked you to lunch. So, you didn’t let him push you. Before he handed his card to the waiter, you slipped your card into the small black folder and insisted that the bill be split in two. He gave you a pointed glance and shook his head, but you knew he wasn’t too upset. After all, his hand never faltered.
“Thank you for coming today. I know you were probably pretty weirded out being asked to lunch with some guy you barely knew. But I really enjoyed it.”
“Oh, it was super weird. Considering the guy in question was someone I’ve looked up to for like 7 years.” you giggled, slightly embarrassed, “But I’m glad you did. It was fun. Plus, now Nick can stop making fun of me for not having any friends in LA.”
He shook his head, pushing his chair out so he could stand, “God, Nick, ever the passionate one.” He moved behind you quickly so that he could pull your chair out.
“Did I tell you he tried to give me a speech about you this morning? How you’re famous and always have people watching.”
Harry gaped at you, “You taking the piss? He sat me down in the kitchen yesterday. Told me I had to remember you ‘aren’t used to the limelight, so be careful’. Like I was planning on taking you to a red carpet or something.” He chuckled, “I had to remind him it was just lunch.”
“He just tries to go all brotherly on me since – “ you paused, talking a deep breath, “Since Brandon’s not around to do it. At least that’s his reasoning. He may be a pain sometimes, but he means well.”
Coming to the front doors of the restaurant, a sad feeling radiated over your body. You lunch with Harry was coming to a close, and he had said he was going back to London next week, so you didn’t know if this was the last time you’d be seeing him for some time. And you quiet enjoyed your time together today. He cleared his throat and chuckled beside you before opening the front door,
“So… a lunch date huh?”
Tag List: @emotionally-imbruised @theasstour @swayingnoodlelove @movingalong3 @staceystoleyourheart @north1692 and the lovely @isitstraightvodka @isitjamiemoriarty @meet-me-in-the-kitchen @meetyourmouths for always being so wonderful and supportive and just great pals💛
#harry#styles#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles imagines#harry styles blurb#harry styles blurbs#harry styles one shot#harry styles one shots#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#one direction imagine#one direction imagines#one direction one shot#one direction one shots#one dorection blurb#one direction#1d#1d imagine#harry styles angst#harry styles smut#1dff#het fic
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A for A Magic All Its Own and E to J for Something's Telling Me It Might Be You (still singing this title btw)
A. How did you come up with a title to A Magic All Its Own?
So, I looked up a bunch of quotes about royalty and just scrolled and scroll for a really long time until I ran across one that is something like, “Royalty is different than celebrity. Royalty has a magic all its own,” and it just struck me as being so perfect for the story because I was taking out the magic but there was still something magical about it.
E. If you wrote a sequel to Something’s Telling Me... what would it be about? Hecate and Pippa’s wedding. It wouldn’t be a long sequel but I already know what happens. Pippa wants Hecate to buy a house with her where they stop traveling between their places and because Pippa thinks they should have something that’s just about them. Hecate keeps resisting for almost a year because it took her forever to find a house with the perfect location and she’s happy there, damn it. Anyway, Pippa gets a tip that a Frank Llyod Wright house (or something else architecturally significant) is coming on the market and manages to tempt Hecate with that. Hecate makes a comment about how it’s easier to buy joint property when you’re married and Pippa takes it as a proposal. That’s how they get engaged.
Because they need to do it fast, Pippa suggests just going to the courthouse and Hecate gets all upset because 1. she thought she’d get to enjoy herself shooting down Pippa’s ridiculous wedding ideas and 2. she really does want to stand up in front of their friends/family and declare her love for Pippa because she’s done it in front of the whole country and she’d like to do it somewhere a bit more emotionally significant.
They compromise by getting married at the courthouse because they really do need to move fast because of the house and then they have a beautiful wedding later once they have time to plan one.
F. Share a dialogue scene your proud of. I just answered that one and I’m sticking with that answer for now.
G. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write your scenes out of order? For short things, in order. For Something’s Telling Me... completely out of order. For half of the writing process, I knew what happened in the past and had no clue what happened in the present so I just wrote a bunch of the past stuff first. And I knew how it ended a long time before I knew what the middle looked like, so parts of the last chapter and the epilogue were written really early.
H. How would you describe your style? I have no fucking clue. I think my writing is very... utilitarian? Like, I don’t use a lot of description or a lot of extra language. I just do enough to tell the story I want to tell. I’m always trying to improve my writing, so I hope it’s evolving as I go along.
I. Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? Nope. None of my pleasures are guilty. I embrace them all! Apparently, in my long AUs, I have a thing for big, public announcements! And I love subverting fanon, taking whatever people have decided a character is about and seeing if I can interpret it in a new way (though I spend a lot of time writing within the fanon too). Like, almost everyone has decided Hecate is a bottom, and I love that and I write a ton of it, but I also feel compelled to know what she’s like if she’s the one in charge. Do those count as guilty pleasures?
J. Write or describe an alternate ending to Something’s Telling Me... Uhhhhh... Originally there was another chapter where Hecate and Pippa went on the press tour for the movie together and there were all sorts of rumors about them being together and the journalists wanted to ask about them and Pippa and Hecate kept deflecting and eventually, Hecate gives the little speech she gives to Ryan Seacrest on The Today Show or Good Morning America or something like that. Sadly, the whole chapter seemed superfluous so I cut it.
Here’s a bit that got cut that I miss: "The love of your life, hmmm?" Pippa asked over the telephone.
"You already knew that," Hecate responded. The noise from the cab filtered in through the earpiece.
"Yes, but a girl never gets tired of hearing it. Thank you, by the way, for putting the entire onus of fielding relationship questions on me. My twitter has exploded in the last 10 minutes. And what has your twitter done? Oh, that's right, you haven't got one." Pippa laughed. Though Pippa couldn't see her, Hecate rolled her eyes fondly.
"Are you still in the hotel room?"
"Mmmhmm, just waiting for room service to bring breakfast. If you get back quickly, there might be one of those chocolate croissants you fancy waiting for you."
"I haven't–" Hecate got out of the cab as Pippa interrupted her.
"Any idea what I'm talking about. Yes, I know." Pippa smiled audibly. "Just get back here. I have to start prepping for The Tonight Show soon, and I want to see you before I have to go," Pippa said.
"I'm already in the lobby," Hecate replied. She stepped into the elevator that would take her up to their hotel room and to Pippa.
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