#playing two campaigns is funny I’ve never done it before this year

[loptrcoptr]

I saw a thing on Instagram that was like “if you’re playing more than one campaign right now: pit your characters against each other, who is winning?”

So that would be…. my little level 4 tiefling warlock who is dumb of ass and cursed of heart vs…. level nine murder hobo sith kit fisto

I think he might actually be able to kill her with one high damage roll on a single force choke spell 😅😂

#playing two campaigns is funny I’ve never done it before this year #and after almost four years (!!! holy shit) of playing Kvos/dark side Kit #I inevitably end up in situations in the other game where it’s like GOD I COULD REALLY USE THE FORCE RIGHT ABOUT NOW #dnd #sw5e #dnd5e #warhammer fantasy #though tbf I think kvos would be impressed by Sampo’d absolutely metal chaos/fiend patron #(provided Sampo survives long enough in my regular campaign to ever be able to deal with her patron one on one!) #actually it might take kvos two turns to kill Sampo because she is just as squishy as him but had a surprising number of hp for her level #lmao I always roll well for Sampo when leveling up and badly for kvos

[blogtaculous]

Well, I did it. I went back and played Skyrim’s big DLC campaigns, and thankfully I finished it before 2024. I’ve got some thoughts, and many of them are negative.

But first, some background.

I got Skyrim around launch after getting an XBOX 360 for Christmas when my college roommate shocked the world by dropping out. A friend of mind recommended Skyrim, and it was my first Elder Scrolls game and first big RPG (aside from Two Worlds, which barely ran on the family PC and therefore doesn’t count). I loved it, as many did in those days, because it was a pretty big deal in 2011.

I would later get Hearthfire (it was the cheapest) and I liked that a lot, too. I miss that character, actually, and his home in Falkreath (RIP Gunnar, I wish I could export your save). I wanted to try Dawnguard and Dragonborne, but it wasn’t to be. I ended up with a copy on PC in 2016 or so and I tried to play through it again, but once I played Witcher 3 I just couldn’t tolerate Skyrim anymore. The reasons are numerous and they’ll come up later.

Recently, I moved my PS4 to my wife and I’s bedroom to facilitate our transition from streaming services to physical media. When we met I had her try Skyrim, her first video game experience like that ever, and it was very funny, so when I bought the PS4 I got handful of games for her to try if she wanted to get better (she would latch on to ESO, by the way), and Skyrim was one. This seemed like a good time to finally get through the DLC that I hadn’t had a chance at.

So, I’ve done it. I did the main quest, the civil war, then Dawnguard and Dragonborne.

The early hours were fun as a nostalgia trip. It had been years, and the rose colored glasses were in full force. But, that didn’t take long to wear off, and I can safely say that Skyrim, while it was revolutionary in 2011, absolutely does not hold up.

It’s ugly, the gameplay is bad, every system is completely mediocre, and the voice acting is poorly directed. The writing is just awful, the quests are forgettable, and it’s mismanaged.

Skyrim has been released on every console since launch and yet some bugs remain. Others have been fixed by modders (for free). There have been no improvements at any level since 2011, with some huge and even game breaking bugs untouched.

This part of the experience frustrates me the most. I hate that I have to rely on unpaid community labor to make this game playable. And, speaking of the community, let’s talk about paid mods and the creation club.

It sucks.

More specifically, it sucks to charge for mods (whose creators were likely not fairly compensated for their work), and it sucks that Sony doesn’t allow custom assets, but it ALSO sucks to bundle mods with the game. Why? Well, because a lot of modded content is only good because it’s a freely available labor of love, but once it becomes an inseparable part of the game it has problems. This is most evident with Saints and Seducers, a mod that’s outrageous and stupid.

In short, Saints and Seducers adds new bandit enemies, items, and pets. But it was clearly made by fans, not professionals, because it commits the cardinal sin of ignoring gameplay restrictions. The pets, for example, cannot be harmed. They are completely untouchable, which becomes a problem when they have bugged dialogue and cannot be dismissed (a bug that has persisted for three years). The items are ugly and out of place with the other weapon and armor sets. Also, it’s extremely stupid for the bandits to be invincible until the player goes across the exact right spot in the bandit camp. All things I expect from a silly mod that never ever should have been bundled with the base game.

And this stuff can’t be removed or disabled. Capital B Bad.

Anyway, I played a sword and board character this time because I’ve always wanted to. It is as unsatisfying as every build, because the combat system is shallow and bad. It wasn’t even good in 2011, really, and it definitely isn’t good now. Not much else to say.

Like all Bethesda games, there’s a thousand different systems but they’re all average. The world design and environments are really solid (except the colors, which are ugly), but everything else is so blah.

The DLCs are fine. The bad writing is back, of course. Dragonborne has some cool Cthulhu ideas and imagery, but the final boss fight is frustrating since the combat system is such a chore already, then it tries to be a multi-stage boss fight and they’re all the same. I always wondered why everyone loved Serana and it turns out it’s really because she’s basically the only NPC in the entire game who gets even a little character building.

Now that I’m finally through this last little chunk I can put Skyrim down for good, though this time without the nostalgia goggles. Considering the proceeding work (Fallout 4, Starfield, etc) I expect the next Elder Scrolls game to similarly be poorly written, badly designed, ugly, and safe. I’m sure it’ll also include the worst base building mechanics ever designed, excessive loading screens, and wooden characters as only Bethesda’s aging and decrepit game engine can provide.

The magic is gone, the ability is gone, and all that’s left is Todd “It Just Works” Howard’s poor design philosophy and Emil “I Can’t Do Branching Quests” completely worthless writing. Starfield was made for 12 year olds and the anodyne tastes of their parents, and ESVI will be the same. I have no faith in the future of Bethesda “RPG” development.

Like I said, mostly negative thoughts. I wish I could say the 31 hours I put into this last foray into Skyrim was worth it, but I’m not really sure it was.

#Skyrim #bethesda

[owlixx]

Looking forward as to what excites me for each CoD game:

CoD3: Treyarch’s first real game! And the final missing link before CoD4, which feels like the real first “modern” Call of Duty in more ways than one. Fingers crossed for sprinting to be in this game, and maybe the knife melee. I know that last one isn’t intrinsic to the CoD formula anymore but it’s been sorely missed in these early CoDs with their wimpy gun butt melees. Will anyone still be playing the multiplayer on 360? Does the MP just have “pick a weapon” like 2 or does it have a prototype version of class creation? Or just classes at all?

RoV: I mean, the idea of PSP CoD is just funny to me. Could be unplayable. Will try to beat this before 4 though.

CoD 4: I’m super excited to have the remaster and to finally get to see the proper introduction of Soap and Price, who have been omnipresent despite me never playing this game. Of course excited to see the nuke and All Ghillied Up and finally have a context for MW2 like when I relatively recently finally beat Halo 2.

The DS games: recently played the first of these in local multiplayer but using a faulty L button so I can’t wait to see how I do instead on my DSi XL with working buttons. I’ll have to play one of the later ones on Wii U or PC just to mix it up.

WaW: it’s been so long since I’ve played this game and even longer since I’ve done the campaign. It’ll be a good warmup for checking out the classic zombies maps too. I’ll have to play at least a match of multiplayer too. This was my first CoD so it has a special place for me. I may want to speedrun it on recruit on ps3 so I can comfortably do the coop later.

WaW FF: uhhh I mean it’s funny that this exists

MW2: Again, this one was so huge to me as a kid. I’d love to finally hit max level and max out a gun or two. Can’t wait to see the original boost, the big snowy cliff level, kill shepherd, no Russian, underwater infiltration mission, burger town, all of it. I loved WaW to death and I was a zombies fanboy then and maybe even now, but the modern weapons and setting were so much more appealing to me as a kid and MW2 just felt like the epitome of “cool” even more than WaW and even Black Ops 1 with their historical settings to the point where I remember being mad at the MP40 in BO1 zombies and the M14/Olympia in TranZit and such.

BO1: I barely can remember any of the campaign besides Reznov being in it and an awesome prison break. Other than that…very little comes to mind. I remember loving this campaign so I’m really in for a treat there. And this is one I’ll absolutely have to dig back into the multiplayer for to dig up old memories. I’ve even still got the first dlc from back in the day! And I owe it to myself to play Five and Ascension at least a time each. Oh, and my cousin had COTD.

MW3: now this one I played much much later in my mind, but looking it up, I actually beat it just a year later on 2012, so that’s funny. I beat it just a month before Black Ops 2 came out in fact, and I know I played that game day one. I had totally forgotten that part of the story. That means it’s been over ten years since I’ve touched this campaign. In retrospect, all I remember remotely is the juggernaut ending and the New York opening. I didn’t even recall who makarov was while playing the new MW3. Oh, I do remember the Paris gas mission of course. So this is going to be super fresh for me actually. I think I always wanted to like Survival mode since it’s a little like zombies and I always liked the idea of it being an option on every map. What’s funny is that I think I can only recall ever doing it on the one map. I need to try it on terminal if that’s an option. Maybe I can try it splitscreen on PS3 if that’s an option. I’ll also have to pop my head into the multiplayer here even if I don’t have as much nostalgia for this game.

BO2: oh man, this game was everything to me when it came out. I have a ton of nostalgia for the multiplayer most of all, i think. TranZit was a huge letdown to me at the time. I have a hard time remembering much of the multiplayer though since the maps from it have been recycled so much and now my memories of hijacked, raid, express, etc. are all jumbled. I remember liking the low recoil assault rifle with the threat identification scope and generally like the pick 10 system a lot. Im super curious to see my old class load outs and combat record. I probably won’t play much TranZit but I’ll have to at least do a round on Town and Bus Stop. Maybe get the game going on PS3 just for the DLC zombie maps once each. And of course the campaign - I remember making choices, the split timeline, a sniper mission, dragon round shotgun, and the weird RTS missions. I wanna say you also got to customize your gear a bit but I might be misremembering. I think this game hit a real sweet spot with the technology level that even AW/BO3 go too far past long before even IW/BO4 and I really want to play this game and envision my ideal next near-future CoD title. Plus I remember the weird avenged sevenfold credits and I have grown to like them a lot since then. Plus this story will be more fun with the events of BO1 fresh in my mind, and possibly help tie in to BOCW, not sure yet.

Ghosts: I had this game as a kid exclusively to help train my dad for the incoming release of Destiny 1, which is what we owned a PS4 for in the first place. We played exclusively splitscreen with bots. I’m sure I played a bit online or started the campaign but I have zero recollection of those. I only even remember the unique perk point system because someone on Reddit brought it up recently. I do remember the soldier customization but not how it works exactly so I’m excited to see that. I remember this game feels very slick and polished actually so I’m super excited to give it a second shot. I also wanna say that you can level up by playing bots? This has massively been on my peripheral vision from long before this current CoD phase so I’m pretty excited to check this out. Oh, I do vaguely remember Extinction so it will be fun to briefly pop my head into that, possibly drag a coop partner in too. And having the first map pack will be a nice novelty. We had this physical and sold it so I never played this past the launch of Destiny 1 which was a long time ago now. UPDATE: yep, I checked and I have 7/100/19 hours in SP/MP/Zombies confirming that of course I remember the multiplayer way more.

AW: now this one I think I just outright owned on PS4 digitally but I just never chose to revisit it. This one was just for me, I think, but I still only got a level or two into the campaign and didn’t get super far in multiplayer. I remember struggling with the exo suit controls. I think I did a bit of offline bots with my dad here but it’s all blurry now… The added context of comparing this to WWII/Vanguard/new MW3 will be fun. It’s going to be rough seeing Kevin Spacey so much. And I’m excited to try Exo Survival and Exo Zombies a little bit. I think this was also the first game to experiment with loot crates in CoD which I want to say ended with BO4? But tracking that from game to game is a point of interest for me since I hated that so much and to really defined the “dark age of CoD” to me especially when combined with a 50 dollar season pass that has all the zombie goodness in it. I mostly just remember using the 3D printing ammo gun (will likely continue) and having some kind of weird novelty gimmick LMG. Curious to see if this game has laser beams, im pretty sure IW does. Also curious to compare the customization in this game and Ghosts before things get Operator-based in BO3/4/CW and MW1/2/3 but I can’t remember what IW/WWII are like in that regard.

BO3: actually about 1/3 through this already since it’s the main coop friendly one, so not looking forward to a ton here besides Maybe playing some more multiplayer outside of splitscreen, seeing more maps than just nuke town. I always contemplate buying the deluxe zombies edition and I likely will one day but that’s for another phase. And I’m torn between whether to get that on console for the easier splitscreen or PC for the mods. This campaign kind of sucks so far to be honest, but it’s a nice excuse to do a bunch of coop shooting galleries. I almost wish this game had opted to have a spec ops mode instead of coop campaign or otherwise simplified the coop experience. It’s impressive to have skill trees, ability wheels, and custom load outs in a splitscreen game but I’d honestly have preferred to just be given a standard loadout and no abilities when playing splitscreen, and less rambling cutscenes too. I am continuously impressed by how much content is crammed into this one game, but I scream at the screen every time I heard about the 54 immortals. In conclusion, train go boom. UPDATE: forgot to mention that I owned this on PS4 but no longer have a PS4 so that’s where I did just a little bit of everything, but then I only have the multiplayer on PC. Also briefly owned all the DLC but lost access to it, don’t ask how. So I weirdly have these brief fond memories of zombie chronicles and the dlc zombie maps. But I do hate gobblegum with a passion.

IW: I definitely played this game, yep. I think I owned and sold it on PS4? But I definitely currently own it on steam where it says I have 16 hours currently. Most of my memories of this game are the stellar Zombies in Spaceland so maybe I could get the season pass or *cough cough* find a way to play it once or twice without getting the whole thing especially since it has Elvira and Kevin Smith. I loosely remember the faction system from the multiplayer but not a ton else. I’m very excited to play a campaign that stands out from the rest though. I’m rooting for this one to end up being a hidden gem.

WWII: similar, I want this to be a hidden gem. I do remember playing this on PS4 I think, mostly bots with my dad, a bit of multiplayer by myself, and a little bit of zombies. I’m excited to see the zombies again once or twice but mostly because I never even booted up the campaign. I mostly remember the war mode from multiplayer, the HQ, the “random” class that respawns you with a new gun each life. Excited to compare this to vanguard. I think this might be the final loot crate CoD, because I know Black Ops 4 has a battle pass AND a season pass which I found egregious but I can’t recall if it also had loot crates or not.

Black Ops 4: I’m hoping for the single player missions to end up being more fun than people online give them credit for. This game is really the end of an era for CoD, even if that era is what I consider to be its dark age. I own this on battlenet, so I’ll have to check my playtime later, but I somehow also own this on Xbox so I may just play there for the purpose of splitscreen. I did enjoy the multiplayer at the time but I especially loved having 3 zombies experiences with no extra purchase required and with bots and leveling up no less. I mostly played the Ancient Rome one because it was so much faster to spin up but I really appreciated all the zombie quality of life changes here. I know literally nothing about the rest of the dlc zombie maps so that could be fun to try sometime when I have even more cash to throw around on stupid nonsense. I never did the single player much, I literally can’t remember how it worked. I know it doesn’t have story mode but just training missions but in my head that still sounds fun to me. I also want to try our “operator mods” even if just against bots. Maybe a round of “heist” as well. I remember playing the beta for this one on PC, but also being stuck playing this game on super low graphics and being jealous of how good it looked on my dad’s pc. I also remember the beta for BO3, BOCW, Vanguard, MW2, and MW3 but can’t recall if I did any others.

Skipping MW2019, it’s the only one I don’t have access to at the moment. I’ll be nostalgic for it in a few years but it’s too recent for now. Did the campaign and lots of multiplayer on the old ps4. But this game really marked a new era for my relationship with CoD. The new camo system and gunsmith system really lit me on fire and reinvigorated my love for the series. It is similar to how I loved Smash Bros Melee and Brawl and 3DS but didn’t truly get halfway decent until Ultimate. I truly loved this series as a kid but as a teen from Ghosts-BO4 it was just something I was half interested in. MW is what pulled me back in and made me a fanboy again. Since 2019, I’ve gotten even better at camo grinding and in general but this game is the reason I pre ordered MW2/3 and even Vanguard sadly. This game was so good it made me suspicious of BOCW just because it was different. And what’s funny is that I’m sure for a lot of people who feel that way, it’s because of Warzone, but I played practically zero of it unless I had to for a challenge to unlock something. I just loved the look and feel and vibe of this game and the quality of life stuff a lot. This game invented camo grinding as we know it now and that meant everything to me despite just being a checklist. I love me a checklist. But I don’t get nostalgic for the campaign despite relatively enjoying it. And I barely touched spec ops.

BOCW: own this baby on Xbox AND PC. I reckon I’ll do the campaign on Xbox since it’s more cinematic on the bigger screen. Especially after skipping MW19, this is where we get into games that are still extremely fresh in my memory. Especially since I went back to this game after Vanguard and double especially since I played this one a fair amount recently with my girlfriend so we didn’t have to do split screen on MW2. The multiplayer of this game is seared into my brain which is funny because I bought this game on PC for the zombies after a free weekend and slight discount convinced me. I ended up really liking this game but I’d wager I played at least 10 times as much multilayer as zombies. But more importantly here - I never even booted up the campaign. I’m super excited to get a follow up to the original black ops once I have that game’s story much more fresh in my mind. I’ll also have to pop my head in and play the round based zombie maps once each since I was really into those for a time before zombies outbreak became the main thing for me since it was so much easier to play with more casual players like the people I know IRL. I would like to play more of the multiplayer map zombie survival mode too though. I’m very much done with the multiplayer though.

Vanguard: I pre ordered this game and very quickly got disillusioned with it after getting just 1 or 2 guns gold. I’m actually pretty excited to revisit it though. I quit the campaign asap after it was super goofy and lighthearted but now that seems like a fun change of pace and I’m really looking forward to seeing the final evolution of all these classic WW2 guns that I’m still in the middle of using. It’ll be a super fun reunion to see the M1 garand, MP40, PPSH back again after missing them for several several games. and I never played the post-launch zombies like shi no numa so that’s actually super exiting for me to check out as an OG zombies fan. I’m not eager to revisit the multiplayer though beyond a cursory re-inspection. The weird attachment-locked camo challenges killed the camo grind for me. And I remember this game being weirdly similar to MW19 in a lot of ways. I’ll have to at least check out the Waw maps one more time maybe.

And…that’s it! I beat the new MW2/3 campaigns when they came out so there’s no need to revisit those. Vanguard is the “cherry on top” so to speak (haha). I reckon step one here is to just see if I even have the time/willpower/energy/attention span to get through the campaign of each game, especially considering I won’t be able to stop myself from dipping my toes into the multiplayer and coop modes a bit as I go along. Then I’d make another step to maybe set a little goal for each of the multiplayers that I want to revisit, like hitting max level or maxing out all the guns. After that or instead of that would be getting ahold of all the map packs whether by slowly overpaying for them over time or nefarious means.

#retro gaming #gaming #cod #call of duty #Xbox

[dmsden]

A D&D Round-Up

Hullo, Gentle Readers. Lots of fun and interesting stuff coming for D&D. I’m excited for a lot of the news, so I thought it would be fun to just do a round-up of new products, forthcoming news, and other tidbits.

Critical Role: Call of the Netherdeep

As of my writing this, the latest D&D adventure came out just a few days ago. Critical Role: Call of the Netherdeep is an adventure set in Exandria, the world of Critical Role. I haven’t had time to peruse it thoroughly yet, but there are two things that have really jumped out at me.

First, there is a group of rival adventurers in the game. I think this is a really interesting and unique situation; I know I’ve done it in my home campaigns, but I don’t recall if a published adventure for any edition of the game has created a specific set of rival adventurers for the PCs. I won’t spoil anything about them, other to say that they’re on the cover (seen above).

Second, as the left side of the cover suggests, a chunk of this adventure is set underwater. The Netherdeep is a dark oceanic abyss where bad things are happening, and your group of adventurers are getting involved with it. Again, I can’t think of an adventure off the top of my head that specifically contains an extended underwater portion. Definitely curious to read more about that.

The Legend of Vox Machina

Let’s keep the Exandria train going. I’m sure most folks involved with D&D are already aware of this, but, just in case...

A couple of years ago, the folks behind Critical Role did a Kickstarter to raise money for an animated special based on their first campaign. It was a runaway success, leading them to instead plan an entire 12-episode animated series. To make it more amazing, Amazon Prime picked it up, and a second season was ordered before the first season had even aired.

Well, it was a lot of waiting, but the entire first season is now streaming on Amazon Prime. In my personal opinion, it’s fantastic. Not only did they do a phenomenal job of translating the episodes to the screen, but it’s well-written, funny, and genuinely exciting. If you’re a Critical Role fan, you’re going to love seeing beloved NPCs and classic moments up on screen (I squealed at the triceratops rampage). If you’re a D&D fan, but you’ve never watched or listened to Critical Role, I suspect you’ll enjoy this. It was so much fun watching spells we’ve played in our game for years manifesting, or recognizing class features, and the like. If you don’t play D&D...I’m not sure why you’re reading my blog...but I think you’ll enjoy it anyway. It’s a funny, action-packed story with a lot of great characters. If you actively dislike Critical Role, I don’t know that this will change your mind, but maybe take a look and see.

Venture and Dungeon

This isn’t technically D&D news, but, if you’re like me, you love other games, too. This is actually two games in one book. Venture, by Riley Rethal, is a D&D type game of adventure, monsters, journeys, dungeons, and all the rest. You travel around, meet interesting characters, go on quests, and everything you would expect from a D&D adventure. Dungeon, by Jay Dragon, is a bit more meta. In it, you play both a group of adventurers and the high school kids playing those adventures. In the tabletop world, your characters have literal spells and abilities, and they fight monsters and so on. In the real world, your abilities are more metaphorical, and you deal with the challenges and problems that high school kids have to deal with.

Both of these games are made with the Belonging Outside Belonging/No Dice, No Masters systems. I discovered these for myself back in 2020 through Jay Dragon’s game Sleepaway, which I obsessed over, and then their game Wanderhome, which I’m still obsessing over. All of these games feature no dice and no GM. They are cooperative storytelling where everyone works together to create and play NPCs and settings. I enjoy cooperative storytelling a lot. Even back at the beginning of my current D&D game, 11 years ago, I would ask the players to describe things about their environment rather than filling in all the blanks myself. These games embrace that to the fullest possible extent, giving you lists and tables to spark your imagination, much like 5e does so well. I am excited to fully read through and perhaps play both!

The Dungeons & Dragons Tarot Deck

I’m actually sort of shocked this isn’t something that already exists, but it’s coming in May. All I really know about it is the official blurb for it. “ This officially licensed tarot deck pays homage to the lore of Dungeons & Dragons by pairing characters and encounters with the Major and Minor Arcana of tarot. The characters of the Major Arcana align to the Rider-Waite Tarot while the suits of the Minor Arcana are mapped to abilities within the game of D&D. Beautifully illustrated with exclusive art, the deck also includes a booklet that introduces players to tarot, explains the meanings of the cards, and includes prompts to add dynamic twists to your gameplay, making this the ultimate collectible for dungeon masters, players, and fans of RPGs.”

Hopefully I’ll know more later.

Chris Pine on the D&D Movie

We don’t know much about the D&D movie due to release in March of 2023. Mostly, we know that it’s set in the Forgotten Realms, and it has a pretty interesting cast, including Chris Pine, Michelle Rodriguez, Regé-Jean Page, Sophia Lillis, Justice Smith, and Hugh Grant.

Recently Chris Pine had an interview with Collider, and they asked a bit about the tone of the film. I’d heard it described before as “Guardians of the Galaxy set in the Forgotten Realms”, and Pine’s comments seem to bear that out.

“Oh man. Well, what I will say is we had a hell of a fun time making it...There was a lot of laughs. The way that I’ve been describing it, it’s like Game of Thrones mixed with a little Princess Bride, just a smidge of Holy Grail. It’s somewhere in that ballpark. It’s a lot of fun, it’s got a lot of thrills, it’s poppy, it’s eighties heartfelt, there’s a bit of Goonies in there. My character, he’s the ultimate party planner. I think it’s going to be really good. I mean, who f***ing knows, but I think we got a good shot and John and John are killer guys. They know comedy and they know heart and we had a great cast and we had a good time making it. And that’s all you can ask for.”

If the cast had a good time making it, that feels good to me. Sometimes people complain about what an awful time they had making a movie, and that sometimes translates to a slog on the screen. I have hopes and fears, as I’ve previously written about, but this description makes me chuckle. I guess we’ll find out next year!

Heroes of Krynn

WotC teased a possible Dragonlance return with an Unearthed Arcana article. This article, Heroes of Krynn, can be found at https://dnd.wizards.com/articles/unearthed-arcana/heroes-krynn In it, you’ll find 5e rules for Kender, Lunar Sorcerers, Mages of High Sorcery, and Knights of Solamnia. While there hasn’t been any official announcement about a Dragonlance 5e book, WotC has historically used the Unearthed Arcana articles to playtest material for books that could be coming out very shortly. When they released their Heroes of the Feywild article, it was followed pretty closely with the announcement of The Wild Beyond the Witchlight, an adventure set in the Feywild, which included two of those races. This same article included the Owlfolk, which came shortly thereafter as part of the Strixhaven book (I don’t follow Magic the Gathering, or I might’ve predicted we’d see that book based on the Owlfolk) and Hobgoblins of the Feywild, which I am led to believe are in Monsters of the Multiverse.

And that’s it for now.

That’s a lot! I’ll try to do these round-ups when a lot of news hits at once. Until next time, keep your friends close, and your healing potions closer.

#D&D #d&d #dnd #DnD stuff #Dungeons and Dragons #dungeons & dragons #dungeon master #dungeonmaster #Dungeons & Dragons monsters

[stufftippywrote]

a suggestion

For @anonprecious on Twitter, who requested a Nielan kiss "as a suggestion" many moons ago. This takes place during the Sunshot campaign, so Mingjue is not yet Xichen's "da-ge."

The Sunshot Campaign has been hard on him.

This Lan Xichen can tell in a single glance. Even if he were meeting Nie Mingjue for the first time and not another in a series of a thousand strategy meetings, he’d be able to tell. The others, maybe not, because Nie Mingjue holds himself so upright, conducts his affairs with a practiced stiffness that discourages anyone from looking deeper. But the signs are there, as he leads the meeting, even if Lan Xichen is the only one who can see them - an exhalation, the grip of his hand on the table loosening, the circles of grey under his eyes.

The strategy session mercifully ends, and the other young military leaders make their way out of the room with all the tireless enthusiasm of youth. Lan Xichen remains. Nie Mingjue sits on a bench with his head low, propped up on one weary palm. He lets out a heavy breath. Lan Xichen approaches him carefully, as though he was a cobra that might strike if disturbed. But Nie Mingjue only looks up at him, and if anything there's relief in his eyes when he sees who's there.

"Xichen," he says, the name breaking halfway through as his voice gives.

"Mingjue-xiong," Lan Xichen returns. Nie Mingjue's shoulders slump. He would never slouch like this in front of his soldiers. It gladdens Lan Xichen's heart to know that this upright general can relax in front of him. He drives himself hard, and he deserves to be able to relax somewhere, with someone. Luckier still that Lan Xichen is that someone.

He steps forward and eases himself onto the bench next to Nie Mingjue. "When was the last time you slept?" he asks.

Nie Mingjue shakes his head and mumbles.

"How about your last meal?" Lan Xichen prods gently.

"I ate." Nie Mingjue evades his gaze.

"When?"

"This morning."

Lan Xichen wants to laugh. This serious, justice-minded man can be as stubborn as a toddler. "Well, you're eating again tonight," he says. “Come to my room, I’ll have dinner brought in for us.”

Nie Mingjue shakes his head, but there’s no conviction in it. “I need to look at these maps,” he says, even as he lets Lan Xichen pull him up and away.

He follows Lan Xichen through the passageways and tents like a guilty schoolboy, and they come at last to Lan Xichen’s quarters, a remarkably lovely room for the temporary nature of it. There’s a low table, some ornaments, an incense holder. Lan Xichen finds a stick and lights it, letting the soft perfume disperse into the room. “Sit,” he urges, and Nie Mingjue follows. “And remove your armor. We won’t be attacked tonight.”

Nie Mingjue grumbles a little at this, but he pulls off the heavy breastplate and belt, letting them sit unceremoniously beside the cushion where he sits. As he does, he can’t help letting out a little groan of relief. Lan Xichen hears it and tries not to smile.

He has food brought; the two eat in relative silence, though Lan Xichen tries to lighten the mood with a few observations about the state of the camp, the little dramas by the younger soldiers that play out under his nose. Nie Mingjue is not really listening, or at least he has nothing to say in response. He just eats -- trying not to appear rushed, though his bites are ravenous -- and “mm”s an assent once in a while. It’s fine. Lan Xichen is just happy to have him there, not behind his desk or hunched over a scroll, peering at faded characters in dim light.

When he’s finished, Nie Mingjue of course tries to get up and go. Lan Xichen is there, with a hand on his arm, tugging him back down. Nie Mingjue glares at him, taken aback. Lan Xichen scoots closer to him, pulling his cushion to sit side-by-side with him, and lets his hand wander down from arm to weathered hand. “Stay for a while,” he urges.

“I have things to do,” Nie Mingjue protests, but Lan Xichen shakes his head gravely. He’s learned from years with his brother that sometimes a protest is also an admission. Nie Mingjue wants to stay. He just needs Lan Xichen to insist.

So he does. “I told you, no one will attack us tonight,” Lan Xichen tells him. “You might as well stay and put your worries aside for a time. I can play for you if it will help ease your mind.” He conjures the silver-blue xiao into being in one hand.

Nie Mingjue looks at it, then at him, and shakes his head firmly. “I don’t need music,” he says.

“A game, then?” Lan Xichen gazes at the shelf, where a worn go board and two pots of stones sit. “Or would you prefer a drink? I can fetch some wine for you…”

“No, no.” Nie Mingjue waves a hand, dismissing both the suggestions. “I need--”

“--to go back to work?” Lan Xichen finishes. “Don’t you think you’ve worked enough for one day?”

“People are fighting and dying while I--” But Nie Mingjue doesn’t have the strength to continue the sentence. He pulls his hand out from under Lan Xichen’s and hides his face in it. “I have to carry on,” he says, his voice muffled. “I have to be strong.”

It’s almost comical. This man, who is the essence of strength to so many people, worrying he cannot be strong. Lan Xichen, not for the first time, envisions taking him in his arms and allowing him to rest there. He wants to be that haven for him. But this moment isn’t about him, and hope is a dangerous creature. He lifts his hand to Nie Mingjue’s back, just daring to stroke it gently, and shakes his head.

“What you have to be is healthy,” he corrects. “What good is a Mingjue-xiong who can barely read a map because he hasn’t slept in days? Without eating, will you have the strength to carry your sword?”

“I’ve eaten,” Nie Mingjue says. “And I can’t sleep.” He sounds weak. Defeated. Lan Xichen’s heart aches.

“Then release your tension,” he advises. “Surely you have a preferred way to do that.”

Nie Mingjue pauses, looks up. “Yes,” he says cautiously, “Battle.”

Lan Xichen almost wants to laugh. “Not battle. Something to calm the spirit and release the resentment. Meditation.” Nie Mingjue scoffs. “Or take to the woods and hunt game. Challenge one of the soldiers at camp to wrestle you. Whatever it is. Do what you need to do so you can return to that war table with your mind and body whole. But leave that saber alone for the night.”

How Lan Xichen despises that saber. It’s a priceless, high-level spiritual weapon, but every time Nie Mingjue wields it, it takes a piece of his soul. Lan Xichen remembers, long ago, a gentle, serious boy who nonetheless loved fiercely -- loved his brother, loved his friends, loved the trees and the sky. Loved justice, and he still does, but his love used to come with a brash grin and a light in his eyes. That saber, and this war, have crushed that.

There are several long seconds of silence. Nie Mingjue appears to be thinking. Lan Xichen can usually tolerate extended silence, but now, the quiet unnerves him. He has no idea how Nie Mingjue will respond. He sits as one would sit upon a cushion of pins, uncomfortable and itching to move.

But eventually Nie Mingjue seems to shake himself out of it, and catches Lan Xichen’s gaze with his own. There’s something soft in his eyes, and also something like interest. It’s a rare, unguarded look -- and it makes Lan Xichen catch his breath. “Do you have any other suggestions?” Nie Mingjue asks, and there’s something in his voice not unlike humor.

“Women?” Lan Xichen is hardly the person to suggest it, but he knows that’s a preferred tactic for many a soldier. “We could ride to the nearest town. Find a girl who’s willing.” Or for sale. Lan Xichen isn’t about to cast aspersions in the heat of war.

“Not interested.”

NIe Mingjue looks ready to check out again. Lan Xichen stumbles over himself in an effort to keep his attention. “Then -- then men, if that’s your preference,” he says.

But he gets a glare in return. “I’m not taking a stranger to bed.”

The words strike Lan Xichen funny. There’s nothing odd about them, surely, but between the lines there’s something to discover. First, that he didn’t immediately say he wasn’t interested in men, which is the reaction that question would get from many a soldier. And he made it sound like there was someone he’d consider -- someone he already knows. A bright spark of hope lights up in his chest. Is it possible? “Then--” he says. Carefully.

Nie Mingjue eyes him. This time it isn’t the angry glare, but a sort of caution -- as though he half-expects Lan Xichen to make some move. Again, that spark of optimism catches in Lan Xichen’s chest. Perhaps it would be okay if…

He leans in, lifts his hand to that weathered face. “If that’s how you feel,” he says, leaning closer to Nie Mingjue than he’s ever been, “then…”

He’s very careful as he presses his lips to Nie Mingjue’s closed mouth. Afraid to drive him away.

He isn’t driven away. Paralyzed, perhaps, as Lan Xichen pulls back again and gazes at him as beatifically as he can muster. Shocked, if the wide eyes and the slight part of his lips are anything to go by. But he doesn’t flee. Or pull back, or get up. He just stares, and slowly lifts a hand to his own lips.

“If you are interested,” Lan Xichen says, barely above a whisper.

And then Nie Mingjue lifts an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips twitch. “Really?” he asks, sounding incredulous.

Lan Xichen shrugs. “It’s just a suggestion.”

“A suggestion--” The words echoed back at him are devoid of any artifice. The Nie Mingjue before him is the boy Lan Xichen knew all those years ago. The one capable of so much love. Any shame or trepidation that Lan Xichen felt at offering that kiss vanishes. What he wanted to communicate, he has. Be the consequences what they may.

“Or we could play go,” he says, truly meaning it. Whatever he needs, Lan Xichen is willing and happy to give.

“Let’s do that.” Nie Mingjue says with some determination. Lan Xichen nods. Perhaps he feels a bit of disappointment, but not enough to regret what he’s done.

As he rises to bring the board and stones to the table, Nie Mingjue surprises him once more.

“Make your suggestion again afterwards,” he says.

#nielan #nie mingjuexlan xichen #stuff tippy wrote #mdzs fic #cql fic #nielan fic

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Ch. 3 [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

“...A-Jie?”

“Mm?” Yanli opens her eyes, going from the deep red-orange of the sun on her eyelids to the fresh blue of the world. She cranes her neck around to look over at A-Cheng. 

And finds that he’s no longer basking beside her and is instead sitting up, elbows on his knees, hands fiddling with something on the ground in front of him. 

It had taken some convincing to get him to actually lay down in the grass with her as A-Xian and A-Yao man the kites for target practice below them in the waterfall grotto--he is so concerned with being proper and respectable that he hardly lets himself relax anymore. He isn’t even relaxing now. While his gaze is on the disciples playing and training below their bluff-top vantage point, his lips are tight, his face troubled. Sitting up, she scoots closer to him and nudges her shoulder up against him, playfully. “What is it, A-di?”

The wind dances over the dewy spots the sun-warmed grass had left on her robes, lifting up the fresh and living scent of plants and water as she waits for his jaw to work over the words before they come out. For all that he blurts out whatever he wants about (or at) Xianxian, he is always careful when it comes to something regarding her. So she waits, gentling her energy and leaning closer to rest her temple against his hunched shoulder, rubbing her thumb along the tough leather of his bracer. 

“Are you...happy?”

She smiles, even though he can’t see it. “Of course I am, A-Cheng. It’s a beautiful day and we’re spending time together. Why?”

“I mean, are you happy...in general? With….” As he pauses, she follows his still stuck gaze and finds it on A-Yao in the shade holding a kite string, listening to something a shimei is saying with a patient smile. “I didn’t...we didn’t force you, did we? You really seemed to like that peac--well, you know. Wei Wuxian and I were wondering…” He looks back to his hands, twisting grass between them fitfully, but she sees his gaze dart to her sideways from underneath his eyebrows. “Are you happy?”

Sweet, romantic boys; the ones who had planned her wedding in full when they were only 8. Both still haunted by the wounds left by her parents’ relationship in their own way. Who had both been more than unimpressed with Jin Guangshan’s attempt at what he clearly saw was a hand-me-down marriage--a marriage they were apparently forgetting that, had she not insisted on for the good of the Clan, wouldn’t have even happened. “With you all taking such good care of me, how could I be anything but?” she teases, but his anxiety stays on his face, so she pets down his hair.

As for Jin Zixuan…. Yanli hadn’t flinched when A-Cheng had said his name, but that familiar drain had opened up in her chest, pulling her down and in until she’s a little smaller, a little sadder, a little...less. Yes. She had wanted to become worthy of that match, for her Clan, for her mother, who had promised her to it since she was just a girl. She had tried.

She just hadn’t been enough. 

“Is he good to you?”

Yanli shakes herself from her thoughts and sits up. She laces her fingers together and cushions her chin on the back of them with a faux thoughtful air. “Hmmm, is he good to me? Well, let’s see. I think I’ve received about 4 more gifts from him this week alone and he practically waits on me hand and foot.” She grins despite herself, that familiar giddy curling in her belly. “I would certainly say so.”

At this easy reply, he slants a curious, self conscious look that fits the round faced child she can still remember better than a would-be-stern Clan Leader and hesitantly asks, “Are you...in love?” while waggling his finger back and forth, as if indicating the space between her and her husband.

She covers an unlady-like snort of laughter that threatens to escape before she bites her lip against its persistent aftershocks and lowers the hand. “Why do you ask that like you’re going to get in trouble?” Something about the way he asks it just seems so young.

Flushing, he squirms and looks back down the bluff, but she sees the smile trying to fight its way onto his compressed lips. “I’m just curious!” When she continues to grin, he shoots her a look of reproach and complains, “A-jie, don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not, I would never!” She laughs and rubs his shoulder to lessen the sting of the tease. “You’re so funny. But...I think...I don’t honestly know. I love talking with him and learning about him; I love...making him happy and seeing him smile. I get excited to spend time with him. I was always under the impression that being in love is something huge and earth shaking--from all the legends and epics--and when you know you know, but…” Yanli takes a deep breath of the clean, full air and looks back down, catching her eyes on the lovely, now-familiar shape of A-Yao in profile. Now, he’s looking up at the kites while shading his eyes, a small smile still on his lips. “But I’m just...happy. It’s lovely, with him, and honestly, I would be completely content if this is all it is.” It would be enough.

She searches this thought, a little, pushing at its edges. For a family? For children? To want? The answer within herself doesn’t feel nearly as urgent as it used to when it comes back with ‘Maybe. There’s no rush.’ She marvels a little at how much she actually believes it.

Watching her watch A-Yao, A-Cheng smiles tentatively in the side of her vision. “That sounds really nice, A-jie.”

“It really is. He’s very...doting.”

At this, A-Cheng snorts. “Unsurprising, considering how he was with Nie-xiong.”

“Oh? Were they close, A-Yao and Nie-er-gongzi?” 

“He definitely was devastated when Jin-xiong was kicked out of the Unclean Realm. I always got the feeling that he was something in between a shixiong and a babysitter, but they always got along well, from what I saw. Actually,” he furrows his eyebrows thoughtfully, tilting his head as he watches the disciples milling about, joyful fragments of shouts drifting up with the breeze. “Come to think of it, I don’t know that he’s seen him since….They weren’t in contact during the Sunshot Campaign, we know that much. Maybe they got to talk at the banquet?” His face darkens at the memory--where Jin Zixuan had officially called off the engagement, but he doesn’t speak on it. “I wonder what Nie-xiong thinks of him being here.” His scowl lightens to mere irritation and he scoffs, voice testy, now, as he adds, “Hasn’t bothered to visit.”

Hmm. She plucks this blossoming idea like a little flower to keep for later. Perhaps this is something else she could give her husband. 

And oh, that distant past, when she had first seen A-Yao in the classroom of the Cloud Recesses, standing humbly beside Nie Huaisang with his head down. A whole lifetime ago, when her family and Clan still lived and her biggest worry was Jin Zixuan’s aversion; it felt like an entire version of her had lived and died since. If she set herself to it, she could even remember the specifics, like how she had been impressed by his eloquence and the competence of his bearing--even when his parentage had been publicly mocked. In truth, she had been more focused on Wei Wuxian behaving at the time--to her shame. She had known it was wrong even while it happened, could have said something, anything at all. 

At least she would, now.

Turning to smooth her hand down his cheek to soothe his ruffled feathers over Nie Huaisang’s neglect and difficult memories, she catches sight of A-Xian charging up the hill with fiendish purpose under the rolling shadow of a cloud. He canons into A-Cheng like a vaguely sweaty firework without slowing.

A-Cheng squawks in disgust as it bowls them both over into the grass and the two of them begin to scuffle about it. A-Xian pants, “Shijie, I don’t think your husband has ever shot a bow before! Ow! You shit!”

A-Cheng sits, grinning and triumphant, on the back of Xianxian’s shoulders, digging his brother’s face into the grass and dirt. But just for a second or two, before he is flipped off and pinned, until he is shoved over and on and on, growling insults and play threats at each other like wrestling puppies. Eventually, laughing, Yanli stands and tugs A-Xian’s arm from the writhing pile, more of a hint than actually physically intervening. But he obediently heaves himself up, sweating, panting, and grinning, all harder than before. A-Cheng gives him a faux-surly punch in the side in retaliation and it very nearly starts the whole thing over again until Yanli firmly puts herself between them with a grin, brushing grass clumps from their hair and clothes. “Honestly, you two! I don’t envy the laundry women, just look what you’ve done to your robes. I should make you two clean them!” A-Cheng at least pretends to look halfway chastised while smiling, but A-Xian just looks proud. That is, until she continues, “And I hope you didn’t embarrass A-Yao about it. You know he wasn’t raised with the same training we were.”

At this, he cocks her an half pout, tucking his chin down and sticking his lip out. “Shijieee, all I said was that he must be worried he couldn’t beat our youngest shidi because he wouldn’t even try. Then he started ignoring me!”

A-Cheng rolls his eyes and tuts, loudly, before saying, “You asshole,” just as Yanli sighs.

Shaking her head, she tilts it in gentle scolding. “Maybe because you compared him to an 8 year old? Xianxian. You have to be careful; you know what people say about him. He needs to be safe, here. Where did you leave him?”

“Oh, he’s still down there, organizing clean up. He wasn’t offended--unlike some people,” here, he shoves at A-Cheng’s shoulder, who elbows him back. “Just the usual smiley Lianfang-zun. You know how he is, shijie, he doesn’t get upset over stuff like that.”

He’s always smiling, that doesn’t mean anything, Xianxian. You of all people would understand that. Yanli raises an eyebrow, gentle but not smiling. His childish act mellows behind his dirt smudged face and he looks away, pouting for real and rubbing his nose. “Sorry, shijie,” he mutters. 

“Mm, it’s not me you have to apologize to, A-Xian. It’s about time for you to organize cleanup now, don’t you think?”

He heaves a dramatic sigh, but grudgingly nods before perching on the edge of the bluff, shouting down through cupped hands. “Jin-gege-e-e, your wife wants you!” When he turns around, he points at A-Cheng nonchalantly. “You’re helping.”

“Oh, am I?” A-Cheng smirks, folding his arms and puffing up, very clearly preparing to pull rank.

“Uh, yeah, if you want this back!” Suddenly, A-Xian spins and sprints down the hill, holding his fist up over his shoulder.

“Wei Wuxian! What’d you take?! Hey! Stop!” 

As he pelts down the hill after him, Yanli has to laugh because, in the second before he had run, A-Xian had had nothing in his hands at all. For a moment, in this new peace, she closes her eyes and folds her hands over her belly, savoring the sun shining warm--almost hot--on the top of her head and the playful shouts of her brothers and the disciples below. Then, she hears footsteps. When she opens her eyes, she sees A-Yao making his steady way up the hill, his face pleasantly blank. The closer he gets, however, his eyes warm and the edges of him soften until he is here, reaching out and taking her hands. “A-Li? What do you need?” He smells like grass and water and sun.

“Was A-Xian being terrible again?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Oh no, he’s just being Wei Wuxian. You look flushed--shall I walk you back?” 

But day by day she is learning each of his little lies and she recognizes this as one of them. Strangely, as the weeks go by, the masks he wears have been bothering her less and less; partially because she is beginning to understand that they are protection for him. Like armor or clothing--he would feel naked without them. If she can still tell what he wants, if she can still peek under them, she is more than happy not to pry them from him when he still needs their safety. (Of course she wishes he didn’t feel like he needs them in their home, with the people who would be his family, if he let them. But, like growing seeds or proving dough, these things take time and that, they certainly have.) He is becoming less of an impenetrable fortress and more of a foreign land that she can more easily navigate as she learns the language. It allows her to leave these smiles hung up like beautiful paintings she can name. Underneath this, he is tense and displeased; his smile-curved eyes opaque, his jaw holding tension. This one is Humiliation.

Twining her arms around his trim waist, she thrills in that wanted way she does every time he lets her hold him before she tucks her cheek to his to murmur, “I told him not to tease like that. I know it hurts you.” While she may have become more inclined to leave him his shields when he puts them up against her, she can’t help but talk around it, just a little. She cares less about the hiding and more about the fact that he suffers.

“...It’s fine.” He says nothing more, but his hands move to hold her back, one smoothing up between her shoulder blades as his face tips down against her neck, nose and eyelashes pressing. Not a talking problem, then. So she rocks, a bit, from her ankles to her hips, swaying them both slowly together in the rustling breeze with something like playfulness and something like comfort. “What are you doing, this afternoon?” She asks the air behind him, eyes cast to the wisping clouds passing slowly across the sky.

“Mm, I had planned to organize a list of new merchants in the area for Jiang Wanyin. Is there something you need me to do instead?"

"Is it urgent?"

"Not that I saw. Why, A-Li?"

"I was going to make dumplings tonight and I would love it if you joined me. If you want," she adds, diffidently. “I made the dough this morning.”

He startles, a little, and draws back, looking genuinely surprised. He opens his mouth, then closes it. Then smiles warmly. “I’d be delighted.” 

The sincerity of that smile makes her grin and she bounces a little on her toes--and he laughs. Clearly, he's pleased she wants to spend time with him. And she's pleased that he's pleased. And he seems to be pleased that she's pleased that he's pleased and around and around they go--it might have been embarrassing if it weren’t so fun.

It turns out that he’s as quick a study at being a kitchen hand as he is at anything else he does; he absorbs her instructions thoughtfully and works diligently, his noon-sky blue sleeves patterned with little whirls of teal tied back with a simple strip of cloth as he chops up the chives and garlic and ginger. His knife strokes are as rhythmic and sure as the kitchen is hot, with little wisps of breeze edging around the wet billows of spices and green and cooking pork. “You are so much easier to work with than Xianxian,” she tells him from down the smooth, sunbathed counter where she’s perched on a stool, rolling out the rounds of dough. “I love him dearly, but he tries to put absolutely everything in his mouth, even now.”

A tiny smile picks at the corner of his concentration tight lips. Then, with a flick of an eye to see if she’s watching, he wordlessly pops a little shred of ginger into his mouth from the neat pile he has made. “You!” Yanli gasps in delighted outrage at his audacity and leans over to ineffectually tap at the counter near his elbow--she can’t quite reach him, sitting down.

At this, he laughs outright and offers his wrist out, knife blade carefully angled away . She gives the back of his wrist a playful little swipe with her fingertips, leaving streaks of flour. “I thought I would make it a little more familiar for you,” he says, by way of excuse. “More what you’re used to.”

“Absolutely incorrigible,” she replies, fondly, righting herself again.

Here in the kitchen, where she has history and proficiency--where she is master--it’s as easy as anything to tease and tend with absolutely no worry at all. She isn’t agonizing if she is providing enough or saying the right things, because she knows exactly what must be done when, and he is masterful at following directions the very first time she gives them. Conversation is light and inconsequential around her instructions, and she is able to conserve her energy staying seated on the stool, maneuvering him about the kitchen as her arms with little guilt at all.

 In what feels like no time, they sit beside each other at the floured, bowl littered counter; bowls of filling, of water, of flour. Their shoulders brush. “So you wet the edge like this, because the dough isn’t completely fresh anymore--”

“Mn.”

“And you spoon in about this much--not much more or it will burst in the pan.”

“This much?”

“A little more, I think. Perfect! Then, like this. Then you fold the sides.”

“Too much?”

“Mmn, next time it can be a little tighter, but that’s good for your first one! Pinch it and--beautiful!” She pauses a moment to savor the look of her husband with flour speckling his quick, capable hands and lean forearms, seriously contemplating the dumpling. “You’re a natural.”

The withdrawing he had done behind his shields that morning is nowhere in sight when he looks over at her with unmistakable pride in his bright eyes. “Well, I have a wonderful teacher.”

She bites her grin back and waves the compliments away, laying out the next wrapper in front of her. “Oh, you.”

“Where did you learn the art of food?”

“Liu-popo, one of our cooks! I think I first got interested because I was sick for a lot of my childhood and she always made me the most wonderful meals. And when we found out about my heart and my health...well….” Mother stopped pushing once she realized Yanli would never be able to keep up with the training of the other disciples because there was no way for her to improve. No way for her to contribute to the Clan in a meaningful way. “I had a lot more free time. My room was by the kitchens, and I have always loved the smells and the bustle of it all. The more I was there, the more Liu-popo would let me mix things, tell me how they worked and what flavors went together. At dinner, seeing people eat what I made...knowing I did that, knowing I made them happy and full…it felt good.” She gives a little smile and glances at him. “And there's so many things you can do once you understand the basics, too. You can experiment and make new dishes!”

He wets the edge of his next dough wrapper and says, conversationally, “Like Wei Wuxian and his talisman inventions.”

This startles a laugh out of her and sparks from her dangling earrings in the sun dance off the warm gold glow reflected from their bodies onto the wall around the window. “Oh, no, it’s nothing special.”

“Really? I think it’s very similar. You’re perfecting something and helping people. Bringing them together and taking care of them, feeding their bodies and keeping them strong? That’s just as important.”

She hesitates and looks out the window. She never thought of it that way. The lotuses are pearly and bobbing in the bright breeze, their heady scent sneaking in light and fragrant under the punch of the spices. Their brilliance under the sun leaves dazzling green after images when she blinks. “Do you think so?” Assigning that much importance to it seems borderline ridiculous--what she does and what her brothers do is hardly comparable at all. She struggles to make herself useful while they blaze their way through the world, changing it with their will and sword edges. They are proper cultivators, proper warriors.

There is a pause, then a gentle hand lays over her wrist, slightly gritty from the flour coating his palm. “If you had asked me what I would have preferred when I was in the Scorching Sun Palace--a talisman or a warm meal from someone who--” it feels like he swallows a word back here, smoothly substituting, “cares, I know which I would have chosen. Without question.”

Even this feels like a kind exaggeration designed to make her feel better--soup instead of life saving magic? But this little rare little bauble of personal experience he was handing her was something more important than soothing her pride, so she smiles over at him. “You’re very sweet. But what about you? You’re a natural! Did your niang teach you how to cook?”

At this, his face slides from serious earnest to pleasant veneer and, with a spike of cold anxiety, she fears she has put her hand on a door that she thought she was being invited into, only to find it forbidden. But he merely turns back to spooning in the pork filling and says, lightly. “I’m sure she knew how--she was well educated in most things. But we didn’t tend to frequent the kitchens.” There is a silence she fears is the end of this particularly enticing thread. But then, eyes still on the pre-dumpling, he says, “She taught me other things, though. How to read and write. Proper etiquette. The basics of a guqin….”

There is a pause, and this feels almost uncertain, him tilting on his toes on the precipice of a step she desperately wants him to take, so she hazards, “Like Lan-zongzhu.”

A smile, small and fond, before he forces it brighter at his hands, efficiently twisting the little peaks. “Just like. He’s had more formal training, of course, but she was able to play quite well.”

Yanli knows some of this, of course. His mother had been famous for how educated she was despite her occupation--the refined courtesan of Yunping. But that’s not who she had been to A-Yao. She had been his mother. “She was a very talented woman.”

“Yes.”

“You loved her very much.”

Softer, smile greying; “Yes.”

A silence stretches, a bird outside trilling to accentuate it, so she says, quietly. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to talk about her, A-Yao. I didn’t mean to pry.”

That smile hikes wider and he looks over at her, where she can see in full the raw tension that hides just barely underneath and she wants to shower him with praise and thanks for the gift that it is. “You’re my wife, A-Li. There’s no prying; you can ask me anything you want to know.”

Mmhm, she thinks, I can ask, but you won't necessarily answer. What clever wording; sneaky. No need to push. Just like with A-Xian, she will let him take the time he needs to tell her what's wrong. As long as he knows she is always there to listen. “Well, I love hearing about her….” Then shyly, she adds. “Would she have liked me?

When his face softens completely, there is something in the corners of his mouth that makes her think of tears, though there’s no trace of it anywhere else. His voice is low when he says, “She would have adored you.”

She reaches out and touches his cheek with her flour coated hand, crumbling a swath of white up to his cheekbone. The way he’s looking at her is almost like yearning in his eyes, searching and wanting, even though she is right here, right with him, staying. A warmth rushes in her chest. “I would have loved to have met her, A-Yao. She must have been amazing--and you honor her so well.” It's truth. Nothing but.

Little lines pierce where his dimples should lie and he swallows, blinks. “...I try,” he says in a voice she has never heard from him before; it’s small. Clotted and uncertain. His eyes widen and he stiffens, and she feels him tightening, receding--so she pretends she doesn’t see it, pretends that she doesn’t know that that had been a slip of vulnerability that scares him.

She takes away all pressure--her hand from his cheek, her gaze from his face--and turns away to fuss over another circle of dough. Sprinkling more flour on the counter, arranging everything just so in front of her as she smiles. “Well, you’ve proven to be a wonderful kitchen hand, so you should help me make dumplings for all the holidays, since you’re so good at it. New Years and Dongzhi and--oh, I should teach you the dances we do for the Dragon Boat Festival! I perform one every year for Lotus Pier, when I can. Or,” she straightens with realization. “Oh!” When she turns to him, he’s considering the dumpling he’s pinching with far more concentration than is warranted. “Oh, you grew up in Yunping! Do you know any?”

He clears his throat without looking up, smile uncomfortable. “I know a few. Quite a few. My mother taught me to dance because she didn’t know any martial arts to prepare me for cultivation outside some of the books she managed to find. But she knew starting me in a physical discipline young would help. I’m...adequate.”

Even more corners of her life she could tuck him into! More things she could share with him! A way to draw him from the shell he’s desperately trying to retreat back into! Excitedly, she twists on her stool, swiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, show me, please, I want to see!”

The tips of his ears redden adorably, and he winces. “I don’t...A-Li--”

There are not many things she will push him on, except on matters where he paints himself as unworthy, but this! This she absolutely has to see, here, just them, sharing the things that make them who they are under the kitchen counter in private. “Please, oh, please! I’ll even dance with you, if you don’t want to do it alone! We’ll go together!” She stands and shrugs her shoulders to free her arms some mobility from where her apron captures the joining of her sleeves, letting her hands rest on the air in delicate anticipation.

He’s startled into looking up at her, eyebrows pinching. His face is colored in embarrassed alarm. “I only ever performed alone, my partner dances aren’t--”

Performed! She could crow. And she will get that story in time, oh yes she will. “Then you choose! Whatever you want, I’ll follow you! Whatever you want, whatever!”

At this insistence, reluctantly, slowly, he stands, dusting off his hands before untying the cloth that keeps his sleeves back. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, to her utter rising delight he shrugs out of his heavier blue outer robe entirely to drape over the edge of the rack of unpeeled vegetables. It leaves him in 2 lighter, tighter layers of shades of plum and navy. The lack of patterns on the fabric simplifies his lines, rendering him limber and neat as he places his feet just so.

Immediately it is clear that he is not merely adequate, as he claimed. When he lifts his hands, the intent behind them shows someone who has had control of their body’s movements from a very young age and knows where every square inch of it is at all times--no less talented or powerful than those lifelong cultivators that she knows. He is watching her. She glows with the trust of it all and follows his first step. 

There is no music, and so she sees his quick tempo and meets it with a wordless, half remembered song, all ‘da da’s and breathless notes as they move. And they dance, wheeling tight in the modest space of the kitchen floor. The dance he chooses is, as he said, not usually a couple dance, but she knows it and mirrors him, light and lilting, stepping quick and smooth. Some of the sweeps of his arms and legs are the masculinized version of what she knows, so she reflects in compliment when she can--when the counters and bulbs of hanging garlic and strings of peppers don’t block her path. It’s amazing, it’s easy, it’s fun.

She watches his face flash pass during a turn--once, concentration; twice, surprise; thrice, realization. When he faces front, he looks tentatively pleased. 

She arches her back and kicks up her foot in a sharp arc in improvisation, grinning cheekily and that real, crooked grin of his is back, with something different, something--is that teasing? Arms spread like wings for balance, he responds in kind, but the arc of it is wider, higher, until, for a single moment, the billow of his robes is a flower blossom on the impossibly straight line of his legs, up and down. She whoops in undignified awe in the middle of a measure, abandoning the tune.

In the end, she bumps the corner table with her hip and teeters a moment, arms wheeling for balance even as she laughs. When he catches her wrist and pulls her back, Yanli collapses onto him, arms around his neck as she giggles, helplessly elated. Struggling back upright, she grabs his face in her palms and plants a quick, hard kiss on his lips. 

His fast breath tastes like ginger. 

They are both flushed and panting in the heat of the kitchen, wisps of humidity frazzled hair escaping their respective guan and pin. And they are both grinning. “You must perform with me,” she wheezes.

Breathlessly, he lets out a short laugh, smile going wryer but not disappearing. “Ah, I doubt anyone wants to see me.”

“I do!”

Again, he chuckles. “Then I’ll dance for you.”

He’ll dance for her! That golden bubbling is back in her chest, permeating the whole of her until she feels like sunlight. “Think about it at least?”

With an air of extreme indulgence that tells her that he has thought and has already decided, he nods, one dimple pressed in deep. She lets it go. Oh well, next year. 

He helps her sit because her lungs are tight and her legs going to jelly, but she is so helplessly pleased by him and the gifts he keeps giving her. So she kisses him again, because she likes to and she can, and feels his palms press her closer by her shoulder blades and feels so very very wanted.

#my fic #my stuff #peony to lotus #AT LAST. I CAN WRITE. Hopefully I'm going to write more tonight

[sunflowerstache]

the one where you’re Harry’s tailor

@theasstour​ and I have been stewing in this idea for nearly a year and it’s finally come together.. we hope you enjoy x.

Word Count: 25.6k | Warning(s): explicit language, alcohol, sexual content

NORA’S MASTERLIST  |  SARAH’S MASTERLIST

There were few moments in life that would equate to being backstage at a fashion show, simply because it was impossible to string together the specific words needed to describe the feeling. Journalists tried, quickly scribbling down thoughts and plans for their future articles in small notepads, while the professionals around them danced about in unspoken, yet somehow synchronized, movements. How would they be able to accurately depict the feeling of fabrics rubbing together between your fingers, in the most comforting way? The almost deafening sound of sewing pins carelessly being dropped on the table, after fixing a foot sized hole in a pair of trousers moments before showtime. Or how, with the amount of people crammed into the room, mixed with the humid Roman air seeping through the open windows, had sweat continuously dripped from your forehead. Yet, there was still a constant shiver running up your spine with nerves. No matter how valiant of an attempt, unless they were watching their own tailored outfits walk down the runway, their written words would never be exactly right.

Even after four years working for Gucci, perfecting hundreds of articles of clothing, clothing that was held on such a high pedestal in the fashion industry, the nerves never settled. Not when Alessandro immediately hired you at the end of your University placement, or when you were asked to accompany him in the closing walk during last year’s Cruise Show. But all of those monumental achievements paled in comparison to the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you were crouched in front of your current canvas, Gucci’s newest runway model for the 2020 Cruise Fashion Show; Harry Styles.

He was making his runway debut wearing Look 51, something you’d taken notice was not too far away from his new wardrobe when you first opened his folder. The wide legged pants were crafted from fine dots patterned blue wool, a single red pin stripe running from the hip, all the way down to the ankle. They were finished with minor details, ones not many people would take notice to, but ones that made your heart race with excitement; hidden horn buttons, front slash pockets, viscose inner lining, and an interior silk belt, all of which were hidden by his coat. Green, red, and blue stripes defined the knee length coat, appearing to crease where the four pockets sat; two at his groin and two more just at the breasts, the left pocket holding Lyre ‘Pas de Rumeur’ crest patch. Barely visible under the wool coat, peaked out a blazer identically matching the pants, only the buttons and red piping could be seen, but you knew what would be hidden to onlookers; an orange lion embroidered onto the upper left breast pocket, the hand stitched word ‘Gucci’ sitting under it’s paws in black thread, and a baby blue silk inside - a fabric that no doubt felt great against Harry’s white tank top covered torso. The rest of his look consisted of minor accessories that brought the look together; a red barrie that had the signature double G’s embroidered in green thread, a pair of crocheted black fingerless gloves, and maroon quilted leather slide sandals, complete with the interlocking G horsebit. The subtle jewelry on his body was a stark contrast to his usual ring clad fingers, now only having a few delicate necklaces rest against his bare chest. He was a sight to be seen, someone who would surely grab attention as he made his way through the dark museum runway.

“Quit moving, or you’ll end up with a pin in your bum.” you mumbled, on your knees behind Harry and quickly fixing a tear in the rear left pants pocket before he was ushered out onto the runway.

The two of you were in the farthest corner of the back dressing room, away from most of the hustle and bustle of all other models, so that you could grab the emergency sewing kit, filled with all colors of thread, baby scissors, hundreds of pins, and even super glue, from your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, Alessandro could be seen weaving through the room, triple checking that each and every outfit was completed in the exact way he had envisioned. There wasn’t much time before all models were set to step foot on the Musei Capitolini floor, and the last minute nerves were finally setting in.

“Sorry, can’t help it. Never done this before, you know.” his voice was muffled by not only the chatter of the room, but also the constant picking of his lip.

“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing it, if I’m honest.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you chuckled, giving the bum pocket a couple tugs to make sure it wouldn’t come undone again, before moving to stand directly in front of him. “You cut yourself the first time we met, ripped your trousers at the first shoot, and fell off a stone wall in the new campaign. You’re not exactly the most graceful lad at times.”

“In my defense, no one told me not to get on that wall.” Harry paused a moment, holding his hand out for you to place the pin cushion while you reorganized your bag,  “Can’t believe we only met a few years ago. Feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Without any hesitation, you nodded in agreement.

You couldn’t really remember the exact date you first met Harry. All you remember is it had been February 2018 and raining - very hard at that - and when you entered the Gucci store on Bond Street in London, your umbrella had been torn to shreds because of the wind, and your hands felt like ice after having been attacked by the raging storm outside. Alessandro had been upstairs in one of the offices, three huge white boards before him with the different campaigns he was planning at the time. Humming along to Malafemmena by Roberto Murolo playing from the speakers on his desk, Alessandro traced a finger over the fabric hanging from the wall beside the boards. You knew those were the fabrics you were going to be using today, your boss having hung them forth so it would be easier for you to work.

“Morning.” You had said, taking your jacket off and placing it on the hanger. “Absolutely horrendous outside.”

“Hmm,” mused Alessandro, tilting his head to take the grey fabric in before he looked over at you making your way over. “Always like that in England.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at the different colours, materials and patterns you were going to use for the new looks. “You’re not wrong.”

Alessandro giggled, looking over his shoulder for a single second.

“Either pouring rain or it’s drizzling.” You said, studying the different designs of each of the suits you would be making over the next few months. “Right annoying when you don’t even want to be here.”

He laughed again, turning around to look at the boards you assumed.

“I’m being serious.” You reached for the fabric your boss had been checking out when you arrived. “Who would choose to live in a country where it constantly rains?”

“Didn’t really have a choice most of my life,” came a voice from behind you and you instantly stopped dead in your tracks. “Can’t really control where we are born, can we?”

Slowly, you turned to see one of Alessandro’s dearest friends: Harry Styles. He was sitting in the brown leather sofa right behind you, a sofa you knew was there from having been in Alessandro’s London office multiple times before, but hadn’t thought to give a second look. You would assume Harry would have someone there with him, like some assistant or manager or… anyone, but Harry was sitting there all alone, looking over at you with this cheeky grin on his face that had your cheeks heat up. It wasn’t a shock for him to be here alone, you thought after a second, as Harry and Alessandro spent loads of time together usually so this was just another normal hang-out for them. You, on the other hand, had never met Harry Styles before. This was your first time being in his company. And so far – you had to be honest with yourself – you weren’t looking very good. Grumpy, soaked through, and with a dash of dishevelled everything, you no doubt looked like a person no one wanted anything to do with. Harry clearly found it very amusing how little you liked being in England. Also most definitely found it funny how startled you were at his sudden utterance. You watched as he got up from the sofa, walking over to you as Alessandro also came to sight again.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro said. “This is Harry.”

You zoned out entirely, the whole situation too surreal. Though you had been born and brought up in England, there was just something about the constant rain that made not only your mood drop, but your skin sticky and hands clammy. So when Harry reached a hand out to shake yours after Alessandro had told Harry your name and introduced you, red lights and a loud alarm started going off in your head. He would have to feel just how bad the effect of the bloody terrible English weather had on you. But not shaking his hand would be weird and impolite. His hand was between the two of you, open and ready for yours. It stood there for a few seconds. And you just looked at it. Quickly realising that not shaking his hand would probably be more awkward than doing so with a sweaty palm, you took his. A breathy giggle left Harry’s lips as your hands met. You let his go, looking over at Alessandro who was giving you a weird look while you heard the slap of Harry’s hand against his thigh in the background.

“Measurements.” Alessandro said, trying to move on from the awkward situation you had just caused. All the blood in your body rushed to the surface of your skin, instantly heating you up. You glanced to the ground, hoping Harry didn’t notice how flustered you just got. Walking to your bag, you took out your notebook and measurement tape. “Glorious, mio caro.”

Getting your pen, you walked over to the board for the Gucci Autumn/Winter Campaign. There were five different suits for this one, a couple of more for the next, and then three for the last one. From the way Alessandro had left some space at the bottom of the last board, it was clear he would be working even more with Harry in the future, they just did not know exactly what or when yet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and you whipped your head to your left to see Alessandro pointing to the different suits on the board.

“These today.” He said, pointing to the specific details he wanted and instructions on where they would be loose and not. “I need to go to a meeting, but you two will be fine on your own. You have a lot in common.”

You frowned, watching as Alessandro walked toward his desk, picking up a huge binder and resting it under his arm. “Have a lot in common?”

“Yes,” he grinned. “You do.”

“Like…?”

Alessandro only gestured with his hands for the two of you to get talking, and then he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him. Dettagli - Detalhes by Ornella Vanoni played lowly as the quiet between the two of you filled the room and made it troublesome to breathe properly. A great stream of anxiety suddenly took over and you suddenly felt very awkward. Obvious from the way Alessandro had left in such a hurry and the way he had left with that grin, you knew there was underlying expectations to this encounter. There were multiple reasons why Alessandro had called you to come help him. You didn’t want to think about that, though, because that only made absolutely everything ten times more embarrassing.

“Lovely,” Harry looked over at you from staring at the door Alessandro had kicked closed, standing confidently in his green and white striped tee shirt over his loose light denim jeans. “Likes a dramatic entrance and exit, that one.”

You huffed through your nose, walking over to the board to look at the details once more. Harry only watched you, a bit unsure of what to do next. The rain fell against the windows, creating a lulling sound to go with the Italian music still swaying through the room. The white walls, tall ceiling, and Victorian look of the room only made it feel like you two were actually in Italy. His phone vibrated from the sofa with an incoming text, only giving it a quick look over his shoulder until you wandered over to your bag again. Whipping your glasses out, you hung them from the collar of your white tee shirt before walking back over to Harry.

Quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, you cleared your throat. “Are you ticklish?”

Taken a bit off guard, Harry blinked twice. “Only armpits and backs of my knees.”

“Right.” You nodded your head, hooking your measurement tape around your neck. “Stand still, back straight.”

Harry listened to you, biting the side of his lip as you pressed your ring and index finger to your sternum in concentration. Eyes following you as you started walking around his figure, getting a good look at everything before you stood before him again.

“Clothes too loose?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“No, it’s fine.” You said, taking your tape back in your hands again. An instrumental version of ‘O Sole Mio by Jack Jezzro started playing just as the rain outside threw itself more forcefully against the windows, but you tried not to pay notice to anything but what was going on before you. You had no idea why you were nervous. Plenty of times before, you had worked with other celebrities; tailoring their suits, dresses and whatnots. For some reason, however, this felt different. Harry was so close to Alessandro, so the notion that the two of you would get along just as well filled you with anxiety, and a hint of awkwardness. Bringing your tape up you took a step closer to Harry as you lifted it above his head and around his neck. Before doing anything else, you put your glasses on, wanting to actually be able to see what the measurements were. Resting the tape on the tops of his shoulders, you put your finger between the tape and his neck to allow for some room for Harry to breathe in his suits. You felt him swallow against your finger. Her heart skipped a quick beat.

“So…” he said, dragging it out. “Where are you from?”

Instantly, your eyes whipped up in the direction of his, staring at you patiently. You glanced down at the measurements again, whispering them to yourself under your breath and doing so continuously till you wrote his numbers behind the ‘neck’ in your notebook.

“You can tell I’m from England?” you asked, knowing your parents had made it very apparent to you how much of your accent you had lost over the four years you had spent constantly traveling.

“Know a Brit when I hear one.���

You huffed through your nose, walking back to him. “Lift your arms, please.”

He did.

You sneaked the measurement tape from where it hung from his shoulders and wrapped it around the widest point of his chest. “Worcestershire, you?”

“Cheshire,” he answered. “Right outside Manchester.”

“Stand in a relaxed posture if you can,” you ordered. “You can let your arms fall to your sides.” Harry did as you told him to. “Now breathe in.” Breathed in, you noted the numbers in your head. “Breathe out.” You did the same again. Muttering them under your breath, you dragged the tape with you while writing everything down.

“And you?” Harry asked, clearly eager to get to know you better while you were this close to him. He didn’t want any awkward tension between the two of you as this almost felt like an intimate moment; you studying him so closely and touching his entire body on your first meeting. Though he was good at knowing when to be professional and when it was okay not to be - and though he knew this was work - he couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t. You were a good friend of Alessandro, just as he was, and so it felt more like two acquaintances hanging out than anything work related.

“Evesham.” You answered, enclosing the tape around Harry’s waist this time. You leaned into him, nose almost touching his chest. You breathed in through your nose, and as discreetly as possible, breathed out through your mouth. Why were you acting up? What was it with Harry Styles that suddenly made it hard for you to function? This never happened. Bending your index finger, you started feeling around for Harry’s belly button to make sure you were on the right spot.

“Never really been to Worcestershire, if I’m- Oh!” Harry looked down at you as you poked his belly button a little too hard.

“Sorry, just needed to know I was directly on your waist.” You leaned down, asking him to breathe in and out again.

Harry watched you write the numbers down. “How long have you been doing this?”

“What?” you asked, putting one end of the tape at the mid side of his neck, following it all the way down to where you knew Alessandro wanted the shirt to end. Which was a little too close to his crotch. “You mean working for Gucci or tailoring people?” You felt the spot where his abdomen ended and his leg began. No, no, no, don’t go there, be professional, you thought to yourself.

“Both.”

You hunched down, getting the right measurements, writing them down, and then going to stand at his back. “Since I was twenty. Alessandro thought I had some talent, took me under his wing, and I’ve been working for Gucci since, tailoring people.” Placing your finger near his armpit, and tracing a line upward, Harry jerked.

“Absolutely not.” He glanced at you now that you were face to face, protecting his armpit while he continued on, “Want me to elbow you in the throat?”

“Preferably not.”

“Then don’t tickle my armpit.” He was so serious it took everything in you not to laugh.

“Well,” you couldn’t help your smile now. “I kind of have to know where your armpit is to do your shoulders.”

Conflict ran across Harry’s face, as if he was debating everything that could go wrong if he let you do it. Slowly, he turned back around, shoulders incredibly tense this time.

“Try to relax.”

“I know I’m about to have a finger jammed up my armpit, I’m unable to.”

The urge to laugh was so immense, but you bit your lips together and quickly ran your finger from his armpit and directly up his shoulder. Harry only winced a little, sighing under his breath as you took the measurements and then went to write them down.

“Sorry,” Harry said as you turned back around to him. “Didn’t mean to turn into a dickhead, but I just hate when people touch my armpits.”

You smiled. “It’s fine. I’m the same with my neck.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded.

“Ever had someone tailor you?”

You huffed, shaking your head. “Nope. I’ll do that myself unless I need someone to do my back.”

“Let me know next time you need help and I’ll do your back.” Harry said. “Maybe wiggle my fingers along your neck or summat to that effect.”

You laughed. “You have free time on your hands now? Aren’t you a busy bloke?”

“Count me in after July.”

“Oh?”

“World tour is over; I get to relax.” He informed, watching as you did his arm. “Going to Italy to relax with some mates and family.”

“How nice.” You said, doing his wrist. “I’m going to Italy as well. Always spend March ‘till August in Florence, then September ‘till February in London.”

“Really?” Harry almost looked a little impressed by your lifestyle, as if his own wasn’t just as adventurous. “Travel a lot?”

You couldn’t help a tiny smile, knowing that no matter how many countries you’d travelled to, Harry had probably done double the amount. But regardless of how well-travelled he himself was, in the low yet curious tone of his voice, you could hear the sincerity of his question. “Mostly between Italy and England, but I do tag along on some of Alessandro’s visits to the States, France, and some other countries.”

“Wicked.” Harry smiled as he noticed the corners of your mouth tip a little upward. “What’s been your favourite so far?”

The eye contact was intense. He didn’t look away, focusing entirely and altogether on you. There was a friendliness to his glance that had you relaxing, which was odd considering how anxious you had been earlier. You were sure that, by this point, Harry had completely forgotten the entire reason why he was here or why it was raining outside. And, to be fair, so had you. This felt like catching up with a friend, the easy chatter you had with one of your mates after months apart.

“I feel like I’m somewhat biased, but Italy. I love my little flat in Florence and that city too much for my own good.” You said, finding the way Harry’s head moved slightly with his huff, endearing. “You expected that?”

“What's not to love about Italy?” he asked, head cocked to the side. “I’m going there this summer, remember? Taking my whole family and meeting some mates.”

“Where abouts are you going?”

“Modena.” He put his hands in his jean pockets, nodding his head as he spoke. “Not really anywhere close to a big city or anything, but I just want to rest once I’m there to be fair. I’m teaching myself Italian at the moment, Alessandro is teaching me some as well.”

“Really?” Your smile grew bigger.

Harry’s smile mirrored yours. “Yeah.”

“Would you understand if I spoke some to you?” The four years you had lived in Italy had made you fluent in their first language. It had been a challenge at first, but you now understood the frustrated Florentine drivers shouting out from their open driver side windows, the old couple owning the bakery near you who loved to mumble, and even the slang some of the interns at Gucci used when they talked to one another. Harry seemed to be able to tell that you mastered this language he had just barely started to learn, but he nodded nevertheless.

“Right then.” He said. “Hit me.”

“Shit.” You mumbled to yourself, getting the measurement tape from the table behind you, completely having forgotten about the fact that you were here for work.

“Is that Italian for ‘oh no’?” Harry teased, making you both laugh, but you quickly shut up as you saw what was next on the list. Hip and seat. Clearing your throat, you turned back to Harry, biting your lip as you hunched down before him. You could tell that he too was a bit taken aback by the completely new position you two found yourself in. He quickly looked away.

“Is it okay if you…” your eyes met. “If you lift your shirt slightly and lower your jeans a tad? I need to measure directly onto your body.”

“Alright,” Harry took a grip of his jeans, shimmying them along with his boxers a bit down his hip. “Yeah.” Taking his shirt up next, the bare skin of his abdomen was there right in front of you.

“Modena,” you started, leaning in as you brought the measurement tape around him. Harry felt your breath brush against his abdominal hair. “Non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

“What?” he said, eyes glued to the wall right in front of him, hands gripping his shirt hard in concentration. “Didn’t catch that.”

You memorised his number, then said a quick, “You can pull your jeans up and shirt down now.”

Harry did so, watching you stroll back to note his hip. He noticed he was panting slightly, like he had run up a set of stairs. Closing his mouth, he shook his head and willed himself to act normal, to be respectful. It was a little hard, however, when he had been single for so long and a pretty lass stood right in front of his crotch. As you came back and stood in front of him the exact same way as the time before, Harry settled his eyes on the white boards again. This time around, you brought the book with you, wanting the crotch and leg area to be done with as quickly as possible.

“Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.” You said again, measuring around the widest point of his seat.

He didn’t respond.

“Harry?”

“Huh?”

You giggled, writing down the measurements before inhaling hugely. Inseam next. “Did you catch what I was saying?”

“No, I-“ He stopped himself as your hand came up to the inside of his upper thigh, not having seen it coming. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay.” You said quickly, doing his inseam, knuckles softly gracing that spot between his thighs.

“I, uhh, I didn’t understand what you were saying.” He admitted quickly, hands on his hips and gaze faraway.

You wrote down the inseam, and got up, taking the book with you. His eyes instantly fell on you as you stood face to face again; him biting his lips together and your eyes big. Turning around, you placed the book down on the table again, running your finger over all the measurements so far.

“Could you come here, please?” You asked, hearing Harry walk towards you, hands on his back and ready for the next steps. You had been a bit scared to command him earlier, but now that you had talked and been between his legs, you felt it almost got a little easier to be around him. As if the awkwardness had gone away. Now you didn’t have to go far to write his measurements because the table and book and pen were right beside you. You walked over to the white board, mentally jotting down how and where Alessandro wanted the shirt to end and how it was supposed to sit on Harry. Meanwhile, Harry craned his neck to watch you. Still wearing your glasses, he watched your lips move as you mumbled to yourself, the dark blue of the rainstorm from the window beside you, made what Harry looked like seem like a painting. The calmness of you against the raging madness outside. He glanced back at the book, then at the soft fabric hanging beside him, mind wandering to the different places these campaigns would take him. He read over his measurements, about to turn the pages to see some of his other lengths and widths, when he felt a sharp pain in his finger.

He hissed.

You glanced over at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Harry was fast to answer, putting his index finger in his mouth to get some of the blood off his finger.

Walking back over to him, you didn’t pay much attention to how he was quick to put his hand behind his back again where it had been earlier. “Modena isn’t too far from Florence.”

Harry’s brows met above his nose, feeling a little lost at first, but as he slowly started putting two and two together, his grimace evaporated. “Modena non è troppo lontana da Firenze.”

You nodded your head twice, giving him a little smile. “Esattamente.”

“Exactly.” Harry translated.

You raised your hand, offering Harry a high five which he happily answered. What he forgot in that second however, was his minor accident just a minute earlier. Right before your hands met, you noticed his finger, and your eyes went immediately to his.

“What happened to your bleeding finger, mate?”

“Oh-” Harry looked at it, looking unsure for a second before he huffed. “Oh that,” he huffed. “That’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re bleeding.”

“And you’re a tailor.”

“What…” You shook your head. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Thought we were stating the obvious.” He shrugged. “Just a papercut. I’ll survive.”

“Of course you’ll survive, just wondered how you were able to start bleeding out of nowhere.”

Harry chuckled. “Not to worry, I’ll be able to use my hand as normal in no time.”

“Knob.” You mumbled automatically, immediately regretting it. That was not at all professional. And you were in a very professional setting. You were at work. You couldn’t call your client a knob right to his face. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, you thought to yourself trying to row yourself back to safe territory. You scrunched your nose up as you inhaled sharply. “Can’t even remember the last time I got a papercut, to be frank.”

“Speaking frankly now, are you?” He joked. You looked up at him again, and a second after your eyes met, you both started laughing. You put your hand to your heart, shaking your head at how silly the two of you were when you were under strict orders from Alessandro to get Harry’s measurements. But the fact that he hadn’t taken you calling him a knob seriously, the fact that he was able to joke about it and take the piss, it made it impossible for you not to laugh with him.

Your eyes met, both teary eyed from laughter.

“What’s knob in Italian, anyway?” Harry asked, making you laugh even harder.

And that launched the two of you into easy conversation. Almost a little too easy for the two of you to just have met. The fact that you were in a work environment didn’t seem to face you at all, which was incredibly refreshing for both. The seriousness of the meetings you had to endure most of the time so unnecessarily boring and dry that this was like a breath of fresh air. Alessandro had been right when he said you had loads in common, which you figured out in between you taking his measurements. There didn’t seem to be a topic untouched at the end of Harry’s session, and though he was done with his measurements and such, he stuck around. You two stood by the table you stood at earlier, you still holding onto the tape like once you stopped, Harry would immediately leave. Neither of you noticed how the door opened slightly. Didn’t notice Alessandro looking through the crack and at the two of you, having heard voices from behind the door when he came back from his meeting. He smiled to himself, seeing Harry laugh at something you said before he closed the door again, leaving you two to it.

You became fast friends. Though you could go a week without texting, or a day without thinking about one another, you still knew that when you next met up, you would pick up where you left off. You had formed an easy friendship like that, one which you both appreciated and knew you could come back to without problem. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you would befriend someone as high profile as Harry Styles when working as a tailor. You hadn’t really thought you would befriend any celebrity when working as a tailor, actually. But here you were, friends with Harry Styles, and not at all thinking of him as someone who made hit singles or who was the new face of Gucci. Someone who made a living off of singing and who had a huge bloody fanbase supporting him. That part of his life felt surreal, but yours and Harry’s friendship was so genuine, so effortless, that you didn’t really care about the other aspects of his life as long as he was a good person.

The second time you met was at the chip shop, The Camp, in St Albans, Hertfordshire, where the photoshoot and commercial would take place. It was cloudy, the skies a dull grey that threatened with rain, but you knew would just fly right by without interrupting the film crew. The wind was annoying however, bitter at the touch, but you knew Harry was a warm blooded person and would have no problems exposing his chest and hands to it. You strolled up to the Camp School parking lot that was littered with cars and a huge white truck where you knew Harry would be, getting ready. Alessandro had other business to attend to and most of the people on set worked for Gucci, but you were there to see that the suits you had made were okay and that they properly fit. For the first fitting some weeks ago, you had been busy with another client, so Alessandro had done that himself. But he still wanted someone on sight in case something happened, because no way in hell were anyone but him or you allowed to repair a pair of torn trousers or a ruined shirt.

You knocked on the door of the truck, heard a “Come in”, and stepped inside. Harry was sitting in a makeup chair, a woman doing his hair and make-up, readying him for his first ever Gucci shoot. He opened his eyes, meeting yours in the mirror before him. Your smiles were identical when you realised who you were looking at.

“Knob.” You said, standing by the wall behind Harry.

“Wanker.” He answered, grinning at you. “You alright?”

It was something the two of you had fallen into the habit of calling one another ever since the ‘knob’ incident of your first meeting. No one really understood why, especially not the people around you. Alessandro, who thought he had been the mastermind behind a match made in heaven, was surprised to see just how good friends the two of you were. Seeing you two hit it off in his office at first, he had immediately thought he had done it, found each his friends a potential partner, but after months of nothing romantic happening, he had given up. It was clear the two of you just looked at each other as friends and nothing more. Very good friends at that.

“Yeah,” you pointed your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing out beyond the door you had just walked through. “Looks like it’s about to rain.”

Harry chuckled. “Worried about that, are you?” He thanked the make-up artist before he got up, gesturing for you to walk out first.

“Yes.” You answered, stepping out of the van. “You’ll look like a maniac if you get wet in that.”

“A maniac?!” Harry sounded appalled. “You might have to elaborate on why.”

“Wet hair, wearing a suit with no shirt, striking orange necklace, and holding a chicken?”

“No, that’s art, babe.”

You laughed. The two of you started strolling towards the chip shop.

“If anything, I’ll look irresistible wearing this and being soaked.” Harry said, saying a quick ‘hi’ to someone walking by. “You won’t be able to resist me.”

You huffed. “If I saw someone walking down the street looking like that, being soaked through, I’d have my pepper spray ready and already dialling 999.”

“Admit it, you’d not be able to keep your hands off me.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me thinking you’re fit?” You laughed. A short silence followed. Your knuckles brushed against one another. Something warm lit up your chest for a single second. Harry just looked at you for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the question. But before you got the chance to look to your left and at your mate, to make sure he was fine, someone interrupted.

“Harry,” one of Glen Luchford’s assistants walked toward the two of you. “We’re ready for you.”

The photographer stood beside the art director – Christopher Simmonds - further down the street, just outside the chip shop, talking amongst themselves about something. A slight breeze blew past you, Harry’s cologne graced you for two lovely seconds as you watched the man himself follow the main photographer’s assistant. You were a couple of steps behind them, standing by yourself and watching the whole commercial unfold. Harry was handed the chicken, who flapped its wings upon being in Harry’s grasp. The look on Harry’s face had you laughing, and Harry immediately looked over at you, giving you a stern look. However, you were laughing, so it was hard for him not to crack a smile as well. Your phone vibrated in your pocket some minutes later, and you walked a distance away as not to be in the way.

“Lallo, hiya.” You greeted, scrunching your nose up as you felt the first droplet of rain hit it.

“Il mio amore,” Alessandro greeted, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “How’s the photoshoot?”

“Not really done much yet, but everything’s fine so far.”

He sighed again. “I am glad to hear. Did the suit fit nice like it’s supposed to?”

You glanced at Harry over your shoulder, standing on the pavement further down, ready to film. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the white sky with big eyes. It was almost as if you could see the peaceful green of his irises. His neck was stretched as he bowed his head back, closing his eyes and letting a few raindrops fall into his face. He looked almost dreamy; peaceful for a few moments as he collected himself. Someone shouted something and Harry blinked his eyes open, looking at the director. Suddenly, his eyes went to you, but they flickered away just as quickly. You looked away.

“It fits.”

“Nothing bad’s happened?”

You kicked at a stone on the ground. “What does that mean?”

“Harry ruining the suit.”

You huffed out a small laugh through your nose. “Do you have that little faith in him?”

“He gets clumsy when he’s nervous.”

You frowned. “Harry isn’t nervous.”

“Are you sure?” Alessandro asked, you could tell he was narrowing his eyes and putting his hand on his hip. He was challenging you. “Really sure?”

“Look,” you started walking towards the make-up van, aware that you most likely had to go get the make-up artist and hairdresser out if it was going to start raining. “Everything’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. If you were worried this was going to be a fail, why didn’t you prioritise this event?”

“Fine, fine. It’s not you I’m worried about, no? It’s that…” Alessandro paused for some seconds. “It’s Harry’s first Gucci shoot and I’m not there. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then I’m there to fix it. Why I’m here, remember?” You spotted the van. “I’m your eyes, ears, and hands today.”

Alessandro laughed. “Il mio amore, what would I do without you?”

“Do not know. I really don’t.”

He laughed again and you two hung up just as you knocked on the door to the make-up van. Informing them that it was drizzling out and that they might have to come do a touch-up if it got worse, you walked in as they got everything they needed. A selection of suits hung on a rack on one end of the van, some twins in case something were to happen, and others were lone ones. Regardless, you always found Alessandro’s ability to make clothes into a form of art so inspiring. It was what made you want to work with him in the first place. An abundance of colours and fabrics, of softness and roughness, of modern and rustic. The things he thought to make you’d never in your wildest dreams think of, which made doing anything for him so fascinating. Always something new, always something spellbinding.

You followed the crew out and in the direction of the shoot. It wasn’t drizzling as much anymore, but this was still England, something that meant it would happen anytime soon. The artists were chatting amongst themselves as you made your way over, you read over an email on your phone. Suddenly though, the heels that had walked right beside you stopped. You glanced up from your phone, over your shoulder at the three ladies you had gotten to help you. They stared straight ahead, and when you averted your eyes, letting them land on what they were seeing, you almost dropped your phone.

The hen Harry had been holding was flapping about, two crew members chasing it while a third one ran over to help. Someone was shouting “Stop recording” and someone else “Get the fucking chicken”. But the worst part of it all – at least for you – was Harry getting up from the asphalt. There was a furrow to his brows as he checked his suits for scratches, stopping when he saw the rip at his knee. Your brain immediately flashed back to what Alessandro had just told you.

Harry’s eyes shot up, hastily scanning the crowd around him, and you quickly realised he was looking for you. Stepping forward, you saw him relax some when his eyes landed on you. He jogged over, groaning through his teeth.

“I-“

“-Get to the bloody van, I need to take a look at the rest of your suit.”

“But there’s only the knee.” Harry said as you two started walking.

“I’m not taking your word for it.”

This seemed to become a theme for Harry’s shoots. His anxiety would get the better of him, though he did get more confident with each one that went by. It wasn’t something he was amazing at at first, but something that grew on him overtime. Just like the seasons changed from winter to spring to summer, Harry slowly got his feet off the slippery ice he seemed to have been on that first shoot in England.

However, a few months later, you were back in Italy, doing another shoot with Gucci. Harry was wearing one of the suits you had tailored for him; a checked one, a blue shirt, a silk bandana around his neck and another one in his hair. Since the last shoot, the two of you had talked over the phone, texted, and sent each other funny memes on Instagram. You hadn’t met up a whole lot, maybe the odd café trip or two with some friends, but nothing beyond that. So, meeting him in Italy, your second home, was incredibly special to you.

You were on the outside of Rome, Villa Lente, and you had spent most of your morning yawning and getting looks from Alessandro when you did so. Harry yawned with you when he caught you doing so, the two of you giggling at how ridiculous you were being. With raised eyebrows, Alessandro watched the two of you, giving you a slight flick to the arm when you distracted Harry.

But it was when Harry was perched on the stone wall, dragging some hair out of his face as he placed himself steadily on it, that was then it happened. The sun hit him just right, making the ruffle of his curls look like a golden halo around his head; green irises switching to the colour of autumn leaves where the light hit them. He looked ethereal. And in the middle of all of this, Harry reached for the lamb he was supposed to be perching on his shoulders. No one thought Harry would actually fall off the wall. No one thought he was that clumsy. But as he was hurtling towards the ground having lost his footing completely, the realisation that he was indeed that clumsy hit you just as Harry hit the stone staircase beneath the wall.

Alessandro exclaimed a few crude words in Italian, running to Harry’s aid. You stood there blinking, getting yourself back from the slight daydream you’d just had about the poor man that laid on the ground with a dozen people around him. One second he had looked like something straight out of a dream; like an angel that had come down to earth. He had looked too good and you simply had not been able to look away from him. You knew Harry was good looking, you weren’t blind, but something about the sun hitting him like that, when he smiled down at you watching him, how carefully he styled his hair when he at up on that stone wall. It did something to you.

But all of that disappeared right away when Harry hit the ground, exclaiming a grunt of pain. Alessandro was by his side in seconds, speaking so fast you had trouble understanding him. Harry held onto his knee, yet again having ripped the suit and once again bleeding, only this time it was his hand. Why was it always his knee and why did he always end up bleeding? It was only so clumsy a person could get, wasn’t it? And yet, Harry Styles seemed to be proving you very wrong. No one was as easily affected by their anxiety as him.

People crowded him, ready to be of help and to get him standing. It wasn’t like he had broken any bones, because he was able to get up onto his feet without trouble, but the fall had definitely hurt regardless. Your eyes locked as Harry’s arm came to rest around Alessandro’s shoulders, the designer helped him over to the van. Once again, Harry had to change trousers.

“How?” you simply asked, unsure what best way to even address the whole situation.

“Don’t,” Harry shook his head, not in the mood to have you take the mick out of him for this. “Hurts like a fucking cunt.”

Alessandro pinched Harry’s side, making him yelp and put more pressure on his knee than he wanted to, ultimately getting him to gasp. Harry glanced at the designer, an annoyed furrow forming between his brows.

“Why’d you do that?”

“You were being rude.”

“Pinching a wounded man is rude.” Harry removed his arm from around Alessandro, limping towards the van. “I’m getting changed.”

You glanced at Alessandro, both of you knowing that no matter what, Harry would be in a bad mood for a bit now. That always happened when something didn’t go according to plan; he’d get grumpy and need some time alone. One of the assistants was about to follow him, clearly having gotten some orders from the photographer, Glen Luchford, or art director, Christopher Simmonds. You put your hand out warning them from following the already irritated and hurting star of the photoshoot. He just needed 10 minutes to cool off, and then you’d be off after him to make sure he was alright.

Once 10 minutes had passed, you knocked on the door of the make-up van, hearing a grumble of sorts before stepping inside. Harry was standing unzipping his trousers and shimmying them down his hip. It reminded you a bit of the tailoring you had done at the beginning of the year, how he had pushed both his trousers and boxers down so you could get his measurements right. He glanced over his shoulder at you before he sat down, now only his boxers covering the top part of his thighs and crotch.

“Don’t stand there looking for too long,” he said, bending over to get the trousers completely off. “I might end up turning you on.”

You stepped inside, closing the door and walking over to the first-aid kit. You felt Harry’s eyes on you as he sat back, placing the ripped trousers on the chair beside him. Getting some cotton, you put a mild soap on it and poured it under water before walking back over to Harry. You sat down in a chair, getting closer to him, and taking his hand. As you turned it over to look at the scratch on his palm, you could tell that it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought it to be, but it still looked like it’d hurt. Carefully, you dabbed the wound, making sure to clean it up. Harry hissed through his teeth, watching as the cotton came out dirty. It hadn’t been the cleanest ground he’d landed on and you didn’t want him to get an infection.

Getting up, you got another piece of cotton and did the same, dragging the chair even closer to Harry now. Taking his hand this time around, your knuckles brushed his thigh, the dark downy hair you hadn’t noticed till now. How his boxers rested tightly around his thighs, and how far up they were, revealing more than you were intended to see. Your cheeks felt hot and you focused on his hand, lifting it from his leg so you didn’t have to feel his warm, bare thigh against your knuckles. There wasn’t really a trace of any dirt on it now, but you wanted to be sure you’d gotten everything before you let him outside again.

You were very aware Harry could rinse his own wound himself. He didn’t need people to do everything for him, he liked doing most things himself, in fact. And though both of you were sat there knowing you didn’t have to, neither stopped it. Slowly, Harry’s eyes came to rest at your face. They stayed there, just watching you tend to him so carefully. When people go out of their way to help you, to make sure you’re okay, those are the kind of people to hold onto for life. The kind of people who will buy you sweets when you need it on a bad day, who will force themselves to be in a cheery mood to better yours, who will kiss your eyelids when you go back to sleep after a nightmare. The kind of people who will rinse your wound when you get hurt when you’re perfectly capable of doing so yourself.

You didn’t know why you looked up, didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was your subconscious that knew if you did, you’d find something you’d been searching for your whole life. Maybe something inside you knew that glancing up, you’d see something you hadn’t before. Your eyes met Harry’s, and though you had stared into them on numerous occasions before, something shifted in that moment. With his hand in your hand, his bare knee resting against yours, eyes glancing intently into yours; it was like something bigger than yourselves took over. You felt it on your heart first, like a warm tingling that spread out to every single one of your limbs and cells. It felt like you were drunk; head hazy and feelings heightened. Everything about Harry before you was greater, brighter; more.

“You need to finish the shoot.” You said, knowing that Alessandro would undoubtedly not appreciate the two of you taking this long.

Harry didn’t answer. He just stared at you, like he was seeing something spectacular for the first time and he couldn’t look away. The look in his eyes softened as he gulped, his Adam’s apple moving with a lump in his throat he clearly had trouble swallowing. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes rest to your lips. Following the shape of them, savouring the colour of them. Neither of you realised you were moving in. It wasn’t till the sight of Harry started to blur and the room seem to fill with electricity that you realised just how close you were. You stopped, pulling a bit away till you saw him clearly, but a slight wrinkle to his brows told you he hadn’t appreciated that. Just as you were about to lean in again, to an unknown fate between the two of you, there was a loud knock on the door and a second later it flew open. You pushed away from him, barely even touching his hand as you finished rinsing the wound. Harry blinked, clearing his throat and looking over his shoulder at Alessandro who stood there glancing back at him.

“Well?” Alessandro asked, gesturing behind him at the shoot that had been momentarily stopped.

“Yeah,” Harry said, eyes meeting yours before he dragged his hand out of your grip. “Just a sec.”

Harry got up, walking over to the wardrobe to get changed. Instantly, you threw the cotton away and walked outside with Alessandro, ready to forget the whole moment and never think of it again. But it was easier said than done. The rest of that shoot, that day, that week, it was all you could think about.

Unfortunately, after that shoot, you and Harry hadn’t been able to see one another  It was finally that time of year when you had a bit of time off to relax, and this time it happened to fall in the middle of July. It gave you the perfect opportunity to do nothing more than wander the streets of your home, see some old friends, and fully enjoy the beauties that an Italian summer had to offer. But no matter how happy you were for the time off, it was bittersweet because although Harry had just finished his world tour and now had an abundance of free time on his hands, he was fully booked until you’d see him for your next shoot.

You didn’t fault him for how he spent his time off, he did just get home after a long year long world tour, and that did warrant some time alone. But you did have to admit that you missed seeing him. Somewhere in your mind, you recall him saying he was spending some time in Italy up north with his family, but the dates were jumbled and you didn’t want to disturb his peace. Instead, you settled for knowing you’d see him again in a few short months.

You had set out for the day in order to find some new houseplants, seeing as the young girl who kept yours tended to while you were away - Lilliana - always seemed to let them wilt. It was the most perfect day to stroll down to the market and see some of the florists you’d missed while you were away, what with the sun shining it’s brightest and only the tiniest breeze ghosting by your cheeks. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. This was your time to bask in the sunlight before heading back to dreary London for some time.

Sandals clapping against the cobblestone walkway echoed through the quiet street, the sound of faint music playing from a nearby open window was carried by the breeze, filling in any silence that would be there otherwise. This was the life you had dreamt about as a child, the kind of life that you only got to read about in books or watch in films, yet here you were. It was yet another reason you had to be thankful to Alessandro for.

“Mi scusi, signora.”

You often walked down the small side street with your eyes closed briefly, not only knowing it like the back of your hands, but also basking in the warmth of the sun, so it wasn’t anything new to have someone speak up to let you know they were near. But something about that voice was familiar. Like when you walk into your home for the first time in a while and you can smell you. Like you can’t exactly put a finger on it, but you know it’s familiar, so you investigate. Which you did, and it caused you to gasp.

“Harry?”

“In the flesh.” his smile could rival the brightness of the sun that was shining between in the tall buildings as he walked up the slight incline of the street towards you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and through I’d stop by. See my favorite tailor.” Once he finally reached you, your arms were instantly wrapped around one another, squeezing like you hadn’t just been together weeks ago.

“Wha - how are yo-?”

“Don’t tell me you’re speechless. You? Of all people?” he laughed, pulling away after giving a few rubs to your back.

“I know you didn’t come all the way to Montaione to take the piss, Harry.” you took this time to really look at him after your surprise meet up. He looked remarkable, something that quite annoyed you considering he was dressed so casually. Then again, the man could pull off close to anything. He was wearing a pair of grey trousers; a single pleat running from his waist to ankles down the middle of the leg, a plain white t shirt that perfectly accentuated his dark tattoos, and a royal blue bandana that hung loosely from around his neck. The pair of sunglasses he had worn when walking up to you were now being hung from the bandana so that he could get a better look at you, and if you had to look at his sparkling green eyes for any second longer, you were sure you would combust.

“Despite how easy it is to get under your skin, I, surprisingly, didn’t come here to do anything other than see you for a few hours.”

“A few hours? You traveled down from Modena just to hangout for a few hours?”

“Knew I was in Modena then? Keeping tabs on me while we’re apart, are you?”

Your hand jut out and shoved him hard enough to make him lose a bit of balance while you two started walking down the street, just enough so that he had to take a few steps to the side to stabilize himself.

“Thought you weren’t here to take the piss, knob.”

He laughed, nodding his head and sliding his sunglasses back onto his face. “Alright alright. Truce. But to answer your question, yes I did. That a bad thing?”

“Uh, no it’s not. Just a bit surprising is all. That’s a bit of a journey just for lunch.”

“And I’d make it countless more times for you.”

Over the last two years, you grew to know Harry and when he was being serious or having a laugh, so you could instantly hear the sincerity behind his words. Despite the goofy grin playing at his lips, you knew that he was being truthful, and the thought made butterflies awaken in your belly.

“It’s good to see you, Harry.” the nod you gave was more towards yourself, but when you glanced up at Harry, you saw that he was already watching you, smiling as he took in your relaxed aura.

“You too, doll.”

“How’d you find me, anyway?” just as you did each time you met up, the two of you fell into easy conversation as you made your way towards the village square. Harry was one of those people that you could go months without talking to, yet somehow, the second you met back up again, you were able to pick up right where you left off.

“Alessandro may or may not have given it to me.” his voice was timid, like he didn’t fully want to admit he had asked your boss where you lived.

“Of course he did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s obsessed with you, you know?”

“He’s not.”

“Mhm. Says you’re his shining star. ‘M sure the man would create a whole collection surrounding you if you give him enough time.”

“Says the woman who he looks at like his next of kin.”

“Don’t make this into a pissing contest, Harry. You know he adores you.”

“Just him?”

It felt like spending time with a lifelong mate when with Harry, but when he said shit like that, when he made your tummy flutter with his mix of words and longing gazes, it made it hard for you to see him as just a friend.

“Didn’t you say that you only had a bit before having to get back?” you changed the subject quickly, not wanting to answer his question.

“Not get back, ‘m not headed back to Modena.” he shook his head when you sent him a soft, questioning ‘no?’ “Nope. Flying down to Sicily for a few days for Google Camp.”

“Google Camp?” your eyebrows shot up in question when he told you, “A sumit for the rich and famous to talk about climate change while flying in on private jets and yachts. How very unlike you mister Styles.”

“Oi, lay off. Got invited, didn’t I? Wasn’t going to turn it down. Besides,” he shrugged, “‘M flying commercial and carpooling. Being as eco friendly as possible.”

“Course, of course.”

“I have four hours until my flight, so just shut up and come get lunch with me.”

The room had gone totally dim during your trip down memory lane, indicating that it was time for everyone to begin getting in their places so that the show could begin. But even in the low lighting, it wasn’t hard to miss the look of fear and doubt flash through Harry’s eyes. The look was something that appeared before every shoot or campaign you had been present for, only lasting seconds, yet always intriguing to you. The man before you was a superstar, someone who pranced around on stage in front of tens of thousands of people every night, without a care in the world. Yet, as soon as your exquisitely tailored clothes touched his body, his shoulders would tense, and he looked like a scared child. You’d never understood why.

“You’re nervous.” It came out as more of a breathy statement than a question.

“‘M terrified.”

You heard those words regularly from your models, especially the new ones, but hearing it fall from between his lips made your stomach tighten. Harry was such a natural at all of this; the superstardom. It was easy to tell that he felt right at home while on stage, how perfectly natural his body reacted whenever the camera was on for a red carpet, how easy going he was when it came to hair and makeup and outlandish outfits. All of it came so easy to him and it blew you away every time you got to witness it. And while he was so good at adjusting quickly to new environments, his team and fans constantly cheering him on with every new endeavor, he was still just a normal twenty five year old guy. He still FaceTimed his mum to get her opinion on new looks, still went out and enjoyed his free time with mates, and still got anxious when trying something new. He never seemed to want to disappoint you or Alessandro when he was wearing the clothes you’d made for him specifically. That was what got to him, you thought, the prospect of ruining spectacular clothes you’d made from scratch. The moments in time you’d just thought back on was indicator enough.

“It’s gonna be great. We saw you during the runthrough yesterday.” you smiled, reminding him how well he had done during the practice show.

“But that’s different. This time it means somethin-” he was cut off by Alessandro yelling it was time for all models to officially line up for showtime. “What if I go too fast and I step on Mae’s shoe, fuck up her walk? Or too slow and clog up the entire runway? Or the hat fal-”

“Hey!” To stop his incessant worrying, your hands grabbed either side of his face, making him stop for a second and look directly at you. He blinked once. “Stop it. You’re going to do amazing. Alessandro wouldn’t have put you in this show if he didn’t have complete confidence in you. And you should know by now I wouldn’t have wasted my oh so precious time making any of this fit you perfectly if I didn’t believe in you.”

Harry’s breathing began calming down, going from almost hysterical to a gentle, rhythmic, intake, indicating that he was coming out of his panic bubble. His eyes never left your own, quite different from all the times they had openly roamed your figure.

“You can do this.” You whispered, nodding slightly and sending him a loving smile as your hands dropped back down to your sides,

Alessandro’s voice yelled over everyone, demanding everyone be in their place immediately, but Harry made no move to leave your side. He continued staring at you, taking a few deep breaths every few seconds and nodding to himself, seeming to give himself a pep talk in his head. The lights went out in the museum, leaving the audience in complete darkness, and you knew the intense sound of an alarm would soon be echoing through the building to start the show.

But none of that held your attention.

In what could have only been a second, Harry’s lips were pressed against yours. It was so quick that you didn’t have time to register what had happened before he was turning to run and join the other models, but it left you stunned. Like being in the warmth of your home during a snowy day and suddenly opening the door, letting the freezing wind hit you in the face.

And as much as the kiss had taken you off guard, it felt so very right that small second it happened. He hadn’t even given it a second thought, leaning in to kiss you like the two of you had been an item for years and it was part of your normal everyday routine. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, and the thought alone made your fingertips ache to be on his skin again. Shaking yourself out the haze that had formed around you mind, your focus and priorities flipped like a switch as soon as the siren began playing, looking around the room to make sure everyone and everything was where it needed to be.  

Just as the precession of models began exiting the dressing room, and The Shadows Die Twice by Br1002 ranging throughout the museum, you made your way up to stand beside Alessandro. There was never a time you saw him truly stressed; not when you first started working with him and you accidentally ruined an entire bundle of fabric, not when he was in charge of creating dozens of different looks for the Met Gala, and not even now, watching as his newest collection strutted down the runway, making its worldwide debut. He was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.

“There she goes.” You admired, resting your head on your boss’ shoulder and watching all 217 of the looks he created and you helped bring to life, be released into the world.

The sense of pride that rushed through your veins each and every time you got to see the pieces you put your heart and soul into, was similar to what you could only imagine it was like for a parent to watch their child flourish. You could remember all the moments during the months leading up to the show that you wanted to quit, when you would get so frustrated with Alessandro and his brilliantly creative mind every time he brought you a new look idea, how badly you wanted to scream after pricking your fingers so much they started to bruise. You remembered all of those times when holding such an important job at Gucci felt like something you just weren’t ready for at the age of twenty four. But every hardship was worth it the moment your work came to a culmination. This moment of absolute pride and excitement.

“How are you feeling?”

Alessandro wrapped his right arm around your shoulder, pulling you so close to his body that it was most comfortable for you to wrap one arm around his back and one around his waist, your hands joining together at his hip. “I feel so much love.”

That was the only way to describe what the two of you were feeling as the show progressed through the museum. Even though the room was dark, tall lighting setups hung in every direction, and hundreds of guests were posted up in chairs, the beauty of the location still shined through. Black and white marble covered the floor throughout the entire building, the diamond pattern flowing easily from room to room, and sculptures of ancient men lined each side of the hallway, seemingly growing from the walls because of the similar colors. About halfway down the hallway, models made a left turn and entered the large area known as Palazzo Nuovo. The “New Palace” was constructed over 400 years ago and was an identical replica of the Palazzo dei Conservatori that Michaelangelo created. You had been to the location many times before since spending 6 months at a time in Italy, but you had never seen it as a place to hold a show. Not until Alessandro had brought you one day and explained his vision as you roamed the hallways.

The quick pass of a red beret on one of the monitors, set up for the backstage team to watch the show, caught your attention. He stayed on camera for a bit, and you wished you could watch his fans meltdown over it in real time because he looked exquisite. Despite the darkness of the room, Harry was glowing. The way the strobe lights would hit his face every few steps and accentuate his already angelic features made your stomach clench. You had spent countless hours up close and personal with Harry, while there was very little fabric covering his body; very intimate and unforgettable moments. Many a-second-too-long looks, smiles when the other wasn’t watching, and an intense almost kiss. And an actual kiss. A tiny kiss. A kiss you still felt on your lips. But now, you were getting hot and bothered thinking about his lips while he strutted down the runway in one of the most conservative outfits of the line.

There was something about the lapel rolls of the jacket flapping open slightly with each step, beautifully showcasing his sparrow tattoos and delicate pendant necklace under the dim lights, that excited you. But it was the faintest smile that graced his lips the second before he left frame that made your heart swell.

The overall look he was sporting was extremely similar to that of his first Men’s Tailoring campaign, with the long robe like jacket and exposed chest, but the glint of both happiness and confidence in his eyes reminded you of the moment you put him into the pink and red ensemble of his latest campaign. Something that still made something inside your tummy flutter and the corners of your mouth tip upward.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Harry said. “I will die. 100%.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, holding the pink blazer up and letting him put both his arms through it. “It’s just pigs.”

“That will have my head if I get too close.”

“This is a Gucci shoot, you’re not on I’m a Celeb.”

Harry huffed, looking at himself in the mirror and adjusting the blazer over his shoulders properly. “Watch me go on I’m a Celeb and die when I get attacked by an exotic animal or summat.”

“A pig won’t be the death of you and it’s not an exotic animal, now shut up and sit down.” You wagged the red bandana at him. “I need to put this on you before we can get this started.”

“Alright then.” Harry shoved his wrists out for you. “Go on.”

You tried to give him a disappointed look, but you simply were not able to. Laughing, you shoved Harry into his seat, standing between his legs as you tied the bandana around his head. This time around, the shoot was mostly indoors, so there weren’t many ways Harry could fuck this one up. Alessandro was busying himself and so were other crew members, walking about you two and shouting orders at someone else, but neither of you noticed anyone but the person before you. Since the lunch in Florence, you had been incredibly busy, so you hadn’t really had much time to meet up. Harry, who was currently travelling and making his second album, hadn’t been available much either, but you were both over the moon that you got to spend this time together. You really missed each other the time you were away.

Since last time, Alessandro had gone out of his way to make rings for those he held dearest. Gold Gucci rings with each person’s initials, one for each letter, big and bold. It had taken you off guard, as you hadn’t thought yourself to be as important to Alessandro as he was to you, but he had insisted and showed you his own. He told you “Dear friends match” and that did it for you, you simply had to wear his rings without question. And since then, you had been wearing them every single day. You felt part of his little family. So when Harry showed up to your third shoot together, wearing matching rings to yours, you felt your heart skip a beat and Alessandro’s knowing eyes on both of you. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew how you both felt for one another, and he thought, by giving you these rings, you might realise how special you were to him and then see how special you were to one another as well.

“You’ll just have to forget about your fear of geese and be a professional.”

“I don’t have a bloody fear of geese.”

You shrugged your shoulders, tying the bandana properly.

“I don’t!”

“Alright, mate.”

Harry paused for a second. “Don’t ‘mate’ me.”

You shook your head, choosing to ignore the comment and how it made literally every inch of your body heat up. Taking a step back you studied him, giving him a thumbs up before you walked over to the other suits you had to check up on for the shoot. Harry watched you for a few seconds before he got up from the chair, going to check himself out in the mirror again. Your phone suddenly vibrated against the desk right in front of the mirror, and Harry’s eyes instantly fell to it. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“Who’s Jack?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry read the text you just got. “Hey!”

“Who is he?” he asked again, looking over at you as you came rushing over. You took the phone, pressing it to your chest as if it was going to make Harry forget what he’d just read. He tried to add a playful undertone to his voice, a slight smile across his lips.

“None of your business.”

Harry looked away from you, nodding as he busied himself with trying to get some kind of lint off his coat. “You’re right.”

You put the phone back in your jean pocket and walked over to the suits again, hunching down to check the seam on the hem on the trousers. You felt your phone vibrate with another notification or vibrate as a reminder that she’d gotten a text two minutes prior. Getting up and about to reach back to check what Jack had wanted, she felt a breath against her neck.

“You’re seeing him then?”

You jumped, holding your hand to your chest as you turned around to face him. “None of your business!”

“Oh, come on!”

You shoved him out of the way, way too much to do to be distracted by Harry’s nosiness. Strolling over to the desk, you started looking through your calendar when Harry showed up beside you again. Leaning on his elbow on the desk, he looked up at you, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible considering how curious he actually was.

“Is he fit at least?”

“He’s not annoying.” You said, covering his face with your hand. You felt him smile into your palm. “Ever tried that?”

“Tried being annoying?” Harry asked. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

You shoved him away, making him lose his balance some and lean both his elbows on the desk. He watched as you walked back to the suits, looking at which ones Alessandro said were to be used by Harry and which ones were to be used by someone else at another time. Just as Harry was about to ask another question about Jack – who was just a mate from back home you hadn’t ever talked to him about because he’d never come up in conversation -, there was a knock at the wardrobe door. Alessandro stood there, a raise to his eyebrows and a small smile on his lips that was almost hidden by his dark, thick, long beard. He’d stood there watching you two for a little while, you thought to yourself.

“Is Harry ready for the shoot?”

“Yes,” you glanced at Harry and pointed at Alessandro. “Go.”

Harry sighed but got up, walking over to Alessandro who was smiling, encouraging Harry to do the same. As he passed him, a small beam was on Harry’s lips, but as he walked through the door, you couldn’t tell if he was still smiling or if he just did it to Alessandro wouldn’t make him. The creative director looked over at you, crossing his arms but not losing his smile.

“What?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“No, what?”

“You could’ve at least told him who Jack was.” Alessandro chuckled.

You rolled your eyes.

“But I get that you want to watch him suffer. It’s funny seeing someone you like be jealous.”

“Harry isn’t jealous.” You said, closing the calendar and placing it neatly back on the desk. “He’s just nosy.”

Alessandro didn’t say anything in response, instead he just walked on over to the shoot, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You weren’t really sure why you hadn’t just told Harry who Jack was. It wasn’t like anything was going on between you and Jack, you were simply mates and he wanted to check up on you and see how things were going. You had absolutely nothing to hide. Especially nothing to the point of keeping your phone close to your chest so he wouldn’t reread the message you’d just gotten, holding no significance whatsoever.

Maybe Alessandro was right. Maybe you did want to see if he was jealous or not. But he didn’t seem jealous to you, just his nosy self. Sighing, you followed Alessandro, ready to be of service if something should go wrong. They hadn’t even started shooting when you walked into the room, they were still walking around, placing the different statues and other props around the place to get it to look exactly like the producer wanted it to. You stood watching for a bit, knowing that your phone was still in your back pocket, untouched since Harry had seen the innocent text from Jack.

Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you, saw a shadow mingle with yours, and you recognised the messy hair and the bandana you’d wrapped around his head earlier. Smiling, you continued to stare ahead, waiting a minute before Harry felt brave enough to answer.

“Did you answer Jack then?” You felt the breath of his words against your hair.

“He just wanted to know how I was, Harry.”

“I know.”

You bit your lip, not looking back at him.

“Guess he just wanted to talk. To feel close to you in a way.”

You huffed, standing your ground and not looking back at him like you knew he wanted you to. “And the point of this is…?”

“Being close to someone you love can calm you down.” Harry said, voice low so only the two of you could hear him. You felt a shiver run up your spine. “Like shelter in a storm; entering a small house and staying for tea before braving the terrible weather again, a little stronger this time with some motivation from those you… hold closest to your heart.”

Your breath hitched somewhere in your throat, feeling both Harry’s breath and eyes on you. It took everything in you not to look at him, to see his soft expression after uttering those equally soft words. “I’m not in love with Jack, Harry.”

Harry was quiet for a second before he said, with the hint of a smile in his voice, “Okay.”

You smiled yourself, wanting to say something in response but not knowing what would be appropriate. You weren’t even sure why you were feeling this much or why Harry being elated you weren’t seeing someone made you this happy. He stood right behind you, just as close, not wavering, till he had to go do the shoot. Walking backwards, he made sure to catch your eye, give you a small smile, before going to do his job. You hated how your cheeks felt hot, that every single time Harry’s dimples appeared you heard something inside your head scream and the every single one of your cells react to him. Glancing over at Alessandro, you caught the creative director watching you with a grin on his face. As soon as your eyes met, though, he turned away, forcing his smile away and pretending like he hadn’t seen a thing. You rolled your eyes, focusing all your attention on Harry, who didn’t let his anxiety get the better of him this time around.

“He’s doing very well.” Alessandro commented, his left hand resting on his chin in a pondering manner.

“He is.”

“Because you replaced his nerves before the show.” From under his hand, you could see a small smirk playing on his lips, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

“I - what?” Lifting away from his side, you stared at Alessandro’s face. And your wide eyes must have made you look like a deer in the headlights because he started chuckling.

You were positive that no one had seen your moment with Harry, considering how dark the little corner you were stood in was. Backstage at a fashion show was crazy enough, there’s no way anyone had been paying attention to the tailor in the back of the room. But the knowing look in your boss’s eyes told you otherwise.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you muttered, folding your arms across your chest.

“Eyes all over my head, il mio amore. I see everything.”

Alessandro had been like this from the moment he introduced you and Harry, almost two years ago at this point. Always motioning from across the room for you to stand just a bit closer to Harry, informing you whenever Harry was remotely near the office, and always leaving the two of you alone each time he was scheduled for a fitting. It was like he was making it his life’s mission to get his two prodigies together.

“Don’t laugh at me. This is your fault, you know?”

Feigning offence and his hand moved from his chin to his chest, Alessandro turned away from the monitor to finally look directly at you, “Mine? Why do you say that?”

“‘You have a lot in common.’ or how about, ‘look at my two loves together!’ or my personal favorite, ‘The two of you together, assolutamente da togliere il fiato!’”your impersonation of him had gotten extremely good over the last few years, bringing a soft smile to his lips. “Any of those ringing any bells?”

“Only encouraging what you both know to be true, cara.”

“You’re absurd.”

At this point, the first model had made his way back to the dressing room, immediately going to line up for the final walk through. It was scheduled to be a quick show, only about thirteen minutes from first walk to last, but you never imagined it would go by this fast. As the models began to line back up, both you and Alessandro separated, going to either side of the line to join the other tailor in making sure each outfit was still in its pristine condition. You you had a few loose threats to snip here, and a broken necklace to dispose of there, but overall, everyone was still looking perfect.

Especially Harry.

His head was craned, watching you as you made your way down the line behind him, and as soon as you stepped in front of him to quickly examine his apparel, he whispered your name.

“Haven’t tripped yet.” he smirked, adjusting the red glasses on his nose.

“I know, I was watching.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We were talking about you. Turn around.” grabbing hold of his shoulder, you pulled forward, “Making him proud, you know.”

His shoulders relaxed under your palms, like hearing the news of making one of his idols happy set him free and he could now have the utmost fun with the final walk through.

“Alright. Good luck.”

But before you could get to the next model, his hand caught your arm. In any other situation, you’d be annoyed that you were being stopped from completing your job, but the look on Harry’s face made all worries about any other model fade from your mind.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you proud?”

The question took you off guard. Was really that concerned with what you thought of his performance? He was one of the most renowned superstars in the world, who danced his heart out on stage and did what made him happy no matter what others thought. But your opinion was the one who made his hands clam up? And had you ever made him feel like you weren’t proud? You always thought your quick jabs to one another were all in good fun, but maybe you had gone too far and made him doubt himself.

“Always proud of everything you do.”

It was the honest answer. Getting to watch him excel in every aspect of life he threw himself into, make decisions that helped so many people, putting his friends and family first, and making sure he was happy above all else, was inspiring to say the least. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t feel immense pride for even just getting the chance to know Harry. And in that moment, you promised yourself that you would make it more apparent to him from then on.

A large smile spread across his face, and even in the poor lighting, you could see the apples of his cheeks turn a rosey pink. He looked undeniably cute and following your heart as well as Alessandro’s previous encouragements, you decided to take a leap of faith.

“Come find me after the show. Gotta talk.”

The happiness faded from both his face and his eyes, and you instantly regretted the way you phrased your sentence. “Nothing bad, I promise! Just come find me, yeah?”

You had moved on to the next model, giving her a smile and a quick “Hello Mae” and began checking her dress as Harry was still processing your request. His hands were fidgeting with the fingerless gloves and he was undoubtedly about to break skin with how hard he was biting his lip. You felt like a proper idiot for making him nervous again after he was so happy.

“Calm down, would you? You’re starting to stress me out.” you laughed, giving Mae the okay and moving onto the next model. Sending him a wink, you nodded your head, making him well aware of how unserious this conversation was going to be.

A faster paced rendition of The Shadows Die Twice started playing, just as you finished checking over your designated models, indicating that it was time for the final walk through to begin. After these final few minutes, all the garments you had worked tirelessly on for months, would be totally completed. And usually, you would be filled with ease and comfort knowing you would have some time off before your next project. But this time was different.

This time, Alessandro had consulted you on many of the pieces making their way down the runway, showing just how much he valued and trusted your opinion. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be where you are today, but because of the man standing next to you, believing in your talent and putting your passion to use, you were living out a dream that you never knew you had.

“Thank you.” You whispered

“For what?”

“For believing in me enough to hire me four years ago. For not letting me give up when I was confused. For always encouraging me. Just - thank you.”

“Never have to thank me for those things, tesoro. The potential and passion inside you needs to be explored! I’m honored I get to be the one to help you embrace them!” Alessandro pulled you into a tight hug, the two of you swaying as you watched the models capture the attention of each guest one last time.

Lifting to stand on your tiptoes you whispered in Alessandro’s ear, but even though your statement was barely loud enough to be heard over the booming music, apparently it was just loud enough for your boss to hear, because his head snapped back and he grabbed you by the shoulders, holding you at arms length.

“What?!”

“Mhm.”

“Together?”

“Mhm.” It was hard not to continue your giggles at his bewildered expression.

“How come?”

You shrugged, “I guess I just have a bloody persuasive boss.”

Once again, models began entering the dressing room, but this time, instead of staying in strict model mode, they were letting loose. Smiles were spread all over their faces, rushing to give each other hugs and words of encouragement. It was a beautiful sight to watch, the release of pressure the show brought to the models and the absolute joy they were now basking in.

“Il tuo tempo per brillare, rockstar.” your time to shine, rockstar. giving his shoulder a pat, you watched as he sucked in a deep breath, preparing himself to walk the runway and accept the congratulatory applause about to be thrown his way once the last model had arrived backstage.

It was during this part, for some reason, that you always saw a bit of his nerves pop out. Maybe it was because of all the wandering eyes and unknown opinions, but walking out to thank the guests for attending seemed to be the only thing that ever made Alessandro nervous. And you would never admit it to him, but you enjoyed seeing him a bit on edge, reminded you that he wasn’t just some fashion robot, but a man who just wanted to be accepted for his unique and creative mind.

Your position in the back room made it easy to be a part of both atmosphere’s; the juxtaposition between the loud, bustling back room and angelic, calming sound of Bach - St. John Passion BWV 245: Herr echoing off of the marble walls was like a metaphor for your life these last few months. How at times, everything around you was so busy and fast paced that it was sometimes hard to get a handle on what was happening. But then moments like this happened and none of failures or pricked fingers mattered. Because watching your boss, the man you admired with all your heart and were lucky to call a friend, walk down his own runway, accepting love he deserved, on pieces you had helped create, was the most heavenly feeling you could imagine.

You watched as he made his way through the museum quickly, stopping every so often to bow his head in gratitude and send kisses to everyone in the audience.

“I see why you like this so much.”

Harry stood next to you, hands buried deep in his pants pockets, the long overcoat pushed back behind his arms, just enough that you got a good view of the sparrow tattoos and the very tip of the bird cage on his rib peaking out from under the white tank top. He didn’t look at you, instead, his eyes were trained on the monitor, watching the man who gave you each the chance to flourish in a world you never expected.

“Hmm? Why’s that?”

“Fucking exihlerating walking down that runway.” he admitted, the sentance coming out in a breathy laugh like he couldn’t believe how much fun he had. “Can’t imagine what it’s like for the people that created it all.”

“Yeah, quite hard coming down from a high like this, so he usually takes a week or so off before jumping back into things.” you chuckled, thinking back to when you’d received an influx of text messages the last time Alessandro had gone off the grid, depicting how much he loved bees and would be incorporating them into the new collection after staying on a bee farm for a few days.

“Alessandro did a phenomenal job.” he paused, finally taking his eyes away from the screen and turning his entire body so that he was now facing you. “But so did you.”

If he hadn’t been staring directly at you, he would have missed the roll of your eyes. Of course, you were thankful to be a part of something so extraordinary, but this was all Alessandro. It was all his vision and even though you were asked to help finalize a few looks, this masterpiece was all thanks to him, and you wouldn’t take credit for any of it.

But before you could explain all of that to Harry, he said your name softly, moving a tad closer so your elbow was just barely touching his stomach. “‘M serious. These may have been his finalized pieces, but you quite literally put it all together. There would be no final product without your work.”

“Harry -”

“Don’t ‘Harry’ me, wanker, you’re bloody amazing at what you do. But you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone walking around this room is example enough.”

Receiving compliments from Harry wasn’t anything new to you. For as long as you’d known him, he was always looking for the good in people and making sure they knew about it. If you had to guess, that was probably one of the his main qualities that initially drew fans in, because all anyone wanted in life was to feel good; appreciated. And that’s exactly what he had been doing for you since the day he walked through your office doors. It was the little things that made your stomach turn to mush; holding your pin cushion when he knew it would make a session easier for you, bringing you a smoothie when you’d told him you didn’t have time to eat before a shoot, sending you funny memes in the middle of the night, or even just seeing his dimpled smile appear when he finally got to see his immaculately executed wardrobe. No matter what the circumstance was, simply being around Harry made you feel happy, calm, and you didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

“Just look around an-”

“Do you want to go on a date?” when you’d asked him earlier to find you after the show so you could chat, you didn’t exactly expect the conversation to start out so blunt, but he just looked so cute and sincere telling you in his own way how proud of you he was.

“Wh-“

“There’s, um, there’s this really great restaurant not too far from here. Most delicious pasta you’ll ever eat, not to mention the cutest old couple on the planet runs it and they’ll def-“

“I haven’t eaten since this morning, so if you’re going to keep talking, I’ll just go eat this amazing pasta by myself.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right, that was a dumb que-“ it wasn’t his words that made you stop mid sentence, but more the soft smile that spread across his face, his dimple popping out slightly beneath his growing facial hair. There was no hesitation in his acceptance to your dinner date, contrary to what you were expecting, and it made the tips of your ears warm up. “Oh! Um, perfect. Yeah, great. Okay.”

Never had you been so flustered by the man standing before you. This wouldn’t be the first time you grab a bite to eat with him, and definitely wouldn’t be the first time the two of you spent time alone, but the way he was looking at you, like none of what he just did mattered, was definitely a first.

“Okay, um, just get dressed and I’ll meet you outside?”

“‘M serious, hurry up. Might starve to death while you’re busy chatting.” Harry joked, slowly walking away while still facing you, his finger coming out to point right at you, “Then you’ll have to explain to everyone how your desperate need to talk to everyone you come in contact with, was the reason behind the death of the Harry Styles.”

“Oi, fuck off. Says the man who made sure to learn something about every single person setting up the show today. Go get dressed before I slap the Harry Styles.”

The slight shake of his head kept your attention as he weaved his way through the bustling room, back towards the vanity he had claimed as his own. You’d watched the scene in front of you play out many times before; models spread out throughout the room, some having changed immediately into their own comfortable clothes, some tossing their heads back in eased laughter, and some every sitting back with their feet up, enjoying a basket of chips. No matter how each of them decided to unwind after such a monumental show, it never got old. Because just as they did, you had your own post show ritual.

You didn’t divulge in unhealthy foods or put on your most comfortable pair of socks; you organized your kit one last time. From the moment Alessandro sits you down with his new vision until the last model walks off the runway, you know to keep millions of pins, thread of all colors, buttons of every shape and size, and even some super glue on you at all times. They would undoubtedly get used throughout the months of alterations and mishaps, if not by you, then by a member of your team. So, taking a moment to sit and go through everything once the night was officially over was a sort of release for you. A way for you to touch and feel just how much hard work had gone into your work. How the container holding your pins was considerably lighter, the spool of black thread had nearly vanished, and the pile of band aids in the lower pocket was down to three. All signs that you put your heart and soul into this collection.

There was never any guarantee when Alessandro would find inspiration next and when his next project would begin, meaning you never knew when the next time you’d be opening your kit was. But this time, that wasn’t the case. He had planned at least three more shoots before the years end, so you were only allotted a few weeks of laid back free time this time around.

“Packing up so soon?”

“You know how I like to close out a show.” You chuckled, not turning to look at your boss, but seeing his hand reach out and fingertips graze over the very top of your bag.

“How many this time?”

“28 buttons, nearly the entire tin of pins, 64 band aids, and two mini bottles of wine.”

“You should be proud, il mio amore, that’s two less bottles than last time! It’s about progress!”

“Two less because someone yelled at me less this time around.” Finally getting back to your feet, you turned to face him and noticed that he had thrown his hair up to get it away from his sweaty forehead. “No need to drink if you aren’t crying in the fabric closet.”

“Lo faccio solo con amore, Tesoro, lo sai.” I only do it with love honey, you know. His smile was contagious as he took your hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Look at how far you’ve come. Such beautiful art comes from these hands.”

“Do you know what you’ll do until the fragrance shoot?”

“I will be taking Vanni to see my brother. A nice peaceful place to become one again. Where will you go?”

“My flat in Florence has been calling my name for weeks, Lallo.” He smiled fondly at the nickname. “Will probably do some redecorating while I’m there.”

“And some dates, no?”

“I really don’t know why I bother telling you anything. Like my father, you are.”

“Well I am the reason for this, am I not? Seems only right that I know all the details.”

“Details of what?”

“How I’m redecorating my flat in Florence.” Your response was quick, and you sent Alessandro a stern side glare so that he knew not to bring up anything of what you were just speaking of.

“Yes, I told her that I expect pictures.”

“Oh, add me to that list as well then! I’d love to see how you decorate. ‘M always looking for new inspiration.”

“Um, yeah sure. You ready?” if Harry could sense how awkward you felt when he joined you and Alessandro, he made no move to indicate it. Especially now, smiling at your agreement.

“Yup. Ready to enjoy some of Earth’s finest pasta.”

“Oh!” Alessandro brightened at Harry’s words, his back straightened, and eyes widened. “Are you taking him to Chiaro Di Luna?” you nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Magnifico! A wonderful place you will love!”

“Well he won’t love it if we keep standing here so…”

“Have fun my prodigies!”

Both you and Harry laughed quietly as you finally walked away from the man of the hour. You may have known him in different ways, but each of you got the chance to see a side of Alessandro most people didn’t – parental type figure who wanted nothing but love and prosperity for you both.

“He’s like that with you all the time as well?”

“Hmm?”

You took a glance at him when pressing the button for the lift, just to be met with his warm eyes already looking at you. He looked handsome after the show – not that he wasn’t always handsome, but something about seeing him work so hard and then look so comfortable made your chest tingle. He was wearing a pair of dark yellow corduroy pants – the flare at the ankles not nearly as large as some of the flares he owns, but wide nonetheless – paired with a red and blue striped shirt, a tiny Mickey Mouse head embroidered into the upper left breast and a black bomber jacket.  He looked relaxed and everything that spending time in Italy embodied.

“Does he turn into dad mode on you as well?”

Harry laughed, “He means well.”

It was no surprise that Harry had brought along a plethora of fans, all eagerly awaiting his presence back outside after the show, so there was no way the two of you could casually stroll out of the front doors to get to your late dinner date. Instead, you were walking through the basement hallway so that you could make your speedy escape through the lower side exit, directly across from Cafe Capitolino.

“You think you’d do another?”

“You think I’d be asked to do another?”

Your hand found it’s way up to his forehead as the two of you strolled through Piazelle Caffarelli - the quaintest little park directly across from the museum. In the bright moonlight, the beds of flowers and statues almost appeared to glow, directing your path through the garden.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“Huh?”

“You must be sick because I’m not seeing your ego anywhere.”

“Oh piss off.” he laughed, lifting his own arm so that he could slap yours - playfully - away from his face. “‘M serious.”

“So am I. You’re one of the most confident people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen you doing your music thing Harry. You’re good and you know it. Where’s that attitude here?”

He was quiet as the two of you finally made it out of the garden and crossed the main street, focusing on stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and tugging it closer to his torso. His hair had grown quite a lot since the first time you’d met him years ago, and the curls, wild from being kept under a cap for hours, were blowing in the small breeze.

“‘Dunno. I was nervous when I did the film as well. Guess doing something new like this makes me question if I’m given the chance to do it because I’m genuinely good at it, or just because they want my name on it.”

That was a surprise to you. From the moment you met him, you could feel the confidence he emitted. In fact, it rubbed off on most who were working with him. He made the people around him feel confident in themselves and what they were doing, and always encouraged when someone was feeling down.

“You’re very much wanted on this team for what you bring to it, not your name. I’m sorry if you were made to feel anything less.”

“No!” he quickly rebutted, gaining the attention of the few people wandering the street late at night. But he paid no mind to them, only focused on looking at you to make sure you heard what he was saying cearly. “You haven’t, at all. None of you have. Just don’t want to be known as the guy who gets jobs because he was in a band.”

“Can promise you that Lallo wouldn’t have asked you to be a part of so many shoots and such an important show if he didn’t completely and wholeheartedly believe you were perfect for it.”

You watched him nod and mutter a quiet I guess, the moon peeking over the Gran Caffe Roma and highlighting his eyelashes and very tip of his nose so perfectly that he began to look like a statue.

“Lallo?”

“Yeah.” a quick chuckle left your mouth, a hand coming up to rub your cheek while you thought of your response. “After I finished my first collection for him, it was a small one so he could see if I was right for the position, he took me out for drinks to celebrate me getting the job. Long story short, we both had a few too many and I started calling him Lallo and it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.” his hand was wiggling about, trying to escape the confines of the jacket pocket, and when it finally did, it brushed against your own. You both looked down at the close proximity of your hands and you felt the air immediately get thicker. He must have felt the same because when you briefly look up at him over your lashes, he was staring straight ahead; very apparently trying not to make any sudden moves.

But the millisecond the warmth of skin left yours, you wanted it back. Maybe it was the tiny kiss you shared backstage just hours ago, or the built up tension between the two of you that had started during his second campaign shoot, whatever it was, you were done dancing around the obvious. Without giving it a second thought or looking anywhere but straight ahead, you lifted your pointer finger ever so slightly. Just enough so that it gently rubbed against his. You wanted to give him the option of pursuing anything further, so just as quickly as the contact began, it ended; your fingers settling by your side yet again.

However, the breeze working it’s way between your hands didn’t last long, because almost immediately after your little move, you felt his fingers slowly creep around your hand. He didn’t move fast, almost as if he was letting the calm Italian breeze join your hands together. And slower than you would have liked, your entire hand was enclosed by his, feather touches to make sure the other was comfortable with where things had gone.

You wanted to make sure Harry knew just how okay you were with his hand keeping yours warm, so you continued talking as if nothing had happened. “‘M the only one who gets to call him that though, so don’t go parading around saying it.”

“Loud and clear. Your secret's safe with me.” he laughed, his grip on your hand tightening when a strong gust of wind blew through the small alleyway you were walking down and you shivered, “Cold?”

“No, I’m alright.” you lied, the air outside always making you significantly colder after leaving the sauna that was a fashion show back room.

Instead of letting go of the idea of you being cold, Harry lightly tugged on your joined hands, stuffing them into his jacket pocket, which then forced you to move closer to his side. Italy in May wasn’t a time you would consider cold; the sun shone nearly every day, warming your cheeks, and there was no need for anything more than a light jumper, but the warmth radiating from Harry’s side made it feel as if you were strolling around on an August day. But you welcomed it, despite the race of your heart.

“Looking forward to having some time off?”

“Absolutely. I really do need to redecorate my place. ‘M sure Lilliana hasn’t been taking care of the plants as often as I’d like so I’ll have to make a stop and pick up some new ones.”  you were mostly speaking to yourself, so you elaborated when he didn’t respond. “Lilliana is a girl who lives across the street. She’s sixteen, and has been watching my place ever since I started with Gucci. Doesn’t want to get paid or anything, only wants me to get her a meeting with Alessandro when she turns eighteen. Told her I’d see what I can do, but he’s already seen some of her designs. She’s very talented.”

“You’re really wonderful, you know.”

The compliment made the tips of your ears warm, and you were worried that the palms of your hands would start to clam up if you thought about the way you could feel him looking at you, so you quickly changed the subject, your hand clumsily sliding out of his pocket to point at the tiny restaurant in front of you.

“Here we are!”

Nestled at the very end of the alley, was your destination. Only two tables were set up outside, the tiny patio was past picturesque; it was straight out of a movie. A metal fence was surrounding the seating area on two sides - the third wall was created by the muted terracotta building and the fourth was left open for easy access. Wrapped around the very tops of the fence were some fairy lights, not enough to cover the entire thing, but enough to give a bit of lighting on the otherwise dark road, and creating a pathway to the front door, sat a nice variety of potted plants. And with the green doors to the shop left open, the smell of freshly baked bread immediately hit you and Harry in the face.

“This is amazing.” his voice was full of wonder and you appreciated the fact that even he, someone who had been around the world and back many times, never took for granted the small beauties of the world.

“Just wait until you try the food.” you smiled, bringing your hand up to your mouth in a mock chef’s kiss. “Deliziosa!”

The boisterous laugh that fell from between his lips was enough to catch the attention of whoever was working inside. It didn’t take long for them to walk down the front steps, seeing as the inside of the establishment was also small. But the second his face lit up from the wall mounted lights, you smiled.

“Lorenzo! Così bello vederti di nuovo!” Lorenzo! It’s so good to see you again!

“Mio dolce! Mi sei mancato!” My sweet! I’ve missed you! His arms opened wide as he walked down the single step, instantaneously enveloping you in a hug. He smelled of pasta sauce and pizza dough, the evidence of his hard work sprinkled across his withered cheek.

“Mi dispiace! Sai quanto può essere intenso il lavoro! Soprattutto con un capo come il mio!” I’m sorry! You know how intense work can be! Especially with a boss like mine!

You watched Lorenzo’s face light up when he pulled away from you and heard your boss’ name. The two had met ages ago and he was the one who had introduced the two of you. “Ah! Alessandro! Confido che stia bene! E chi hai portato con te questa volta, cara?” Ah! Alessandro! I trust he is doing well! And who have you brought with you this time, dear?

Feeling bad for leaving Harry out of the brief conversation, you angled your body so that you were now facing him, moving your hand between the two men in front of you. “Lorenzo, this is Harry. Harry, Lorenzo.”

True to his nature, Harry immediately stuck his hand out and offered a ‘you alright?’ to the older gentleman, but Lorenzo was having none of that. Completely ignoring the waiting hand, and having to stand a bit on his toes in order to wrap his arms around the younger man’s upper back, he pulled Harry in for a tight hug.

“Any friend of hers is a friend of mine! Benvenuto!”

“Hai un… posto bellissimo qui!” Lorenzo’s smile grew as the two separated and Harry slowly racked his mind for the right words. “Was that right?”

“It was! Thank you, we do love it here!”

“Speaking of..” you cut in, “I know it’s late but do you think we could steal a plate or two?”

“For you, mio caro, anything.” he lifted his calloused hand to gently pat your cheek. “Why don’t the two of you sit down and I will bring you a few dishes. I’ve got some fettuccine alla carbonara if you’d like. I’m sure I can find something else if-”

“That sounds wonderful, Lorenzo, thank you.”

You watched as his frail figure made its way back into the shop, taking an extra second to carefully climb the single step. It was the perfect night to sit outside and enjoy one of your favorite meals, but even more perfect to turn around and see Harry holding a chair out, waiting for you to join him at the table.

“Thank you.” you hoped the smirk you were trying to hide wasn’t visible in the dimly lit back alley and he couldn’t tell how much the small gesture made your heart race.

“So tell me,” he sighed once he finally sat down next to you, his forearms leaning against the small wooden table so that he could look directly at you. “You really like the food here or do you just keep coming back because he adores you?”

“I take offense that you think I’d use my charming personality just to get a free plate of pasta.” the stare shared between you both was one of comedy - his eyebrow raised in question and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I use it for two.”

“I knew it.”

“It really is the best, swear it! Tried to get him to teach me the recipe once but he won’t budge. Says he won’t allow it to leave the family.”

“He always here this late? Seems to be a bit… old… to be here at quarter eleven.” he never broke eye contact while speaking to you, but his fingers began to roam around, slowly inching towards your own empty hands. There was no move to do anything more than brush his fingers against yours, but you longed for him to envelop your smaller ones in his.

“For as long as I’ve known him. Always comes in to prep for the people who come in at five the next morning.”

“Good bloke.” he nodded, craning his neck a bit so he could look around him, “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my own restaurant.”

A deep belly laugh spilled from your lips upon hearing his words, your body’s finally making contact when you lifted your hand and placed it on his forearm to ground yourself.

“What’s so funny about that?” his voice held a certain aura of feigned offence, but you knew not to take it too seriously by the bright smile covering his face. It was a different kind of smile than you were used to seeing him give, but you welcomed it and never wanted to see it end. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle a tad more than normal, mouth open a bit wider, and entire body lean forward.

“Harry, I’ve known you nearly three years. Never once have I heard you mention wanting to have your own restaurant. I’ve been told a lawyer, a florist, even a physiotherapist, but a chef? Can you even cook?”

“Now I'm offended! I’ll have you know that I used to cook for the band all the time!”

“Beans on toast doesn't count as cooking, Harry.”

“Leave off.” somewhere during your mock argument and Harry laughing at you, his hand had fully found its way to yours, wrapping around it carefully as not to disturb the perfect peace the two of you had going. “You’ll just have to come over so I can prove to you just how good I am.”

Obviously he didn’t mean it in any other way than a friend inviting another friend over for a nice meal, but the way his tongue jut out before speaking, leaving his lips shining and nearly begging for attention, made the sentence mean a lot more to you than he led on.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that, mate.”

“Don’t mate me while I’m holding your hand, mate.” you swear it was like Harry was trying to push every single last button you had. Not only was he smirking while giving your hand a squeeze, but with each word, he seemed to be gradually leaning closer to you.

Almost as if he was waiting for the most perfectly inopportune moment, Lorenzo made his presence known with the clink of two wine glasses that echoed through the small alley. The sound made you and Harry separate as quickly as possible and look towards the older man.

“Two dishes of my world famous fettuccine paired with the best bottle of wine you could ask for!”

“But we didn’t ask for wine, Lorenzo.”

“It’s alright because you are new here, but when I give you a bottle of wine, you take it.”

“He says it makes for a better experience.” you shrug, taking the glasses and bottle from the tray so that he would have an easier time setting down your plates.

“Non puoi goderti i frutti del tuo lavoro senza un po ‘di divertimento!”

“Yeah yeah, as you say. Now take this before I stay here all night and give it to Mateo, because you know he’ll take it.” you tried handing him a few folded up fifties, but you weren’t surprised when he didn’t accept, but insead, backed away from your outstretched hand.

“Mio caro, no. I do not want that from you. I just enjoy seeing your beautiful face every now and again.”

“Lorenzo, you know I won’t stop. Please”

“You are too much, ragazza dolce. Please come tell me if you need anything more.”

“What did he say to you just then? I caught fruit and fun but that’s where it stops.” Harry asked as soon as the older man was out of ear shot. He was trying hard to look at you, but the steaming plate of food before you both was enough to pull anyone’s attention away, so you didn’t fault him for being mesmerized.

“Come on, hot shot, have your Italian lessons taught you nothing?”

“Wow you’re really riding me tonight, huh?” if only. “I’m busy alright. Got a lot going on up here.” he used his pointer and middle finger to tap against his temple, “Gets hard to remember things sometimes.”

“You know I’m just taking the piss.” unable to wait any longer, you began to twist your fork in the pasta while giving him an explanation. “Said you can’t enjoy the fruits of your labor without having a little fun.”

“He’s got a point you know.”

“If you try and tell me that I need to be prouder of my work, I will dump all of that food on the ground before you even have the chance to try it.”

“You wouldn’t dare. Not if it’s as good as you say it is.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m serious, love.” Harry had called you many pet names since your first meeting, but love had never been one of them. It sounded so comforting falling his lips, like it was the only word you wanted to hear for the rest of time, and it made your insides instantly warm - and it wasn’t from the wine. “You’re outrageously talented. Everyone on the planet can see it except for you.”

“I’m proud of what I do, Harry. Just don’t feel like it’s right to take any bit of credit for something I only helped put together.” sure, you helped transform the clothing from pieces of mixed matched fabrics into the collections that hit the runways, but they weren’t your ideas or designs, so you felt only fair to give credit where it was rightfully due.

“Alright. Fine then. If you won’t take credit for your work, I’ll do it for you.” he cleared his throat after finishing off his glass of wine, back straightening and his chest puffing out after filling with air. “Hello!” he shouted, followed by introducing your name, “I am the lead tailor for Gucci and I just completed my fourth Cruise Collection!”

“Shh!! Harry!” you really did try to keep it together while tugging on his arm, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped as he kept shouting praising about you to the empty Roman streets.

“I’m one of the best in the world and everyone is absolutely dying to work with me!”

“Harry!” you laughed again, this time, cupping your hand over his lips that he couldn’t say anymore. “I get it, my god.”

“Do you? Because I can do it again. Hello -”

“I do, thank you.” your smile was genuine, truly appreciating the fact that he always had such nice things to say about you and your work. “But please just shut up and eat, yeah?”

Finally the two of you were silent, smiling to yourselves so that you could enjoy your awaiting food. Until you weren’t.

A loud moan from next to you quickly made your head snap up in desperate need to see where it had come from. There was no one else it could have come from, but to hear the sound fall from Harry’s mouth wasn’t something you were prepared for. Nor was the sight of carbonara sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you were right.” he moaned again, this time much smaller, “This is the greatest pasta on the planet.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now that there are very few times that’d I’m not right.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from the man indoors, who when you looked up over Harry’s shoulder, you saw standing in the window smiling and giving you a thumbs up. Of course he was on the same page as Alessandro and would be trying to put both you and Harry in the mood for a romantic night. But to hear the chords of ‘So This Is Love’ play through whatever speaker he had in his kitchen, really did surprise you.

“Lorenzo!” you yelled, not caring about waking whatever kind of neighbors he had

“What?”

“Really?”

“I just turned on my music, mio caro! Please enjoy your meal.”

Snickering from next to you made you roll your eyes,  “Don’t laugh at him, you’re only egging him on, Harry.”

“‘M not, I’m not!” you sent him a pointed look, taking the last gulp of wine from your glass and pouring yet another. “Alright, maybe just a little. But only because I think ya look cute when you’re flustered, is all.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you’re a right bellend.”

“Only to a select few!” the sound of his light laugh was drowned out by the creaking of his chair as he pushed it backwards. In a second, he was at his feet, ignoring your question of ‘what are you doing?’ to stand in front of you. “Signora.” his mouth may not have made any movements to smile, but you could see his eyes holding one back.

He mocked bowed, resting one arm behind his back as the other hand engulfed one of your sitting on top of the table. The pads of his fingers caressed the inside of your hand as he gently picked it up, slowly slotting your two hands together. It felt like an out of body experience, like you were watching the scene happen as an onlooker, instead of being a part of it. Because the second he picked his head up from the bow, his eyes met yours. Hundreds of unidentified thoughts raced through your mind and your breathing stopped when he picked up your hand completely, the distance between it and his lips growing short and shorter every second. With one quick, quiet, exhale falling from your lips, he placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles, keeping his eyes set on yours.

It could have been every innocent moment the two of you had spent together over the last two and a half years, or watching him perform his heart out just hours ago in garments that you literally built, or maybe even the way his eyes sparkled in the Italian moonlight, but staring at him as he stood back up straight, his hand still holding yours, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

“Care to dance?”

It wasn’t the spark that radiated through your hands or the wind pulling at your blouse, but the look of endearment in Harry’s eyes that made you stand from your chair, accepting his offer. His free arm wound around your waist while yours rested on his shoulders, your body now flush against his. It wasn’t the perfect setting for be slow dancing; the twinkling lights were barely bright enough for you to see where you were stepping, the cobblestone beneath your trainers made the arches of your feet hurt, and the open space was very limited between the table and building, but the soft instrumental of ‘Bella notte’ playing from inside the shop and the wine flowing through your veins, made it something out of a dream.

The sun shone in through the window and straight into your eyes, making you blink awake with a small wrinkle between your brows. First thing you noticed was that you were sleeping in the cream blouse you had worn the night before, your trousers off and hopefully, you thought to yourself, so was most of your make-up as well. Second thing you noticed was the hand on your hip and the other under your head, the breathing against your skin and the forehead against your neck. Third… was something else entirely…

Memories from the night before came back in bits and pieces, bringing a small smile to your face. How you and Harry had both drunkenly stumbled down the hallway at like one, how you had struggled to get the key to your room in the lock, and how Harry had playfully pushed you out of the way to help you with it. How he helped you indoors, and how you’d asked him to stay. There hadn’t been a sexual intent behind the words, just an infatuated drunk speaking truthfully to another. You remember asking Harry to not look as you took your trousers off, and that you thought it’d be a good idea to take your bra off but sleep in your silk blouse. Harry on the other hand, kept all his clothes on, laying down beside you in bed and told you goodnight before you’d even managed to get yourself properly under the sheets. He must’ve been exhausted. It’d been a long day after all.

You woke up in the spooning position; his arm resting across your hip, breathing onto your skin, forehead against your neck, holding you close. Even before Harry woke up and noticed what was going on, you tried to understand why you felt like something wasn’t as it usually was. You felt Harry’s sharp intake of breath behind you and then him moving his head away from you, lifting the hand that had been placed on your hip, running it over his face. It wasn’t till you were about to turn around to face him that you both realised what was resting between you. You both stopped abruptly, silence filling the room around you.

“Bollocks.” Harry hissed between his teeth, glancing down at where his morning wood pressed against his yellow trousers and your ass and thigh. “So sorry.” He didn’t really know how to move as to not make it worse. Walking away from bed would mean you’d have to see the bulge in his trousers, but staying there would be absolute fucking torture.

You tried your hardest not to giggle, feeling a flush wave through your body.

“I-I… I don’t know what to do now. Sorry.” Harry said, feeling so embarrassed he was unsure what the next right thing to do would be.

Thinking back on everything that had happened, on everything that had transpired between the two of you, you suddenly felt a surge of dominance run through you. The countless times you’d waited for Harry to kiss you, the times he could’ve reached for your hand in the silence of the moment, the hundreds of hours you’d spent smiling at each other. The numerous missed opportunities. All the ‘what if’s. You hated them all, but they’d led you to this moment. It had all came down to this. Here, now. You two, in bed, Harry grunting in frustration into the pillow and you smiling to yourself, not at all sorry for him waking up hard against you. In fact, you didn’t mind it at all. After everything last night, this felt right. After absolutely everything you two had been through, it didn’t feel weird.

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Harry there with his eyes shut tightly.

“What’re you doing?”

His cheeks were red, obviously incredibly embarrassed about all of this. “Willing my woodie away, what does it bloody look like?”

You couldn’t help your laughter, shaking into Harry who smiled at the sound of your exclamations of joy. Slowly, you moved your arse against him, feeling his erection between your bumcheeks. Harry stilled, watching you with wide eyes as you did it again. Reaching behind you, you took a grip of Harry’s hand that had been on your hip earlier, placing it back there so he could feel you swaying against him. You felt an inhale of breath against you, then Harry’s fingers instantly grip onto you. He watched you as you continued to roll your hips against him, loving the hot feeling it sent to the spot between your legs. You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced down at Harry’s hand on your bare skin, letting him see just how much you liked this.

Instantly, he moved closer to you, wrapping the arm he’d been resting under your neck around you, taking a grip of your shoulder. The other one he slowly slid further down, moving closer and closer to the space between your legs that ached for him. You closed your eyes as he hovered above you, laying his palm flat against your cunt, the breathy and barely audible moan that left your lips driving him insane. Laying some pressure on you, you inhaled sharply, both your hands gripping the arm wrapped around your neck. The heat that had started in the very bottom of your stomach intensified, and got even hotter when he ran his fingers seductively over you. Feather-like touches, soft kisses to your cheek and neck, absolutely nothing mattered but the fire that was being ignited in your core.

Harry pushed your knickers aside, running his ring and middle finger between your folds. While doing so, he pushed your hips to rock against him, causing a friction between the two of you unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. You gasped, opening your eyes and looking at Harry who was watching you more intently than you’d ever seen before. He looked so hot like that, demanding you to please him while he was pleasing you. Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made him feel.

You reached down, wiggling your hips as you dragged your knickers down your legs. You threw them somewhere far away before turning back to Harry. This time, you sat up and onto his lap, looking down on him while you rested your hands at the zipper of his yellow trousers. He let out a small breath, heart hammering against his chest as he watched you sit on him like that; look at him like that. He’d never thought he’d be lucky enough to find himself in this position, and yet, here he was. You reached for his zipper, undoing it as Harry did both the buttons. You sat up on your knees helping Harry as he tried to get out of his trousers, but it seemed harder than either of you thought.

“Just get them off.” You said, reaching behind you to push them further down.

“Not so easy when you’re on top of me like that.” Harry answered, sitting up to drag them off. Your faces were suddenly very close.

“Alright, I’ll get off-“

“-No,” he answered abruptly. “Please don’t.”

You stopped, letting Harry take his trousers off and throw them to the ground, not breaking eye contact with you once. You felt him against you, felt how hot he was for you like you were for him; how badly he wanted you. His eyes flickered to your mouth before he glanced back up into your eyes again, lips parting as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know the right words for it. You had taken control so far, so you watched him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. And it was as if he knew your thoughts exactly. He took a grip of the back of your neck, bringing you to him.

The second your lips met, you closed your eyes, melting into the kiss and melting into Harry. You hadn’t really shared a proper kiss till now, only having had that small peck and him kissing your hand. But this was a real kiss. You tasted him, felt him. Surrounding you and everything you knew in those sublime seconds your lips were pressed against one another. Heavenly, carefully, gingerly, Harry slipped his tongue into your mouth, and you welcomed him completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. He pulled you to him, devouring one another unapologetically. Now that you were kissing, dragging out the delicious moment, you weren’t holding back anymore. The kisses were hungry, desperate, wet. Nothing had ever tasted better than Harry, nothing had ever felt better than him either. You wondered why you’d waited so long to kiss one another, what had taken so long. Because now you couldn’t think of not doing just that.

You wanted to kiss him till the end of time. Wanted to feel as his hands roamed your body, how his tongue swirled around yours, how his lips got more and more swollen as you continued on making out. Forever, and maybe even longer than that if you were allowed; you wanted to kiss Harry forever. It felt so good, so right. Like tasting every good thing that had ever happened to you all at once, combined into one thing. Harry.

Moaning your name, you felt him grip your bum, squeezing it hard as he dragged you over him. He wanted some friction as bad as you; wanted you. It felt so good knowing Harry was as desperate as you, that he felt the same way and wasn’t ashamed of admitting that he did. You had no idea where your infatuation had begun, had no idea how you had fallen in love with Harry. You just were and that was how it was supposed to be. It had always supposed to be the two of you. Whenever something feels right, you get a warm feeling in the pit of your stomach, like it’s your soul telling you that you’ve reached your final destination; you’ve gotten where you’re supposed to be. And you felt that very feeling right now, in Harry’s arms, kissing him, feeling him hard against you.

You pushed him back down on the bed, bending over him to continue kissing. He instantly gripped your arse again, begging you to rock against him so he could get some small friction. You refused however, and instead buried your hands in his hair, dragging out the tongue filled, wet, lustful kisses. It was excruciating, Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to force you to do anything as he didn’t want this moment to be over. If you wanted to drag this out, then he would not stop you. He was making out with you, you were almost naked on top of him, he got to touch you all over. He wasn’t going to take this for granted.

There didn’t seem to be an end to your kisses, they seemed to be going on and on and on. Not that either of you were complaining, but at one point it was hard to remember how the rest of the morning had gone before you’d started snogging. You suddenly realised just how naked you were, that only your cream blouse was covering your torso, that the rest of you were on display for Harry. But he was way too busy kissing you to pay notice to anything else.

You tugged at the end of his tee shirt and he quickly took it off, letting it fall off the side of the bed before turning his attention back on you again. You ran your hand down his front, wanting to feel his skin under yours unashamedly. Every time you’d touched him before had been under a work setting, but this one was quite different. The hands touching him now were those of a lover, not his tailor. They were the hands of a desperate woman who wanted nothing more than to be with Harry in any way one human could be with another.

Resting your hands at the top of Harry’s boxers, Harry frantically followed your lead, being there to help you get them off. He was ready to do exactly as you told him to, knowing that he was and always would be at your complete and total disposal. As his boxers came off, his cock sprang loose, and you couldn’t help but look down at it. Harry watched you as you took him in, finding you checking him out like this incredibly hot. A wave of excitement and adoration ran through him, so captivated and altogether in love with you that he was sure in that moment and every moment that followed, he would lay down the rest of his life and himself to you wholly.

You took a grip of his cock, looking into his eyes after positioning him right at your hole. He didn’t take his eyes off you, knowing that what was just about to happen would change everything for you and your friendship. Not that all of last night and the rest of this morning hadn’t done that already, but sex complicates things. It’s hard not to form an emotional attachment to those you choose to have sex with, and it’s even harder to forget said person you have sex with if you’re in love with them. But regardless of that, both of you wanted to do this. You wanted to shag; wanted one another.

You guided him into you, holding onto him till he was all the way in. Your lips parted and Harry let out a low moan, your warm walls around him almost being too much to take. Positioning your knees well on either side of his waist, you sat up on his lap again, and started moving your hips over him. Harry gripped your thighs, squeezing them tight and looking up at you with his mouth agape. Your blouse hung loosely off you, unbuttoned to the point of one of your tits showing. It fell off one of your shoulders as you rocked over Harry, revealing even more of you to Harry in the bright morning light.

He moved one of his hands upward, running it up your arm, over your collarbone, to your neck. His thumb ran over your jawline, wanting to feel all of your soft skin under his fingertips. You looked down at him, a moan leaving your lips as your eyes met his. Already the familiar burn of a climax started building up in your core, reminding you of how long it had truly been since you’d found yourself in this position prior to this. Not that it even mattered, because right now you were having sex with Harry and he felt so fucking good inside you and underneath you, you would never get tired of this feeling.

You slid your hands down his front, dragging your nails along this skin till you reached his abdomen, where you let them rest. Harry’s eyes fell to your hands, relishing in the feeling of you touching him everywhere, of you being everywhere. Nothing mattered but you and the magic you were creating between the two of you. The soft skin of the inside of your thighs resting against his hips and ribs, his tattooed arms caressing your entire body. Heavy breathing, the occasional moan.

He moaned your name, hand sliding down your chest, rubbing his thumb over your exposed nipple. The burn in your core was really starting to build up now, and you knew it would burst any second. Harry sat up, wrapping an arm around your middle. You gasped a little in surprise, but your heart instantly started beating faster at him being so close to you. His grip was tight, as if he still couldn’t believe this was happening, it sent a wave of butterflies straight to your tummy. All of them flew directly to your core as Harry started moving his hips more with yours.

“Look so good on me like that, you do.” He whispered against your lips, his voice still having that morning rasp to it that sent a shiver up your spine.

You wrapped an arm around his neck, resting the other one on his shoulder as you continued to rock your hips against him. His eyes were hooded, but there was something in them that was so soft it took your breath away. When you know someone inside and out, you notice every single little change in their behaviour. This wasn’t tiny, though, because there was a type of vulnerability in Harry’s eyes that you hadn’t seen there before. He was laying himself completely bare, both physically and emotionally, wanting to connect and attach himself to you on every level a human possibly could.

Being this close, your movements got shorter and quicker. Bending his knees, Harry brought you flush to his torso, your hips and his moving rhythmically, hard against one another. Everything felt electric, everything felt hot. You wanted to melt into him and have you two sitting like this for eternity. Wanted to stare into his eyes, feel his warm breath on your skin, have his arm around your waist and the other hand on her cheek. Having him inside you like this, feeling him grip you hard, whimper against your lips, moan your name, you felt incredibly powerful and so, so good. There was something so magical about this moment, about you two joined like this. Something words lacked the ability to articulate and something your hearts didn’t quite understand yet but wanted to. He reached his hand down to your bum, squeezing you hard.

“Harry.” You moaned, feeling your hips and knees begin to ache from sitting like this. Not that you cared much, because the wild look in Harry’s eyes was enough of a reason for her to endure it a hundred times more.

“Yeah?” he mumbled against you. “You like that?”

Biting your lip, you glanced into his eyes, letting your look speak for itself. Harry moaned, letting his hand fall to the bed and the other to your thigh, pressing you harder around him. You were both close, clinging harder onto one another. The heat in the pit of your stomach grew bigger and bigger, threatening to burst with every grind, every moan, every touch. He thrusts harder into you, entranced as he watched you gasp and moan loudly.

“Fuck me.” You said, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck.

“As much as you want me to, baby.” He kissed your jawline, nails digging into your thigh. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

You gasped, feeling the heat get more intense. Harry felt your movements get more frantic and he moved his hips quicker, meeting yours and creating a friction so heavenly it caused you to lose all control.

“Don’t stop.” You gasped, looking into Harry’s eyes as everything started to blur.

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling your legs start to shake around him. You came hard. Harry watching you intently, holding back his own release to watch every last second of yours; to make sure you were done before he allowed his own climax. You gasped for breath and moaned ad repeated Harry’s name over and over and over again until it felt like it was the only word you were able to pronounce.

Harry came right after her, a furrow appearing between his brows and lips parted. His hands tightened around her, holding onto her for dear life as he came in her. He stilled, neck vein showing, and he moaned and moaned and moaned. It was so hot, he sounded so sexy. You watched him till he came down, feeling his cum sliding down the inside of your thigh as he slipped out of you. You breathed together for a few moments before looking at one another, suddenly laughing a little at what you’d just done. He rested his forehead against your chest, feeling you breathe with him.

“That was a thing that just happened.” You said, making Harry laugh.

“That just happened.”

“We just did that.”

You both laughed, holding onto one another still, not willing to let go. For the time being, you two were the only thing that mattered, nothing outside your room existed. But then you laid your eyes on the clock by the nightstand and jumped off Harry. He watched you, wide eyed and confused.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m supposed to be at Alessandro’s hotel room in five minutes to go over yesterday, and some other stuff.” You said while you ran to the bathroom, needing to get washed up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Harry got out of bed, quickly putting his boxers and tee shirt on. “When’re you done?”

“Dunno.”

“Meet me for breakfast.” Harry said as you ran back out, new pair of knickers on and rummaging through your wardrobe. “I’ll text you the location.”

“Harry, I-“

“-Please.”

You looked over at him as you put your trousers on, smiling at his pleading words. “Text me.”

He smiled back before looking around the room. “Where are my trousers?”

“I’ll find them later, just piss off because I need to leave.” You ran towards the door with your laptop in hand and Harry – looking quite mortified – followed. He pulled his room key out as you were closing the door, about to run down the corridor for Alessandro’s room when you felt a hand around your wrist. Harry pulled you back toward him, pressing his lips against yours. You both smiled into the kiss, feeling absolutely elated and still not sure how to process what had just happened.

“Hurry.” Harry mumbled against your lips before kissing you again. “I’ll be waiting with that morning after pill.”

“Good.”

Harry smiled. “Now, be off.”

You giggled, giving him one last peck before running down towards Alessandro.

Everything that happened between you and Harry over the last 30 months had culminated to this point; you rushing out of the room after sharing an unexpected, intimate morning together. Looking back on it, you knew that each longing look you gave him had a hidden meaning behind it. You wanted this. Maybe not right away, but the more you got to know Harry, the more you wanted to be more than just his tailor. There had always been more between the two fo you, you just had not figured it out till now.

The way he watched you with admiration while you worked, gave you praises when you were feeling down - quite literally shouting them from the streets - and spoke to you in a way that had your mind in the clouds, it all slowly built over time.

It built until you couldn’t handle it any longer and needed to show Harry just how deeply you were falling for him.

Knocking on Alessandro’s door you quickly tired to fix your hair, aware that you looked like a right mess. Because of your morning antics and inability to keep track of time, you hadn’t given your appearance a single thought. Once Alessandro opened the door, his eyes widened as he saw you standing there panting and looking distressed, instant regret hit you for not at least brushing through your hair. Alessandro would know something had happened, having known you for so long, he’d see right through you.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, of course.”

Alessandro smiled knowingly, nodding his head as he let you in. You just raised your eyebrows, but Alessandro didn’t make another comment. You’d told him enough.

“I stopped by Harry’s room last night, wanted to congratulate him on the show and how well he did, but he wasn’t in. Any idea where he was?”

“Nope. None. Maybe he was having a wee.”

Alessandro nodded again, walking over to sit down by the table in his suite along with his event manager, head stylist, and fabric coordinator. Tons of sketches of new outfits and plans for upcoming events laid out on the table, ready to be discussed. You sat down with them, ready to take notes. You had already been a little late, so you didn’t want to do anything else wrong today. Full on concentrating, you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop for almost 30 minutes, and when you did, it was to check your phone. You’d gotten two text messages, both from Harry.

Harry Don’t forget my yellow trousers. They’re my favourite pair. x

Harry Had an amazing time this morning, by the way. Can’t wait to see you later. x

You couldn’t help the smile that spread out over your face at the messages, and you didn’t realise just how wide your smile was till Alessandro cleared his throat beside you. You looked up, turning your phone around and looking right back at your laptop as if nothing had happened.

“What’s got you smiling?” Alessandro questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“Hmm? Nothing.” You answered, trying to refocus on the document before you.

Alessandro looked down at your phone, smiled, and went on with the meeting. There would be no hiding what happened between you and Harry. Somehow, someway, the man sitting before you would hear how his ‘two prodigies’ had finally gotten together, and when that day happened, you’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he constantly reminded you that without him, the two of you would have likely never met so it was his doing that you had a best friend in Harry.

So what was he to say when he found out you and Harry were now more than friends?

#harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagines #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurbs #1dff

[jarofstyles]

SK8ER BOI III - Heelflip

A/N: AHHH this part is full of ups and downs and even a cliff hanger 😈 buckle up folks. Also, remember this gif for a certain part of this story... you’ll know which one 😉 - n + d

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pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

warning: smut, cheating, angst!!

word count: 7.6k

Staying the night over at Harry’s was really nice. Y/N had woken up to him snoring, all cuddled up against her chest. She giggled to herself because she assumed he didn’t do this with many girls. She carded through his hair and kissed his head gently until he decided to wake up, watching him get a little embarrassed, but not too much. Harry had cooked her breakfast and everything and when Y/N showed up at home on Saturday morning her parents were gone. Y/N admittedly thought about Harry all weekend, she’d been sending him astronomy memes and tiktoks that involved cats. She’d also sent a few memes regarding sexual things but... that was cause she thought they were funny. She stayed up all night texting him and she didn’t realize how late it was, but when her alarm went off, she grabbed the first things she could think of. A black shirt and leggings, threw her hair into a bun and denim jacket so she wouldn’t get cold. She didn’t even realize till after she’d left that it was Harry’s shirt.

The first thing that came to Harry’s mind at the sight, was what she had said a few days prior. Seeing her stand at her locker with a few friends, in leggings... he knew she wasn’t wearing anything under those. And upon closer inspection... His shirt. She was wearing his shirt. On top of leggings and no panties, she was wearing his shirt and he felt nearly feral. She shot him a smile when he approached and he struggled to return it. 

“Hey— can I talk to you for a second? It’s about the project.” Harry asked, ignoring her friends. His eyes were dark and he felt buzzing. Fuck, he was going to lose it. 

“Yeah, sure.” Y/N smiled at him and told her friends she’d see them at lunch. Harry definitely wasn’t talking to her about the project, why did he want to talk to her? She followed Harry wherever he was going. Apparently it was the janitor's closet. Y/N squeaked, looking at him with wide eyes though, it was really dark in here. 

Harry covered her mouth to conceal the squeak, “Are you wearing any?”

Was she wearing any— oh. 

“nuh uh” She let out a muffled noise, shaking her head no. Y/N knew that her answer probably meant he was about to attack and by the way his lips fell onto hers with hunger she knew for a fact that he wanted to do something about it. She didn’t think she could get so turned on so quickly. 

“H—Harry, please I gotta go meet up with Timmy..” Y/N mumbled against his lips, “later.. at yours.” Y/N hated to deny him, but it was important that she see Timothée and see what the fuck was up.

“You do? That’s too bad.” Harry smirked, sliding his hand down the front of her pants. Immediately he was met with a warm cunt, fingers pressing up against it to make her moan. He wasn’t going to make her cum. No— he was going to make her frustrated and want to cum so bad she could cry. Then go see her boyfriend. “Gonna go see frenchie and all you’re gonna think about is my hand on your pussy.” He cooed, rubbing at it while he kissed at her neck. He knew she was breathing hard and obviously hadn’t expected this. “Have some fucking nerve... no panties and my shirt?” He growled. “That’s so naughty. I told you what would happen.” He snickered. “Had to check myself.” He licked up her neck to bite down gently. He couldn’t leave a mark yet.

Y/N had to bite back her moans, knowing full well that if someone walked past the closet and found them she’d be screwed. Her breathing was shaky as can be, body reacting positively to his hands against her. She was already a mess for him and he definitely could tell, it was so hot, she swore she’d lose her mind like this. 

“Already do that..” Y/N breathed when he suggested that she thinks about him when she’s with her boyfriend. Of course she does! How could she not when he was filling his shoes so well and making her feel like the hottest girl on earth. Constantly giving her sexual favors and never asking for them in return, it just pleaded him to do this? Fuck. She let out another squeak as he kissed at her neck, grabbing at the back of his head for stability because she felt like she was going to implode. “Daddy, please...” Y/N whimpered, “I’m sorry—“

“Sorry? Are you sure?” Harry murmured, fingers working faster on her pussy. “So sorry for what? Making me hard? Making me think about it all day?” He was obsessed with her cunt and ass and he wanted to bend her over in here. If she wasn’t a virgin, he may have. “And here you are. So wet and throbbing against my fingers. Gonna go see your boyfriend with a wet pussy and my kisses all over you? Gonna be thinking about how I rubbed you good?” He liked that idea. That no one else was giving her that pleasure but him. “You’re beginning to make a mess on my fingers. S’a good thing that you’re coming to my place after school. Maybe then I’ll let you cum.” She was close, clenching and throbbing but he took his hand away. Her whimper of confusion made him smirk, bringing his hand to his face to clean it off. One finger was pressed between her lips. “Suck. Clean off your mess.”

The look of disappointment on her face was hidden by the darkness of the room but her whimper made it clear that she was certainly not happy about this. Y/N felt her cunt throbbing as he pulled away, all leaky and sticky just aching to be touched. She was so close too, and he just—

Before she could even speak his fingers were in her mouth and she sucked on them as if maybe it would change his mind, as if maybe he’d keep going, but once she was done he pulled them away and Y/N was left flustered and horny and to think that she still had to go the rest of the day without getting to cum? Torture. 

He slipped out of the closet with ease and she assumed he was checking to see if anyone was around, he pulled her out behind him and she swallowed thickly. Y/N just wanted to lean up and kiss him right then and there but she couldn’t, instead she was met with Timmy’s voice calling over to her. 

“Hi angel.” Timothée cooed, wrapping an arm around her waist loosely. It was clear he was eyeing up Harry. “Been looking for you everywhere.” Timothée was more so sticking around to talk to Harry, be around Harry. Anything to do with Harry even if his girlfriend was right there.

Harry licked over his lip, smirking slightly. He was a lot smaller than him in both bulk and height. He wasn’t sure why he was eying him up like that, but Y/N was flushed. Harry wasn’t sure why the look felt so weird but he was thinking maybe he was playing the role of protective boyfriend. But something about his eyes made him feel something else. 

“Sorry mate. We were talking about what we were going to work on after school. The project and all that.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Anatomy. Getting to know all the body parts and whatever.” He knew he was playing with Fire but Y/N was horny and her eyes were looking at him wide. “Got a slideshow to do. You know how it is.” He moved his fingers over his lip and sucked at it a bit at the sides of them, raising his brows at her.

Y/N’s jaw nearly dropped at the audacity Harry had. He really was sucking on his fingers that was just on her cunt right in front of her boyfriend. This was truly Y/N’s biggest nightmare but for some reason she was the last person being focused on. Y/N rubbed at Timothée’s side a bit, trying to get his attention. 

“Let’s go, yeah?” She asked softly, “I’ll see you later, Harry.” Y/N cooed desperately trying to make it seem like they weren’t doing anything conspicuous or strange. Timmy was far too focused on himself to suspect anything. She had walked him over to the garden but outside after they’d gotten their lunch, needing to put some food in her mouth so she wasn’t thinking about Harry. She’d started off with some small talk but then she decided to ask, she needed to know. 

“Know you’re busy with the campaign and all... and I get it, it’s important to you. But we don’t hang out anymore and... if it’s about how I’ve been acting, if you feel pressured to do stuff, I’m sorry.. we don’t have to, just gotta tell me what’s going on yeah? Care about you..”

“There’s nothing going on.” Timothée said simply. Even though it wasn’t the truth. Y/N wouldn’t understand. The fact that he was a huge homosexual and he was struggling with it. The fact he wanted Harry to wreck him in the same way he thought maybe Y/N wanted him to. He worried. He didn’t want to have sex with her. He was more concerned about his campaign and trying to deal with the sexuality thing by himself. “I’m just busy, Y/N. I’m not ready for next level stuff and it’s not your fault. I just have so much going on. The campaign is my priority cause I want to win for this year.” He was worried about spending time with Y/N alone. It was different with her now because she wanted more than just a kiss on the cheek. “I care about you too. It’s not personal. I just want to make sure I win. We can hang out more when I win. I’m sorry if you’re hurt by it and I don’t want to make you upset at all but it’s taking up all my time.”

Y/N let out a small sigh, understanding where he was coming from. He wasn’t trying to hurt her, of course, but she still wanted to know. There had to be something. “I understand, it’s okay... really.” She said softly and offered him a smile, taking his hand. “I can help you if you need me to. Just miss being around you.” The two of them were really close friends when they started dating, they’d always been attached at the hip and liked to do all the same things and liked the same bands and stuff. He always let her dress him up and do his makeup and whatever she wanted really, but she never thought of it as being something to question him about. Maybe he really liked doing that? Regardless, that wasn’t a problem with her, she just wanted the truth from her best friend. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay... you can talk to me about anything, you know? Anything. I meant that Timmy.” She didn’t want to just out him, she wanted him to feel comfortable enough to tell her.

“Y/N... I’m fine.” He grunted. He didn’t like that it felt like she knew something. That it seemed like perhaps she knew too much. He was worried that Y/N would be aware of something he wasn’t ready to have anyone know yet. “You’ve been really pushy and needy lately. I’m sorry I’m not around but it’s frustrating to have to worry about you and my campaign. It isn’t fair to me. You act like there’s something wrong but there isn't anything besides that.” He huffed. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings but it was apparent that she wasn’t getting the hint to leave it alone. “You’ve never been this clingy and I’ve been trying to put our signals that it isn’t a good time right now for us to be together all the time. I have things to do and I’m always tip toeing around it. You always wanna be close and stuff when we’re out with friends and I need some space.”

Y/N swallowed thickly, suddenly going quiet. He really meant that? Was she being too much? She felt like she was giving him optimum time to do his work, they never hung out. She just wanted to see him. The bare minimum. She could just sit while he did whatever he needed to do, but no. That was clingy in his book. 

“Well if you wanted a break from me you could have just said that instead of throwing the blame into your campaign.” Y/N spoke firmly, “never asked to be with you all the time, just wanted to talk to you for five minutes or something— I don’t think I’m asking for much—” 

Timothée huffed. He really wasn’t listening. Even when she was being gentle and supportive, simply asking for him to listen and acknowledge her feelings. 

“Sorry, i'll give you some space.” Y/N spat, picking up her stuff and leaving him sitting out there by herself while she went to go cry in the bathroom. Was she really asking for that much? Was she that unbearable that he needed space away from her?

‘can you come take me home?’

Harry was surprised to see her text. It made his stomach feel weird, immediately excusing himself from class. 

‘Yeah, sure can. Where are u @?’

He felt worried. Especially when he found her with red swollen eyes at the front doors, knuckling at her eyes. His stomach dropped. What the fuck had happened? 

“Hey....” Harry gently grabbed her hand and led her out to the car. Once safely behind the cover of the opposite side of the car. “What’s wrong, bunny? You’re so sad?” He lifted a hand to rub away a stray tear. “Don’t like seein’ sad tears.”

Y/N hated that this was becoming a habit, but Harry was her only friend that would understand. Her other friends all loved Timmy, they all thought he could do no wrong, surely they were all jealous of her and would call her crazy for wanting to break up with him or crushing their fantasy. Y/N also didn’t want to spread rumors, so keeping this between her and Harry was safe for everyone. She looked up at him with glossy eyes and swallowed thickly.

“We got in a fight...” Y/N mumbled, feeling her bottom lip tremble again. “I—I was trying to talk to him about like... what’s been going on and stuff and trying to be supportive about it and he just— he said I was being too clingy and pushy and that it was unfair for me to be asking and I’m not even asking for much! Just wanted to show him I was being supportive... so he could tell me if he felt comfortable enough but he just got mad.” She was rushing through her words, sniffling and trying to get her breathing back in order. “Just want him to talk to me! Want to figure it out so I don’t feel like a shitty friend to either of you!”

“Hey... you’re okay, Y/N. Take a breath.” Harry whispered. “You’re good. That’s a real shitty thing of him to say to you when you’re trying so hard to be there for him.” His anger towards Timmy turner never seemed to extinguish. “Regardless of what he’s going through, he didn’t need to take it out on you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He rubbed her arm. Y/N wasn’t clingy. Maybe when high but, he liked that personally. “You haven’t seen or hung out with him for a bit. If I understand correctly, it’s been a long while since you've even truly talked to him. That isn’t a problem for you, babe. That’s on him.” He smoothed a tear away from her cheek. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less though. It sucks. He’s being a dick.” He obviously was upset about it, his jaw clenched. He wanted to make her feel better. “How about we go get some ice cream? Whatever toppings you want.”

Y/N leaned into Harry’s hand, closing her eyes as she felt herself start to relax. He always knew what to say and just how to calm her down. He was a very good friend. He had been there for her through all of this Timothée shit and was continuously making an effort to make her feel better. She looked at him with wide eyes, wondering if that was a serious inquiry, but it was. Y/N climbed into the car and watched as he drove them down away from the school and somewhere. It seemed to be the skate park, but she assumed that there was ice cream nearby. 

“So you come here a lot?” She asked curiously as they hopped out of the car. She’d left her denim jacket in the car so she was just in her vans, leggings and his T—shirt. Y/N looked like she fit in at the skatepark, especially with him, but she was still nervous about being out of her element.

“I do.” Harry smiled. “The lake isn’t far from here at all. We’re gonna walk down to it.” It was about a block, the fresh air and sunshine seeming to be good medicine for her heart. He had an arm around her shoulders but it was a friendly gesture, their laughing at Harry’s dumb jokes making it clear they were pals. At least. For now. “Alright, I’m buying. All the movies say ice cream cures heartache. So if it doesn’t, we do a class action lawsuit against Hollywood, win, and we can buy all the ice cream in the world.” He was playful, opening the door to the 50’s like ice cream shop. It was cute, pleasing to the eye and he knew the staff. “Alright... hi Barb.” He grinned at the older woman who smiled brightly. 

“Harry! And who is this pretty girl?” She asked with a look of mischief on her face. 

“Relax, Barb. She is a pretty one, isn’t she? But her boyfriend is a bit of a stupid one. So we’re here to fix it up.” Barb could be trusted, and she immediately nodded, taking it seriously. 

“Perfect. What do you fancy? We’ve got every sweet flavor and some not so. The vanilla, the chocolate, but then we’ve got banana, cotton candy, Cookie Monster... all of it.”

Y/N was a bit shy, but smiled at the woman nonetheless. She walked up to the display case and looked through all the flavors, deciding she figured out what she wanted. “Can I have the raspberry white chocolate with graham cracker crust?” Y/N asked softly, looking up at the woman with a sweet smile. She was a gentle creature, anyone who met her would know that. She looked back up at Harry to see what he was going to order, feeling like this was how things were supposed to be. Yeah, Harry was her friend, but they also did other stuff together. They’d been pretty much insuperable since they first hung out. If only she had a way of breaking up with Timmy without completely ruining their friendship. “Thank you, Harry.” Y/N smiled and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, already feeling much better thanks to all his jokes and just his presence in general. 

Harry was excited to spend time with Y/N out like this. Maybe he shouldn’t be. He needed to relax with this but it was friendly, right? It wasn’t romantic or a date. No. This was friends getting ice cream. 

“You’re welcome” He was wondering if Y/N ever would actually consider dating him. Not that he was like, in love or anything. But they got along well. Of course they couldn’t do anything while she was dating escargot, but he was hoping that maybe... we’ll. He had to stop. He couldn’t get attached. At least until she was single and he knew she had any type of interest besides sexual.

----

The ice cream was delicious, but of course Y/N was thinking about how much this felt like a date. They’d both left early from school just to hang out with each other despite having plans to see each other later? Maybe Y/N was over thinking. Harry likely was just being a good friend, he wouldn’t actually want to date someone like her. He was just having fun with her and they were working on their project. Sure, they were calling each other friends but maybe that’s just what Harry wanted to be? He was just a friend who helped her out from time to time. Once they settled down somewhere she let out a sigh, overlooking the scenery and smiling to herself. 

“Thanks for doing this with me... I didn’t think I could stay at school after that, sorry if I pulled you out of something important.”

“You’re good. It was just English and I have my work done for basically the whole semester.” He shrugged. Y/N was more important than a class he already knew the answer to. It did startle him, how quickly he had left without a second thought but he also knew that she was emotionally sensitive. If she wanted to go home, something must have happened to hurt her and he didn’t want her feeling as if she couldn’t trust him. He’s wanted her trust. “I’m sorry that that shit even happened. Can I ask you something though?” He asked. “How come you haven’t broken up with him yet? If he won’t touch you and makes you feel shitty. Cause there’s tons of people who would want to take you out or get to know you. You wouldn't have to worry about being alone.” Including him. Harry would ask her out, if she wasn’t so attached to Timothée.

Y/N should have seen that question coming, should have known he’d want to know why she hadn’t just broken up with him. Y/N let out a sigh, trying to put together her thoughts carefully as to not hurt him or make it seem like she was siding with anyone in particular. 

“I’ve known Timmy for a really long time... he and I have been best friends since like, 8th grade. And... I know how he is and I know how he deals with stuff, throws himself into work and acts like nothing wrong.” Y/N let out a breath, “I really care about him, even if he has been treating me like shit lately and doesn’t touch me, I’m still his friend... and I’m a loyal friend.” She explained, looking up at him before looking away. Loyal, yes, but she’d been cheating on her boyfriend with him. Her other friend. “It’s not that I don’t want to break up with him, it’s that if he’s going through shit like I know he is, I don’t want to just leave him with no one to talk to about it... I always was that person for him, I think he’s just scared of what I’ll think or say or do.” Y/N took another bite of her ice cream and thought for a moment. “I don’t know what to do...”

He could understand that. However he didn’t think Y/N could do anything to help him. “I think that’s admirable, Bunny. But I also think that this is a him problem. Regardless of what you say or do it’ll be his issue.” He said gently. It was hard to make it seem like he wasn’t trying to attack her reasoning. “I’m not telling you what to do, or saying you’re wrong. But, I think you’re putting yourself through a lot of emotional hurt for someone who is only focused on himself right now. And maybe that’s okay for him, but I don’t like you getting hurt. Seeing you upset by him and it seems fairly often. It doesn’t seem like he does the same by you.” He frowned. “Listen— I dunno your bond with him. But I think... relationships and even friendships need equal in and out. Sometimes there’s shifts but it seems like you’re getting nothing out of it, you know?” 

He wasn’t wrong, it seemed that Timothée wasn’t really thinking about her right now and of course that hurt. Friends should always have an understanding at least. Y/N didn’t know of many guys who pushed away their girlfriends when times got tough, but that seemed to be Timmy’s way of coping. Coping with his internal battle that she likely was making him face before he wanted to. She was a reminder to him of what he was hiding. 

“I know you’re right, Harry, but it wouldn’t feel right for me to just throw that on him. I need to talk to him, when the election is over I’ll have time, but right now.... I just need to take it a day at a time. Give him some space and just.. work on finding what works best for me.” That was Y/N’s way of saying that she wanted to keep hanging out with Harry regardless of what Timmy decided to do. Once she got to talk to Timothée and really talk to him, she’d get the truth out of him. She’d help him figure out the best way to go about things and how to have minimal people know if that’s what he wanted.

----

Harry hadn’t meant to upset her. But she had been pushing and wanting sex and he wasn’t ready for that. Y/N had asked him if they could go all the way and he had to redirect to other things but wouldn’t let it go. See— he did want to fuck her. So badly it hurt. But he also was well aware of the fact that she was still a virgin. Still in a relationship. And that was a recipe for disaster. And as much as he had wanted to diffuse the situation, he couldn’t give in to her wants. 

It was obvious it hurt her feelings and she had left after he raised his voice a little— something he hadn’t wanted to do to begin with— but he had to. It hurt him to see her get teary eyed and leave on her bike. But he couldn’t make this better. Y/N was mad he gave her an ultimatum of breaking up with Timmy or no sex. But he thought it was fair enough. It wasn’t fair to him. Regardless if Harry liked him or not, Y/N was still technically his and he wasn’t going to take her virginity when she both belonged to someone else, and would have him getting attached. What if she lived like this forever? 

Two nights later he had texted her and told her she needed to come over because he wanted to talk. He had bought ice cream and weed, got some Chinese food and a little star locket for their friendship. He was going to try and explain it calmly so she could understand. But she left him on read. And that hurt a ton. So he left her alone for a bit because he realized how deep he was getting into it emotionally when she didn’t even want to see him. 

Of course it was a bit weird and shocking to see her at the party he walked into. Sending her a little smile and wave, he walked past even though it hurt his tummy to see her hanging next to Timothée. Maybe he was trying to be better? Regardless. He went to talk to Zayn, allowing girls to come up and chat with him. It would be weird if he didn’t.

Y/N didn’t take rejection well, especially when it came from someone she was starting to really care about. Harry had started off as a friend who helped her out and quickly became the thing she had always wanted and needed Timmy to be. But he wasn’t her boyfriend, he was just a friend, and he didn’t want to have sex with her because well... he didn’t want to get attached.

He didn’t want to get attached to some girl he was messing around with, Y/N, who had clearly shown true colors. Sure it hurt hearing those words from Timmy, but hearing Harry say them hurt even more. She’d been pushy, with both of them and they both rejected her and left her to fend for herself. 

Harry has texted her asking her if she wanted to come over and talk things out, but she really didn’t want to be patronized. She didn’t want to feel like that stupid girl that kept coming to him with the same problem over and over again and expecting him to take it. 

It surprised her when Timothée had called and apologized for how he’d been acting, saying that he wanted to bring her to this party. She at least felt a little better about the Harry situation, thinking that maybe she could get Timmy to open up to her tonight. She’d got all dressed up, a little bit out of character, but she wanted to feel nice for herself.  

Seeing Harry walk in looking seemingly unbothered by their little fight, it made her heart sink. Especially seeing him all smirky with other girls. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if Timmy had actually been paying attention to her, instead he just had his arm draping over her shoulder while he talked to other people.

Harry kept looking over at her. He missed her. It had only been like a week since they’d hung out. But it was the longest they’d been separated. It was at least every other day, if not every day that they’d go to the skate park or get food or go to Harry's place. He wasn’t sad. He wanted to be with her and hang out with her. Instead of the stupid lanky noodle arm wrapped lazily around her shoulder. God. He was angry. He was so bad to Y/N and was ignoring her and he couldn’t even do anything about it. Meanwhile, he’s rejected two girls. They had taken it easily, when he said he wasn’t there to hook up but to just drink. It didn’t feel right to think about touching anyone but Y/N right now. Maybe ever. He hoped that maybe she would want to hang out with him more? Maybe get over this spat.

Y/N excused herself for a moment to go to the bathroom, but she really just went outside to get some air. It was all getting a bit too much for her in there. Between Timmy ignoring her and seeing Harry with other girls, seeing how easily he chatted and let them curl under his arm the way she did, it hurt. It hurt bad. She felt like she couldn’t even be upset about it because it was her own damn fault. Y/N should have broken up with Timmy and then she would have Harry on her arm right now instead, hell, they wouldn’t even be at this party their be making their own party at Harry’s house. Y/N had been drinking a bit, but not enough to get her drunk, she was far too panicked to be drunk. She found a swing set outside and made her way over to it, just taking deep breaths and relaxing herself the best she could. Y/N needed to figure it all out. She hated that her whole life was wrapped around these two men.

Harry saw her leave and despite it all, he followed. He didn’t want her to be alone, just in case. He hadn’t wanted to disturb her but she looked genuinely upset. Of course she was. But he was confused why when he approached, she scowled after him. 

“Hey.” He said quietly. “What are you doin’ out here? The party is inside.” He wasn’t going to be mean to her or be testy. He liked Y/N. A bit too much, unfortunately. Even though seeing her with him made his tummy hurt, he knew that he needed to be there for her when he wasn’t. Why he felt compelled? He wanted to say he had no idea but he did. He was getting attached to her.

Y/N had just started feeling like she wasn’t going to cry when he walked out and of course, he was there to check on her. Of course. It almost hurt more than despite it all he still cared enough to check on her, to notice she had left and knew exactly where she had gone. She was thankful that it was somewhat dark outside, the backyard light only reaching halfway out. 

“Don’t let me spoil your fun.” Y/N shook her head, refusing to look up at him while she pushed herself gently on the swing with her foot. She knew that it was probably annoying for him to have to deal with her crying all the time, she didn’t want him to think that’s all she needed him for. Lord knows she would have given up if she were him by now. Taking a deep breath in, she tried to keep herself from crying too much, not wanting to ruin the light bit of makeup she put on to look nice. She didn’t want anyone asking questions, certainly didn’t want Timothée finding out she’d been crying. But maybe that would be best? Maybe they could finally have a conversation once and for all.

“What do you mean? This is plenty fun.” He took the swing next to her, beginning to move himself on it. Y/N didn’t realize the power she truly had over him and maybe that was a good thing— bur he wasn’t leaning her sad. “Why are you upset?” He asked softly, slowing his swinging down to a slow pace. She was obviously upset by the fact that Timothée was being a dickhead but it was more than that. She seemed upset with him even more so and he hadn’t done much. In fact, he should be upset with her. “Don’t have to cry. Promise. Is it him being a dickhead? Or did something else happen?” Even if he was upset with her a tiny bit, he didn’t want her hurting. It made him sad to think she was possibly upset over something he could fix.

“Aren’t you getting tired of asking me that question?” Y/N asked with a sad laugh, hurt evident in her tone. “Aren’t you tired of me crying to you about the same thing?” She went to wipe away her tears with the sleeves of her cardigan. “Those girls really seem to like you though, so maybe you should go... I’ll get over it on my own... it’s about time I do something on my own for once, right?” Y/N felt responsible for a lot of things. It wasn’t fair to Harry to have to pick up Timothée’s mess. As much as she hated seeing Harry with other girls, he deserved better than her. She was just complaining about Timothée all the time and pushing him to do things he didn’t want to do with her. He just wanted to be friends with her, but she couldn’t just be his friend. It’s true that she always had a crush on Harry, but she was really beginning to like him as more than a friend and he was right about the whole getting attached thing. She’d get attached and be even more clingy and maybe he just didn’t want that with a girl who had a boyfriend. But it wasn’t even like that! It was so much more complicated. Y/N needed to let Harry go, she couldn’t hold him back from living his best life like that.

“The only reason I get tired of it is because he treats you like that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be here for you Y/N. You should know me better than that.” Harry murmured. No, he didn’t need to put up with that type of stuff but even still— he wasn’t going to let her stay upset when he could help her. “I don’t really want those girls. I’m not here to hook up with anyone. Zayn and Niall asked why I haven’t been coming out so I came out to get off their back. I usually hang out with you but... you don’t want to hang out with me much anymore.” He murmured. It hurt to think about. Y/N was so lovely and he wanted to be around her all the time but he had hurt her feelings and maybe she didn’t want to be near him anymore. That hurt the worst because he always wanted to be around her. But he couldn’t go further than what they were doing when she was still technically belonging to ratatouilletimmy.

“What?” Y/N shook her head, “no, never said that.” She defended because she most certainly didn’t want him thinking she didn’t want to hang out with him anymore. “That’s far from the truth.” She couldn’t believe she would actually think that she didn’t want to spend time with him, especially when he actually made her feel like she was worth something. Made her realize her worth. “But it’s stupid, it’s the same thing over and over again... just want a fucking break! I’m trying! I’m trying so hard to keep it together. Whenever I hang out with you, everything’s okay, all of my troubles go away and it’s not even your fault! I— I know you don’t want to sleep with me because of him and I shouldn’t let that affect how I view myself, but hearing it from him didn’t hurt as bad as it did coming from you!” Y/N burst, getting up from her swing. “I can’t even be mad at you! I understand! I do! But I’m protecting him and hurting you and by hurting him I protect you! I can’t win!”

“Hold on— hold on a second, Y/N. I want to sleep with you. I don’t know why you think I don’t. I even said we shouldn’t. I won’t, until you’re single. It’s not that I’m not attracted to you or don’t want it. I do, really fucking bad.” Harry responded, crossing his arms. “But it doesn’t have to be this complicated. You don’t have to protect him. He’s a big boy. Just like I am. If you genuinely like being in a relationship with him and I’m complicating that— I would go. But you don’t. I know ya far too well now to know you’re miserable.” He couldn’t let her think that he didn’t want her. But she was making a mistake. “I’m not going to sit here and tell you what to do. You’re a grown woman, you can make your own decisions. I just don’t understand why you keep putting yourself up to get hurt by him when he obviously doesn’t care that he’s hurting you. He’s protecting himself and you’re hurting yourself for nothing.” He stood up as well. God, it boiled his blood. “I told you I can’t sleep with you until you broke up with him because of that. I can’t risk making things any messier. The risk of getting super attached will hurt.”

“And that’s why I said it’s time I deal with things myself!” Y/N raised her voice this time because she wanted everything to stop. “I came out here to think, Harry. You don’t have to understand, I didn’t ask you to come out here with me. You asked me how I was feeling and I told you, so please don’t make it seem so easy because if it were you, you’d understand.” Y/N was firm, clearly angry and upset. “I care about him, and I care about you... a lot. I’m going to deal with this, my way— that includes accepting whatever comes with it. I’m not expecting you to stick around and wait for me, I understand why you made the decisions you made, so please do the same for me.” She couldn’t break up with Timmy without talking to him about everything first, she couldn’t just leave him to deal with his thoughts. If he was conflicted about his sexuality and had no one to talk to and she just left him feeling vulnerable she’d never forgive herself. It didn’t matter how shit he was treating her, he’ll apologize with time, she’d never regret being a good person no matter how much people hurt her.

“You really don’t understand, Y/N. It’s so frustrating to sit and watch you get upset but I’m not going to just leave and not talk to you when things are shit.” It was a bit of a dig at her, to be honest. She ignored all his texts and calls and didn’t answer him at all. “I asked you to come over so we could talk and be chill again. I fuckin— I got food and shit and set up the roof but you left me on read. I thought that like— you’d at least want to hear me out but you’re so in your own head. Don’t you think that I care about you?” Harry asked, getting angry now. “I did have to come out here because you left. You were upset and regardless, I’m not a dick and I want to make sure you were okay. I’m not saying that it’s easy. I’m saying that you deserve more respect than what you’re allowing yourself to be given and regardless of what he’s going through, you don’t deserve to be treated like shit.” He was obviously upset, clenched jaw and stiff form. “Jesus. I keep trying to show you I care about you and you push me away because I say one thing. It wasn’t a rejection. It was a deal. I don’t want you to have to deal with shit yourself. You’ve been doing that for a long time but fuck, you keep pushing me further just like he’s doing to you. I hate that you’ve been ignoring me.” His voice cracked but at the end but he cleared his throat. “If you want to be left alone, fine. You could have told me that.” He squared his shoulders and walked towards the door. He didn’t want to get more angry around her and say something mean.

“I wasn’t trying to push you away! I was upset and I was trying to deal with it on my own, I wasn’t ready to talk, clearly I’m still trying to figure out what to do and—” Y/N felt like it was pointless explaining it to him. “Think what you want.” She was tired, so fucking tired. She landed herself in this mess and was trying to clean it up but she was getting the water all dirty anyway. 

She watched him walk away and took a seat back on the swing, another wave of sobs ripped from her chest. She wanted him back here, wanted him sitting next to her, but she needed to do this on her own and take a hold of it all. She needed to talk to Timothée, but she needed to stop crying so hard first. Seeing Harry like that made her sick to her stomach, she didn’t want to make him mad or make him feel like shit, she just wanted him to respect her feelings cause she respected his. Sure she didn’t answer him, but she had every right to be upset with him and deal with it on her own, she didn’t want to answer him and say something she’d regret or worse. 

She wanted to leave, but she needed to stop running away from her problems. Needed to face them head on.

Harry went up to the bathroom later on. He needed to take a fucking breather. Jesus. He didn’t want to upset Y/N. But it hurts. It hurts to think she didn’t want to talk to him yet because he had always been around to give her support and it felt like the times he wanted to genuinely talk that she was pushing him away. So he got drunk. Tried to forget about it and let go for a little bit but it didn’t work. He was sad. He was upset, he wanted to go home and cuddle her and hide his face between her tits to hide from all the things making him uncomfortable. Figures. The first person he genuinely develops feelings for is dating someone else and doesn’t seem to want him back like that. It hurt pretty bad and he didn’t like this feeling. It just reminded him of why he avoided bonds with a tone he did anything with. Less of a chance to feel this aching in his chest. 

When he got home he collapsed on his bed and went to sleep. He had asked Niall to watch her when he left to make sure if he saw her that she got home okay. But he needed to go to sleep.

A killer hangover greeted him, but he thinks part of it was upset about the last night. That Y/N had went off and seemingly not wanted to be around him anymore. 

It only got worse when he opened his Instagram and saw a dm from none other than Timothée.

-------------------------------------------------

[part 4]

A/N: hehe a cliff hanger!!! The next part will be the final installment. We will still be taking requests for blurbs for them and what not, possibly oneshots, but we shall see - n + d

let us know what you think!

masterlist

#writing #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry writing #jarofstyles #skaterboy!harry

[spooky-activity]

Just a little update on Cassandratopia 2: Electric Boogaloo (Or as it stands in my Google Docs folder rn, A Helping Hand). I’ll put it under the cut cuz it’s kinda long. 

I just wanted to say that I’m still planning on actually doing it, despite all evidence to the contrary lol 

I did Cassandratopia in a haze of graduating from college(where I was studying animation) and just having ended my first dnd campaign as a dungeon master (which went 3 years!). I was fishing around for internships, but since the pandemic had just kicked off I wasn’t having much luck. So I had a lot of creative energy that wasn’t getting channeled anywhere, and a lot of free time when I wasn’t applying to places. Which is how I did 4 pages a day several times per week. Which was insane. 

As it stands, I’m running 2 dnd campaigns(one meets weekly, the other every other week or so), and just scored a full-time internship at a video game company! The campaigns I’m running are a homebrew open world, which, for those of you who aren’t too familiar with dnd, is a metric fuckton of work to prep for each session because I have no idea what my insane friends and siblings are going to try and do every time we play. 

Anyways all this to say that my storytelling itch is kinda. Sufficiently getting scratched atm and I have a lot less free time. I’m still plucking away at the setting/refining the story of A Helping Hand, but it’s largely on the backburner. Cassandratopia was also, uh, like the first story I’ve ever told in any sort of format besides the give-and-take of dnd, so... I’m not used to having so much control over the narrative. Oddly. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a writer of stories; my main focus is character animation, so someone else is usually writing the stories I’m telling anyways, which is super cool with me. Honestly I’m surprising myself with how much I want to tell this story, which is why I’m still sure I’m doing it. Just. Slower. Than Cassandratopia got done. 

But I’ll share a bit of the lore I’ve been cooking up! Specifically about Zhan Tiri and The Drops. The story will be told in an extremely dnd type setting, because that’s the kind of narrative I’ve told before and am comfortable telling: hard magic rules, neat fights, scary monsters, a dash of eldritch horror, and huge emphasis being put on magical artifacts(kinda like in the show!). Here’s some stuff that’s basically locked-in. 

Zhan Tiri

Zhan Tiri is one of the many Demon Lords of the Abyss. She’s kind of a mashup of two of my favorite Demon Lords, Zuggtmoy, the Lady of Rot and Decay, and Pale Night, the Mother of Demons and Queen of the Night(with just a dash of Hannibal Lecter because who doesn’t like helpful, polite, manipulative-ass bitches lksjflkja;fj). Her domain sits almost exactly between the Sundrop and Moonstone, largely being the new growth that comes from death, and the endless cycle of life and death. Places where her influence is strongest includes the cracks in... Well anywhere really, from society to the planet’s shell, where metaphorical or physical rot could grow; musty, mostly ignored places where something could fester. Iconography related to her would include endless mazes, fungi, grasping skeletal hands, and rotting/blooming corpses. Her spores can animate corpses, which she likes to use as mindless minions when she doesn’t feel like sending one of her Acolytes. She shares a scrap of her power with those few mortals she likes. She appreciates ambition and the desire to Grow to be bigger than what you were to start with, as those are qualities she herself possesses. 

Incredibly intelligent and merciless to those she deems her enemies, her main thing is pulling the strings from the shadows and seeing just how far she can push people to act with as little prompting from her as possible. She does, however, have the power to kinda bulldoze her way through things if she needs to, but she doesn’t like to because where’s the fun in that? 

She first gained interest in the Material Plane when a Wizard with too much hubris from said Material Plane(Named Demanitus) contacted her trying to figure out more information about The Drops and how to control them. After indulging him for a bit, she started preparing to make a summer home on the Material Plane because it’s New and Fun here and Wow These Mortals are Really Fun to Mess With! And some of them she even genuinely liked! Demanitus then realized his mistake and locked her away in Pandemonium for what he hoped was forever, but turned out to be only around 1,000 years, due to the efforts of her followers. Her little stint in Pandemonium magnified the more... Chaotic aspects of her personality, so now she wants to cover the Material Plane in blooming mazes of fungal crops that she can break people with at her leisure. 

The Drops

The drops are two semi-sentient pieces of one original artifact, whose original purpose was to be a tool of creation for the gods. Which, through some great calamity(still deciding that one), got sundered and settled into the two basic aspects of creation: the nearly unlimited well of life-energy which organizes stardust into planets, cabbages, and kings, and the “you gotta crack a few eggs to get an omlette” destructive force which breaks down what the sundrop makes so that it can make more. 

The main goal of the drops is to reunite. I would want to as well if I was ripped in half! This manifests as a... General tug in the direction of the other drop. A desire in the host to Go That Way. It can be resisted, and even ignored for a bit, but it’s always there. Like being hungry if starving wasn’t a danger. Just a bit uncomfortable if you aren’t going That Way, but ignorable. 

Both drops generally try to be as helpful to their wielder as possible, as originally they were a tool of creation to the gods. They are innately obliging. They’re also REALLY UNSAFE FOR MORTALS TO BE MESSING WITH. The Sundrop is a little safer because the most it can do is kinda. Overcharge you into something distinctly not human but still alive, and King Fredrick was lucky he made the Sundrop into soup before giving it to Arianna. But King Edmund got his wholeass arm blasted off for touching the Moonstone. 

The Sundrop

Best I could whittle it down, the Sundrop has power over life energy, like the sun’s light. It also has power over the energy derived from geothermal activities, so deep sea creatures Are Not Immune To The Sundrop, which was a funny thought that crossed my mind that they could be, but that will likely never come up anyways salkdjf;ljsf It is, in its basest form, Growth and Progress. 

It’s a little sentient, but very much entrenches itself into whoever is holding it at the time. Like another mind looking through your eyes and seeing what you see/feeling what you feel while still retaining a bit of individuality from the host. It’s not... Parasitic because it’s in its nature to give, but it’s generally pretty firmly attached to whoever is holding it until they die( which isn’t usually for a WHILE. It ’infects’ a new host when one dies, usually a plant near their grave...) or until a solar eclipse. It wants what they want, but it’s very fussy so they have to ask it for power exactly correctly(like singing an incantation every time you want to heal someone, or doing a Ritual involving lots of very specific ingredients, Celestial Alignments, and Secret Words) or it won’t listen, like an orchid dying if the ph balance is off in the soil by a little bit. But it’s generally pretty intuitive to use, because it wants what you want and (as long as you ask right) is willing to help. 

Anyways basically under the influence of the Sundrop you get a few things: 

Basically limitless energy coursing through your body while you’re in a place with sunlight, which equates to rapid healing, mostly, because every cell in your body is being supercharged with free energy. Never getting exhausted in direct sunlight. (If Rapunzel lived in a place that was sunny 24/7 like near one of the poles she wouldn’t have to sleep like. until it started to get dark in the opposite half of the year. Then she’d have to sleep like a regular human being)

You stay at your prime, or if you are past it, revert to your prime. Someone who is holding the Sundrop, or who has regular access to the Sundrop’s magic can’t die of old age or illness. They have to be hurt beyond the Sundrop’s ability to heal or have it taken away from them. 

The ability to share this rapid healing with others (if you ask right)

The ability to freely draw on the raw, near-limitless energy of the sun to shape into things like cool-looking energy blasts (only if you ask right) 

The Moonstone

The moonstone has powers over varying levels of destruction: from destroying things by ripping them apart/ to Not Letting Things Be Destroyed(also known as protecting) by freezing them in indestructible rock. Like the moon, it can ‘reflect’ a bit of the sundrop’s power, so it can kinda provide energy, albeit a lot less than the sundrop can provide. It’s the inevitable march of The End of All Things, fertilizing the fields of time with the ashes of the old so the new can take root. 

The Moonstone is a bit more in the dark(pun intended hehe) when it comes to bonding with someone, it can only try to figure out what is going on based off the emotions of its wielder, and through anything directly touching the Black Rocks. Because of this it’s... Kinda dumb? It tries to do things to help(Like shooting red fear-rocks to try and scare away whatever must be scaring its wielder so badly) but often fails spectacularly at helping. 

Under the influence of the Moonstone you get: 

Mortals get Neat Body Armor that’s actually just you being turned into a rock! They are very fragile! They need to be protected! The best the Moonstone can do to try and preserve you is to Stop All Destruction by.. Pausing all bodily functions indefinitely. Rocks don’t need to eat, sleep, or breathe, and almost nothing can destroy you if you’re solid Black Rock. The weak reflection of the Sundrop’s energy keeps the host animated, but they’re not exactly alive anymore. Like cryostasis. Wounds (if any) acquired in this state won’t be a problem because they’re not messing anything up, because nothing is technically working in the first place, but they will be a problem when you’re not protected in this way anymore. It’s a cosmic ‘I’ll deal with that later’ button, essentially. 

Like the moon, the Moonstone can reflect the light of the sun. It uses its rock crystals to do so, which can even split the sun’s power into different shades, like a prism. Essentially, different colored rocks can mean new and exciting power sets. 

Blue Lightning! The Moonstone can reflect the Sundrop’s power, so it also has access to pure bursts of energy, even if it is weaker and colder. 

The Moonstone is very helpful, but usually has no idea what you want. ‘Asking’ the Moonstone for more control over its power in the same way you would Ask the Sundrop for more power reminds it of the perfect bond it used to share. The Moonstone’s incantation deepens the bond between wielder and Moonstone in such a way that it actually knows what you want from it, giving you near perfect control of its powers.

*This is kind of just a side note of the Drops: While the Moonstone is weaker than the Sundrop in an head-on fight, it could hold its own if it were on the defensive. Redirecting the power instead of trying to overpower and such.

** Cass made of rocks means I get to draw her skeleton :) not in every picture that would be fucking nuts and way too much work alskjdf;lkjs;fv

#helping hand #a helping hand #casstopia #cassandratopia 2 #mine #so yeah next comic is happening still #but I can't promise when #maybe in like 6 months when one of my dnd games wraps up #my siblings are the ones who play weekly #and I said i'd run a shorter campaign for them #like half a year campaign #then I'll only be running one game! #and I'll have time to draw comic stuff and finish finalizing my draft #I'd also like to apologize in advance for my clunky storytelling #I've literally never done this before lakjs;dlkcvj;lksjf

[hookedonapirate]

Figure of Speech

Summary: Killian has been in love with Emma Swan ever since he was eleven and she was his babysitter. The last time he saw her was the day he kissed her, thinking they were having a special moment… right before she headed off to college with her boyfriend.

When their paths cross years later, he’s just happy she remembers him—because while he’s a talented, free-spirited journalist who takes risks and has a knack for finding trouble, Emma is an accomplished and sophisticated politician who’s planning to run for President of the United States. 

Sensing Killian Jones—the boy who once knew her and supported her long before she entered the soul-sucking world of politics—is the key to unlocking a part of herself that’s been dormant for so long, she hires him as her speechwriter. As she travels the world to launch her 2020 presidential campaign, he is by her side, helping Emma find her voice again. 

The attraction between them sizzles, but when they eventually give into it, will their relationship withstand the demands of the election and scrutiny of the public?

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​ for beta reading and @onceuponaprincessworld​ for your help with this! Thank you @captainswanmoviemarathon​ for starting the event and everyone on discord for all your help!

Before you read, there are a few things I want to clarify.

First off, this story is heavily based on the movie, Long Shot, for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon, with some elements of OUAT weaved in. What I’m referring to mainly is that the president in this fic is in no way based on President Trump. In other words, I am not using this fic to bash the current U.S. president in any shape or form, or any other real-life president. So if you plan on going into this with that mindset, I beg you to hit the back button right now. This story in no way reflects my opinions or views, I mainly stuck to the plot of the movie.

Secondly, I hope that I have made it perfectly clear in the beginning scene of this chapter that Killian is not actually a white supremacist, he is only going undercover to get his story. Nor is he Jewish like Fred Flarsky is in the movie. He’s the Killian we all know and love. So please don’t send me hate messages accusing me of either being a racist or writing Killian as one. I was very torn whether to include this scene or not but I feel it is relevant to the plot and shows Killian’s character in this story as very passionate about what he believes in and is a big risktaker when getting his point across, so I decided to keep it.

Third of all, I know some of you are sick of hearing about politics, especially since the U.S. election is so close. But this is not a political movie, it’s a romance. There is of course some talk of politics, but I’ve tried my best to keep it to a minimum. So if you’re worried about that, please don’t be. The movie genre is a romantic comedy.

Writing this fic was a huge wake-up call for me because it’s the first one in a while that I’m not proud of, for lack of a better word, because I have not been able to spend much time on it. I have so many wips in my docs it’s not even funny and I think that has really impacted how this chapter turned out. But because of this fic, I decided to take some time and work on finishing some of my wips before posting them, with the exception of this one because today is my posting date.

With that said, because I’ve been pushing myself to finish my wips, I finished writing my first original novel after working on it for two years, and I will be publishing it soon. So be sure to look out for Follow My Lead, a romance about a former ballerina and a gym owner.

Okay, now I am done with my rant, so please enjoy!

AO3 FF.N

Rated: M

2018

“So you guys are fairly active on social media, right?” 

“Yeah,” Jaxon answers absentmindedly, his eyes focused on the cue ball as he lines up the shot.

“How many times a day would you say you Tweet on average?” 

Jaxon taps the ball, sends it into its pocket, and high-fives Marcus, ignoring the question.

“Hey Rogers, ready to get a Swastika tattoo?!” Richard calls from the other room as the tattoo artist is finishing up with him.

“No, that’s okay, I’m cool,” Killian replies nonchalantly through the large lump in his throat, glad his British accent didn’t leak out as he takes his turn.

“Oh, come on, man, we’ve all got ‘em!”

Killian gulps and looks around the room, all the members pulling up their shirts to show their tattoos on the left side of their chest. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but he can sense Jaxon is already suspicious of his motives. He forces a small smile, pointing to himself with his free hand as he holds up the cue stick in the other one. “You want me to get a swastika tattoo?”

“Yeah!” the group chants in unison.

“Then I’ll get a swastika tattoo,” he agrees submissively, hoping the anxiety he feels isn’t clear in his voice. He removes his leather jacket, or rather the jacket he borrowed from Victor, depositing it in a chair before he walks into the adjacent room where the tattoo artist is waiting for him. He sits in the parlor chair, his stomach twisted in knots as he chooses his left bicep for the tattoo and cringes at the thought of getting it. He’s never gotten a tattoo before, and not only is he afraid of needles, but his beliefs don’t at all resemble anything a swastika symbol resembles. Tattoos are removable, though, right? 

When the needle pierces his skin, he pinches his eyelids shut and yelps, “Blo-ooooody he-eeeell!” He realizes his mistake immediately when the words screech out in his thick, British accent. Plus, bloody hell isn’t exactly an American phrase. 

He’s praying no one noticed, because if they did, they would know he’s lying about who he claims to be, but when he flips his eyelids open, everyone’s staring at him.

Fuck.

Jaxon, the leader of the group, enters the room with Killian’s jacket in one hand and wallet in the other, raising it for everyone to see Killian’s driver’s license. His heart flitters with panic. “Look at this. He’s been lying to us. His name isn’t John Rogers,” Jaxon announces angrily. Marcus appears next to him, holding up his laptop. On the screen is the Storybrooke Advocate website with Killian’s profile pic on the page. “It’s Killian Jones. He works for the Storybrooke Advocate! He’s a fucking journalist!”

“Wait, wait, wait, I can explain!” Killian pleads, raising his hands in surrender. 

The members circle him like sharks, and everything becomes a blur as they yank him from the chair and slam him against a table. 

“What are you doing, trying to fucking embarrass us, huh?!” Jaxon screams at him. “Who sent you?!”

“No one sent me!” Killian claims adamantly, fear and pain crippling him as he tries to think his way out of this. “I was just…”

Before he can finish his sentence, Marcus reaches into Killian’s jeans pocket as the others hold him down, and pulls out his phone. Which is currently recording everything. “He’s been recording us this entire time!”

Jaxon’s face is red with anger, steam practically emitting from his ears as he grits his teeth and fists Killian’s shirt in a vice-like grip, pulling him so close that Killian smells his wretched breath. “You infiltrated our group! You’re gonna fucking die!”

They say your life flashes before your eyes during your very last moments. They say it’s like reliving every moment that’s ever stuck with you—every moment that’s ever made an impression on you. Killian always thought when he was finally shuffled off to sleep with the fishes, his life would appear in sequence or at least in random order, featuring all the people who have played a vital role in his life—his parents, his brother, his best friend—but he never thought one person would stick in his mind. He never thought all the images flashing before his eyes would be of one person and one person only.  

The woman he’s been in love with since he was eleven years old.

Killian remembers when he first fell in love with her like it were yesterday. Or at least an eleven-year-old boy’s version of love. He remembers the song, It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men, was playing on the boombox. He remembers what day it was, what he was wearing and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. He remembers thinking about one of his favorite movies, The Sandlot, how Squints tricked the lifeguard, Wendy Peffercorn, into kissing him and how she eventually married him even though she was older and way out of his league. 

Back then, a three or four year age gap seemed like a huge deal, but maybe because he was so young and she was… well she was so grown up and mature and very beautiful for her age. Not Wendy Peffercorn. Well, he supposes Wendy was too, but Killian had his real-life version of the movie character. His version of her was also blonde. She may not have been a lifeguard, but she was his next-door neighbor and also his babysitter ever since his brother left to join the Navy. Killian’s bedroom had an excellent view of her backyard and he would occasionally watch her sunbathing by the pool as she listened to music on her headphones or read a book in her bikini. Not only did she have a beautiful body, but she was wicked smart. She was passionate about the environment and the things she cared about. She was super nice to him—which went a long way with him—and had a ridiculously cute, dimpled smile. She was perfect. An angel.

Maybe that’s why, right before his death, she’s the only one he sees.

Before he met her, he never considered kissing a girl, or even liking one for that matter. He thought girls were gross and had cooties. But Emma was no girl. Not even at fifteen. She was a woman. 

Emma Swan was his Wendy Peffercorn.

She still is. Even as he’s being threatened by a group of angry white supremacists. 

She’s all he sees.

“Did you know that every year, the school throws away over five hundred tons of recyclable garbage? And no one cares!”

“Aye, it’s rubbish. But how do you get muppets to care about stuff they don’t care about?” 

Emma shrugs. “They’ll just…” She bites her bottom lip, hesitance etching her features, “they’ll just c-care because it’s the right thing to care about.” She may not have all the answers, but she’s the most inspiring person he knows.

He smiles and rests one elbow on the counter, his chin perched in his hand as he admires her passion for the environment. He admires how beautiful she is in simply a snug pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a picture of a buttercup on the front. He admires her waist-length, golden hair, how it glows radiantly in the sunlight cascading through the kitchen window and how it swishes from side to side when she turns around to grab a mitt and pull the pizza out of the oven. Delicious aromas of crisp, baked bread, melted mozzarella cheese and sweet tomato sauce waft through the kitchen, making his stomach growl. Licking his lips, he jumps off the stool and heads over to grab a slice from the pan.

She gently swats his hand away. “Don’t touch, kid, you’ll burn yourself. Let it cool, first.”

He frowns as he returns to his seat. He hates it when she calls him that. He doesn’t want her to think of him as a kid; he’s almost a teenager! Heeding her warning, he does his best to resist the temptation of getting up again and grabbing a slice, even though the gooey, golden cheese, colorful toppings and toasted crust look amazing. Instead, he places the hand she’d touched on his cheek. He never wants to wash his hand or his cheek ever again.

Emma continues the speech she’d prepared for her Student Council election. She’s running for president, and he is not only her biggest supporter, but he also came up with her campaign slogan, ‘Stay calm and vote for Swan’. He was quite proud of himself when she actually thought it was clever enough to use.

“I would definitely vote for you, Swan.”

“Thanks, Killy,” she says, ruffling a hand through his hair.

Now that’s a better nickname. Though he hates when his brother calls him Killy, he never minds when Emma does. 

Once the pizza is cool enough to eat, Emma returns to the oven, using a pizza cutter on the pie. She plates two big slices, one for each of them, and brings them to the counter, sitting next to him. They eat their pizza in silence at first, besides the yummy food noises they make.

“Thanks for helping me. I know it’s probably boring hearing my speech over and over again.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all,” he mumbles through a mouth full of pizza. “I’m just happy to help,” he smiles. His hand pauses midair, still holding his half-eaten slice of pizza as he locks eyes with his beautiful babysitter. He wonders if she feels the same way he does, and normally he wouldn’t think it was possible, but the way she’s looking at him right now makes him rethink everything.

She reaches out to him, and he closes his eyes as she caresses his cheek. His heart slams against his chest and he loses all the air from his lungs. And that’s when he knows he’s totally and completely in love. Her hand feels so wonderfully warm, he wants to spend the rest of his life feeling her touch and immediately gets a chill when she pulls her hand away. 

“All better.”

His eyes flip open to see Emma wiping her hand with a napkin. She looks up at him and smiles. “You had some sauce on your face.”

He chuckles on the outside, but internally he’s berating himself for being foolish enough to think someone like Emma Swan could possibly like him. She’s way too good for him. 

Especially when he’s thirteen and has to wear glasses. As if hitting puberty isn’t bad enough, he also has to sport the most hideous pair of thick-framed glasses. By then, his father said he was too old to have a babysitter, so he didn’t get to see Emma as much. He mowed the Swans’ lawn occasionally, but she was gone most of the time with extracurricular activities and prepping for college. He convinced himself she could never be into someone like him. Someone who was nerdy and awkward and four years her junior. 

Until one day when he’s fourteen and she’s eighteen.

She’s leaving for college and he’s been in his room sulking while listening to It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye for two weeks, not looking forward to her departure. He’s afraid he’ll never see her again. But he’s also happy for her. She’s off to better and greater things, greener pastures as they say. She’s going to Harvard and leaving him in the dust.

He’s on the front porch, sitting on the top step, his chin in his hands and his elbows propped up on his knees as he watches Emma and her parents packing up her things. He wants to offer his assistance, but this seems like a very important bonding moment for the three of them and he doesn’t wish to interrupt. He can tell Mr. and Mrs. Swan are both incredibly sad but also very proud of their daughter, and there are lots of hugs and tears by the time the car is packed. Then Emma says something to her parents and they wave at Killian. He smiles and waves back before they head inside.

Emma walks over to him, and he immediately stands up, making his way down the remaining steps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, smiling at him.

“Hey,” he parrots, offering a small smile. “So, you’re all packed?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving soon.”

Nodding nervously, he scratches behind his ear as he looks away, not sure what to say.

“Look, I’m not a goodbye person, but — ”

“Let’s not say goodbye then,” he suggests and offers his hand. But instead of shaking it, she throws her arms around him. Killian’s stunned, and can’t even move at first, completely paralyzed in her embrace.

Emma’s hugging him.

He slowly molds into her body, his arms wrapping around her waist as she tightens her hold. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream as he buries his face there. He never wants to let her go.

“I’ll miss you, Killian,” she whispers in his ear.

His heart does a little somersault, and he whispers, “Not a day will go by when I won’t think of you.”

He feels her smile against his neck. “Good.”

That one simple word does something to him and he grins into her hair, holding her tighter. 

She breaks the hug long before he’s ready, and he’s still awestruck as she leans in to kiss him.

Bloody hell. 

Emma Swan leans in for a kiss as he springs forward to meet her halfway. Their lips finally connect like they had so many times in his dreams, but he doesn’t fail to miss how surprised she is when a gasp escapes against his mouth. She doesn’t pull away, but he knows he probably should after realizing she was actually going for his cheek. But her lips are so soft and warm and taste like cinnamon and cocoa, and he swears they move ever so slightly against his. He still has his arms around her, pressing her to him, and her center suddenly moves away from him. Forcing himself to break the kiss, he looks down and notices the very prominent and very hard erection tenting his pants.

Fuck.

His cheeks are on fire as he looks up, apology and embarrassment flushing his face. He’s expecting her to either slap him or storm away and never look back, but she stares down at his groin, her mouth agape. 

“Bloody hell, I’m so sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” Emma squeaks as her eyes snap up to his.

Just then, a ‘69 Ford Mustang pulls up in front of Emma’s house, the music booming through the speakers at an obnoxious volume.

He panics when Emma’s boyfriend gets out of the car and makes his way over to them. Killian forgot Neal was riding with Emma to Harvard, where he was certainly not attending. Neal could only get into a community college.

Killian quickly pulls off the backward baseball cap from his head and uses it to cover his obvious boner. 

“Hey, babe, ready to go?” 

She nods and looks at Killian, a small smile tilting her lips. 

“Bye, four-eyes,” Neal taunts with a condescending sneer as he wraps his arm around Emma’s shoulders.

Really?

Killian bites his tongue as he rolls his eyes. That nickname really gets old. Can’t he think of something more original?

“Don’t call him that,” Emma scolds her boyfriend, swatting his chest. “He has a name.”

“Sorry, I mean Killian,” he says insincerely before turning around and pulling Emma with him.

As Killian watches them walk away, pushing up the bridge of his glasses with his finger, he would give anything to be the one with his arm around Emma, the one leaving with her instead of being the one she leaves. She cranes her neck to look at him as she walks away. He swears she’s looking at him longingly but he’s sure he’s only imagining it. She’s still gazing at him until her parents emerge from the house. Neal doesn’t even have the courtesy to open the door to her parents’ station wagon for her, and instead hurries into the back seat. 

Arsehole, Killian thinks bitterly as he watches the vehicle pull away from the curb. Emma stares at him through the passenger’s window, and their eyes connect. He flashes one last smile and waves. She smiles back at him and presses her palm to the window before she disappears down the road and out of his life, leaving a permanent gaping hole in his heart. 

He always thought not being able to see Emma anymore was the scariest thing he’s ever experienced. But that was before he was inked with part of a swastika tattoo so his cover wouldn’t be blown. That was before he fell from a two-story building and landed in a dumpster. Luckily the trash bags cushioned his fall and didn’t contain any glass or other sharp objects. He hadn’t really thought that through when he jumped. But then again, he didn’t really have time to do anything but run for his life while Marcus and Jaxon were busy trying to figure out how to stop Killian’s phone from recording. Killian took advantage of the distraction and plucked the phone from their hands, sprinting for the nearby window.

His phone.

Killian quickly lifts his hand to see that not only is his phone still in his hand but it’s still intact. He climbs out of the dumpster, his entire body sore, but he lands on his feet. He’d left his leather jacket up there, but it wasn’t even his. Killian doesn’t wear leather jackets, he’s content with his hoodies. He borrowed the jacket from his best friend, Victor. He’ll be pissed, but oh well, Killian will buy him a new one.

Three of the members are poking their heads out the window and Killian looks up at them, throwing the hand that’s still holding his phone in the air. He feels like Bennie in The Sandlot when he finally gets the baseball from the beast and hurdles the fence, still holding onto the ball. The difference is the beast chased Bennie down. The difference is the beast in the movie was not actually a beast at all. He can’t say the same about those white supremacists, though.

“We trusted you, man!” Richard calls out. He’s the one Killian had contacted through one of their social media groups. 

“Sorry, mate,” he says in his British accent, his words lacking any sort of apology as he spins around. “Peace!” he calls behind him trying to sound as American as he can, and instead of saluting the members with two fingers, which is not a peace sign for Brits, he flips them the bird as he goes. 

∞∞∞

“Tonight on Walsh News, we take an in-depth look at Emma Swan, a Rhodes Scholar, a Pulitzer Prize winner and a protégé of President Gold who tapped Swan two years ago to be the youngest Secretary of State in the history of this nation.”

As sore as Killian is from that jump out of a two-story window and as much as he hates that arsehole, Walsh, and everything the media mongrel represents, he lifts his eyes from his MacBook. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and manages a small smile when he sees Emma on the television screen. He knows what he’d done to write his article and expose the White Power group was worth it. He may have lost faith in humanity long ago, but Emma’s passion and ambition and hope have always stuck with him. He wants to believe the support he’d always shown her when they were young has always stuck with her too, but he doubts it. She doesn’t need his support. She never did. She was never a helpless duckling, and even after she lost the student council election to August Booth because of his stupid two prom platform, her wounds healed and she eventually spread her wings and soared high in the sky, leaving Storybooke in the dust. 

As Killian gazes at her wistfully at the screen, he sees the elegant swan he always knew she’d become. While everyone he knows had hopes and dreams they gave up on long ago, Emma is the one person who made hers come true. Well, not quite all of them. She always talked about saving the planet, but he knows her work isn’t nearly finished. She’s only thirty-seven, and even though they haven’t spoken to one another since the day he watched her ride away in her parents’ 1987 Pontiac Safari Station Wagon, he still believes in her. He’ll always believe in her.

∞∞∞

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she twists the knob and opens the thick, wooden door, entering the Oval Office with a little bit of forced enthusiasm. President Gold had been vague over the phone about what he’d wished to discuss with her, but his tone of voice indicated it might be something big. “Good morning Mr. President,” she greets with the smile she had practiced in her bedroom mirror repeatedly that morning. 

“Hello, Ms. Swan.” He rises from his chair and rounds the desk, gesturing to one of the couches. “Please, have a seat.”

She sits down and crosses her legs, folding her hands in her lap as he sits on the couch across from her and rests his elbows on his knees. “Ms. Swan…”

“Yes, sir?”

He blows out a long breath as if whatever he’s about to tell her has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. “I will not be seeking re-election.”

Emma’s sure the awestruck expression on her face doesn’t even come close to how surprised she actually is. “Really?” Did she hear him correctly?

He nods, clapping his hands together. “Look, I know how absurd it sounds seeing as I’m only halfway through my first term—”

“And you’re incredibly popular, sir.” But she knows most of his popularity stems from being a television star before he took office. He hosted the popular game show, Let’s Strike a Deal.

“And I’m going to use that popularity to transition into something more prestigious than the presidency. I wanna make it in the movies.”

Emma blinks, not believing what she’s hearing. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to process this. “Yoooouuuu… want to leave… the presidency… to be a movie star?”

“I know it’s tough to make the leap from television to film, but I think I’m going to give it a shot.”

After the initial shock washes over her, she sees this as an opportunity. She had planned on running for president in 2024, but with Gold leaving office at the end of his first term, perhaps she can use this to her advantage. And she knows just how to go about it. Gold may be good at convincing people—he is an actor after all—but Emma not only has far more education than him, her extensive political background has helped her greatly improve her cajolery tactics over the years. After she lost the Student Council election to August Booth in high school, she’s learned that in order to get ahead, sometimes you have to use a little sleight of hand to get there—give the people what they want, so to speak. Or, in this case, help Gold realize just how legendary his presidency could be.

“Mr. President, have you given any consideration as to whom you might endorse? I’m sure you’re probably thinking of Yang or Crowley. Sound choices,” she nods and purses her lips, averting her gaze, a look of contemplation on her face. “It’s so strange because I was considering a run in 2024, and I can’t stop wondering what…” she looks at Gold again, “what it would do for your legacy to endorse the first female president. I mean, wow. ” The word is breathy, almost a whisper. “Now that’s a legacy.”

Gold presses his joined hands to his lips and has a thoughtful expression embedded in his features, but she can’t discern what he’s thinking.

She looks at the floor between them while he ponders her words. 

“Emma?” he finally says after a moment.

“Hmm?” She reverts her eyes to him.

“I would like to endorse you to be the next President of the United States.” 

Her entire body is thrumming with excitement and her stomach is full of butterflies; she doesn’t even care he said it like it was his idea. She’ll even give him credit for it. Besides, trying to convince him otherwise would be like trying to teach a fish how to bark. She closes her eyes and refrains from jumping up and down on the couch. She opens her eyes again, trying to hide the excitement in her voice but fails, her tone coming out unusually high pitched. “I mean, if you think that’s a good idea, sir, I trust you completely. I’d be… I’d be honored.”

He reclines back, wagging a finger at her. “I’ll be pulling for Team Emma. Because you’ve been a great secretary.”

“Of State,” she adds.

“Whatever. You’ve done it well, Dearie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So stay focused. Don’t make any major screw-ups. Don’t kill anyone. That’s probably not a problem for you. I don’t know what you’re into. Whatever. And before you know it…” He rises from the couch and hums the US Presidential Anthem. 

“I like the sound of that,” Emma says with a jubilant smile as she stands up.

“Hey here she comes, it’s the first lady president,” he chants.

“Thank you, sir.” She heads for the door, Gold following behind her still singing. 

“Who can believe she is actually a woman. She’s got a big brain and a couple other assets.”

Emma opens the door and walks through, not even giving another thought to how incredibly sexist Gold is being. She’s floating high on a cloud as she sashays proudly down the hall and raises a subtle victory fist in the air, whispering to herself, “Yessss!”

∞∞∞

“You’re gonna love this,” Killian raves as he hands the piece to his boss. “I almost died for this.”

Sidney lowers the mug from his lips, swallowing his coffee down. He offers a tightlipped smile as he glances very briefly at the draft before looking up at Killian, a serious expression clouding his face. “Got a second?”

“Of course.” 

“Come with me.”

Killian follows Sydney into his office and sits across from him at the desk, setting his satchel on the floor.

Sydney sets down Killian’s article and his coffee mug, folding his hands together on the desk. “I have some great news, Killian. We’ve just been bought by Walsh Media.” 

Killian pales and his stomach drops. “What?!” Blood bubbles under his skin at the thought of the wanker buying the Storybrooke Advocate. The thought of him owning something Killian has literally put his blood, sweat and tears into. “Bloody hell. Are you fucking kidding me?!” Ever since he was a kid, he’s dreamed of being an investigative journalist, so he’s been nothing but loyal and dedicated to the company from day one. But in the blink of an eye, Walsh has managed to ruin all that for him.

“Look, I knew you would have a poor reaction—”

“A poor reaction?!”

“Killian, this is a good thing.”

“How?! That wanker represents everything we’ve been fighting against since day one. The whole point of this paper is to fight giant media conglomerates. Now we’ve been bought by a giant media conglomerate.”

“I see the irony,” Sydney nods.

“Irony?!” Killian stands from his chair, his voice growing louder with every word. “He’s going to turn us into a giant propaganda machine! And not the good kind!” Anger pulsates through him as he paces back and forth in front of Sidney’s desk; he’s never been this worked up before in his entire life. And that’s saying something for him.

“Killian, we’re running out of options. We’ve been running as long as we can on ads for weed doctors and escorts.”

Killian stops in his tracks and raises his hands in the air. “Then run penis enlargement ads or something!”

“Come on, Killian,” Sydney admonishes.

He sighs in exasperation, trying to calm down, his voice calmer. “This Walsh guy ran fake stories to get Gold elected.”

Sydney shakes his head and raises a finger at him. “No, they couldn’t prove that.”

“We proved it!” He holds up three fingers. “I wrote three articles about it. You published them!”

Sydney nods, lowering his face into the palm of his hand. “I did.”

“The shite that comes out of this guy’s mouth? He said same-sex marriage caused tornadoes! He represents everything that’s wrong with this country!”

“Killian, it’s done, alright?”

He freezes. “It’s done?!”

“They’re upstairs, finalizing the deal right now.” 

Killian presses the pads of his fingers to his temples and turns away from his boss as he tries to process this. 

Sydney stands and rounds his desk, sitting on the edge, pleading with him. “Look, we have to cut two-thirds of our staff.”

Killian turns around, devastation in his features. “Two-thirds?”

“Yes. But we want to keep you on. They want to keep you on. It’s just,” he blows out a hesitant breath, “you just have to tone it down a little bit.”

Killian furrows his brows in bewilderment. “I don’t know how I can tone things down any more than I’m toning them down, mate,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Okay look, Killian, you’re a brilliant writer…”

“Thank you.”

“You’re funny, you take risks, you connect with people…”

Killian’s brows pinch in suspicion. “Why am I sensing there’s a big but coming?”

“You have a distinct, authentic voice… but… ”

“And there it is…” he sighs.

“But, sometimes you’re a little too much.”

Killian is taken aback. “I don’t think I am too much. I actually think I’m the perfect portion,” he says defensively.

“Look, you have your job, so focus on that and just toe the line a little bit.”

Killian is enraged. Toe the line a little bit?! He’s not toeing any lines. “I quit.”

Sydney’s face twists with a mixture of shock and disappointment. “Oh, come on, Killian…”

“You should quit, too. Everyone should bloody well quit.”

“No, I’m not quitting, I need my job.”

“I need my job too. I’m broke. But I can’t work for that tosser.”

Sydney sighs. “At least let me fire you so you can collect unemployment.”

Killian slices a hand through the air over his chest. “No bloody way! I want nothing from him. Besides, I want him to know I quit.”

“He’ll never know it, he’s never heard of you. You’re going to destroy your life to spite a guy who’s never heard of you?”

“Yes! You said it best! That’s exactly what I’m doing. Fuck this.” Killian grabs his satchel and walks out of Sydney’s office, closing the door behind him, announcing to all his former coworkers, “Journalism died today, people!”

∞∞∞

“So the headline is, you’re in great shape,” Mary Margaret, the polling team manager, points out as she displays the next presentation slide.

Emma’s sitting at the meeting table between her Chief of Staff, Regina Mills, and Deputy Chief of Staff, Robin Locksley, trying to follow along with the presentation, but it’s difficult for Emma to focus when her stomach is full of butterflies. She still can’t believe she persuaded Gold to endorse her. Her head is spinning.

“Ninety-two percent, that’s good,” Regina comments. 

“It’s very good,” Mary Margaret agrees exuberantly and moves on to the next slide, which shows Emma’s personality traits and how they were ranked. “Your sense of humor is eighty-two, which is solid.” Mary Margaret cocks her head to the side, as though she has to rethink that assessment. “It’s solid, but we wouldn’t mind seeing that number go up a few points… or more.”

Regina leans in to speak to Emma as she takes notes. “I’ll get some writing samples from some funny speechwriters.”

Emma sets her pen down and smiles. “Thanks, Regina.” She rests her elbows on the table, clasping her hands together as she reverts her attention to Mary Margaret and says, “But I’m really interested in knowing how people feel about my accomplishments.” 

“Right, so we don’t drill down on specific policies, and that’s only because people don’t seem to care.”

Well, that’s a blow to the gut.

“With that said, if you could broker a deal that gets you out there talking about something you feel strongly about, that would be really great.”

“Well, that’s perfect,” Emma says enthusiastically, sitting on the edge of her chair. “We’ve been looking for an opening to start a conversation about the environment.” 

“That sounds great,” Mary Margaret says with a grin, but Emma’s not sure if she’s being sarcastic and trying to hold back a laugh, or if she’s being sincere. “Now, if I may, onto your romantic life…” The brunette shows a photo of Emma and Graham Humbert smiling for the camera.

Emma refrains from rolling her eyes as she rests her chin in her palm. She doesn’t have a romantic life. One make-out session with a world leader she barely knows doesn’t constitute a romance.

However, the way Mary Margaret gushes as she looks at the couple in the photo, one would think they were actually a couple. “Remember the stir online when you and the Canadian Prime Minister were seated next to each other at the Global Business Forum?”

Emma nods, wishing she were taking a nap right now. She doesn’t care about improving her personality traits or starting a romance that will raise her numbers and appease the public. Although she is quite proud of her two highest scores, elegance and charisma, both ranked at over ninety-five percent.

“A relationship like that,” Mary Margaret points to the photo of Emma and Graham, “could push you into the high nineties.”

“High nineties? Wow,” Regina murmurs to herself, making note of it.

“That brings us to…” Mary Margaret switches to the next slide, showing Emma’s wave.

She knits her brows in confusion. “What’s wrong with my wave?”

“That kind of elbow movement is um…” Mary Margaret purses her lips as though she’s trying to figure out how to put it delicately, but then gives up, “well, it stresses people out.”

“You know what? It’s just an area of improvement,” Robin assures Emma after sensing the offended tone in her voice.

She supposes the movement in her elbow is a bit too much. It makes her look like a robot actually. “Fine, I’ll work on the wave.”

∞∞∞

“I’m not going to a fancy rich person party,” Killian declares after Victor proposed going to the World Wildlife Fund benefit in Philly tonight. Killian had shared the details with Victor and now they’re walking down Main Street discussing their plans for the evening. But Killian thought Vic was trying to make him feel better. Going to a fancy, rich person party will only remind Killian how rich he is not. He had something else in mind, something involving the closest bar and lots and lots of rum. 

“Oh, come on, Jones. Don’t be so judgemental. There will be free booze and pandas and shit. People love pandas and shit.”

Killian shakes his head. “I just lost my job, I’m not really in the mood to mingle.”

“Fine, just sit at home and do nothing. Don’t hang out with your best friend and Boyz II Men.”

Killian’s ears perk up and he stops in his tracks. “Boyz II Men will be there?”

Victor stops walking and turns around, nodding. “Yep. They’re bringing their timeless blend of R&B and hip hop to the party. The fancy rich party doesn’t sound so bad after all, now does it?”

Not at all. He used to listen to Boyz II Men and other popular musicians in the nineties. But mostly Boyz II Men because it’s what he and Emma would listen to when she was over at his house babysitting him. He didn’t know Victor then; they met in college before Victor went off to medical school, but they have similar tastes in music. Which is how Victor knew exactly how to persuade Killian into going to a fancy, rich person party. “Okay, I’m in, mate.”

“That’s the spirit!” Victor pats Killian on the shoulder, and they walk again as Victor sings Motownphilly.

∞∞∞

“I’m starving. Why didn’t you power bar me?” Emma asks Robin as they make their way down the staircase, Regina and her Secret Service agents following behind them.

The Grand Room glitters like something out of a fairy tale, all candlelight and crystal chandeliers and gilt and sophisticated shine. The attendees glitter, the women dripping in diamonds and other precious stones and the men donning suits and black ties. 

“I tried to, but you pushed my hand away,” Robin chuckles.

“Hopefully they don’t have skewered foods. I can’t eat skewered foods gracefully; I always look like a fucking cavewoman.”

“And there are cameras everywhere.” Regina points at a dutiful photographer who’s unobtrusively circling the perimeter of the room, taking pictures of as many of the guests as he can. “That would hurt your elegance score.”

“That’s my best score.”

When they reach the buffet table, Emma’s relieved to find that not all the food is on skewers. But even so, she’s so hungry, she may still look like a cavewoman trying to stuff as much food into her mouth as she can. “Cover me?”

“Of course.”

Regina and Robin both stand behind her like walls as Emma makes her first selection, grabbing a saucy meatball on a toothpick and bringing it to her mouth, being careful not to drip any sauce on her black dress. 

“Oh my god, these meatballs are really good,” Emma mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Graham Humbert is approaching,” Regina warns her. “He’s about nine feet away.”

“Shit,” Emma whispers and shoves another meatball into her mouth before wiping her lips and chin with a napkin. After swallowing it down and discarding the napkin, she spins around, offering a bright smile. 

When Graham approaches her, giving her a once over, Regina and Robin disperse.

“Graham… how are you?”

“Good evening.” His lips twitch in a pleased smile as he takes Emma’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “I am so sorry I missed you at the White House a few weeks ago,” he says in his thick, Irish brogue. He was born in Canada, but his parents are originally from Ireland, so naturally, he took on their Irish accent.

“Oh, it’s fine.” Emma waves off his apology with a flick of her hand. “Maybe next time?”

“Well, I—”

“If I may?” the photographer interrupts, holding up his camera.

“Aye, of course,” Graham turns toward him, and Emma relents, remembering what Mary Margaret said about how being seen with Graham would raise her score. She supposes if she’s going to be running for president, she must endure some things she may not like, in order to appease the public. Besides, it’s not like Graham is bad looking; in fact, he’s rather handsome with his curly brown hair and grey-blue eyes. But her hectic schedule doesn’t allow time for a romantic relationship. 

Graham wraps his arm around her as she places a tentative hand on his back. The camera flashes a few times as Emma and Graham hold their smiles.

“One more,” Graham says, just as Emma’s about to pull away. 

A few more successive shots are taken before Graham thanks the photographer and they break their pose, turning toward each other. 

He inches closer, speaking intimately in her ear. “What do you say we get out of here? Grab a drink somewhere a bit more… private?”

The music changes from something soft and elegant to something more familiar. Very familiar actually. 

Motownphilly.

Emma looks over Graham’s shoulder and her eyes light up when she sees Boyz II Men on stage. “Yeeeessss!”  

When Regina told her about the World Wildlife Fund benefit, she failed to mention Boyz II Men would be performing.

“Yeah?” Graham asks, a big smile spreading across his lips.

While he’s thinking she was saying yes to his invitation, Emma had forgotten his presence as soon as she heard the music. Not that she would’ve accepted his invitation anyway. But now she sees this as an opportunity to avoid the question altogether. “Oh my God!” Emma scurries over to the crowd that’s gathering around the entertainers of the evening.

“Alright, alright, alright, alright. Philly, make some noise. Make some noise!”

The crowd whistles and cheers, and Emma is taken back to when she was a kid again. She was ten when this song came out—when she bought their CD—and listened to it constantly throughout her teen years. 

Graham joins her on the dance floor as she moves to the music, not even caring about her elegance score. She literally hasn’t danced like this since high school, but she feels more carefree than she has in years and she hasn’t even had a sip of champagne. Stuffy music and champagne have never been her thing. But this… this is her music.

“Duty calls.” Graham’s deep voice in her ear makes her jump, and she spins around to look at him. “I’ll take a snow check on those drinks. Canadian for a rain check,” he winks.

“Okay,” Emma says, forcing a small laugh at his joke. 

“Good evening,” he bids her, slowly walking away.

∞∞∞

“I feel very underdressed,” Killian grumbles as he peers down at himself. He’d never thought to change out of his blue jeans, t-shirt and black hoody, and here he is drinking champagne in a room full of rich people who are wearing tuxes and formal dresses.

“Don’t worry, you look fine,” Victor says as they make their way through the crowd. 

Killian knows he’s just being nice though. Even Victor is wearing a dress shirt and blazer, but then again he blends in more with the other rich folk because unlike Killian, he’s not jobless or poor; he’s a doctor who makes more than a decent living.

Killian finishes his champagne and places the flute on a tray when a waiter approaches, and snatches another one, gulping it down like rum.

“Easy, buddy. You’re pounding those drinks pretty hard, don’t you think?” And that’s coming from Victor, who’s at the bar every night he’s not on call.

“I got fired today, mate.” 

“I thought you said you quit?”

Killian’s gaze moves across the room as he turns his head to look at Victor who is standing next to him. “I was forced to quit because—” His words die in his throat, his jaw dropping when his eyes land on a gorgeous blonde dancing.

But not just any blonde. Killian recognizes her. 

It’s the Secretary of State. It’s Emma Swan. His first crush. His first kiss. 

He hasn’t seen her in person since she was eighteen, but she’s even more stunning as a grown woman. And she’s even more stunning than she is on television. 

#cs ff #long shot au #captain swan

[belliesandburps]

Followup with MGS4 Peace Walker and 5?

History has a funny way of repeating itself. :P

This one's actually gonna be long, so I'll cap it here to spare those uninterested in non-kink posts the burden of having to scroll past this fanboy rant. 'XD

Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots

3. It's Okay

Soooooo...not a controversial opinion to say that I don't think MGS4 is GREAT. I adored it when it first game out, and I still enjoy replaying it from time to time. But good lord, so many of the interviews shed light on a LOT of this games problems.

Some backstory is required. Hideo Kojima was done with MGS by this point. He planned to move on and leave the series to the younger generation. But then, there was a lot of internal conflict and struggle to determine what MGS4 should be after Fukushima quit (AND was rumored to have been murdered by the Yakuza...how that rumor started...and became a SERIOUS rumor that millions believe, I do not know...). So Kojima came back, course corrected, and the end result was kind of a giant mess.

I'm not talking story because, there's just way too much to unpack. But as a game, MGS4 can't decide what sort of video game it wants to be. It had a brilliant idea that had never been done before with its Battlefield Stealth, which were the best parts of the game. And then they get dropped two acts in, and what gets replaced in their stead is not nearly as fun.

The game had substantially less boss fights than its predecessor, and a lot of them were mechanically simplistic or just didn't let you get creative with how you fought them. And we later learned there were a lot more bosses planned, more gameplay sequences planned, and an entire other PMC group that got canned in favor of the Scarabs so Shadow Moses could be guarded by machines instead.

There's a lot about MGS4 that I love. I think the first two acts are amazing, ESPECIALLY Act 2. I think the mechanics are great. REX vs RAY is criminally fun. The sheer buffet of insane weapons gives the game a good amount of replay value. And the graphics still hold up to this day!

But what I finally realized is that the game juggles way too many ideas and doesn't give any idea the time they deserve to flourish. Battlefield Stealth could've CARRIED MGS4. But it gets dumped before we can get our moneys worth. A disguise sequence could've been really creative, having to juggle different identities with OctoMask every time one identity is burned. But it's only used once and wasted because it's only used for a terrible tailing mission that doesn't let you actually explore the European City. And too many of the action set pieces are kind of bland except the bosses and piloting Metal Gear.

MGS4 should've been MGS4. Not MGS's "Best Hits."

Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker

1. LOVED it!

I know this is unpopular to say, but I'll say it. Peace Walker is one of the best Metal Gear games ever made. I adored almost everything about it. The gameplay improves on MGS4 in most ways because it doesn't juggle a billion ideas all at once. It's MGS4 stripped down to stealth action from start to finish, and that's all I wanted. The level design is great. The insane volume of guns changes the entire feel of combat in later post-campaign gameplay. The mission select options mean you can jump into all the parts of the game you enjoy the most. There's TONS of bonus missions that are really inventive and fun to replay. And the story is one of the best in the series. It's straight forward, very tight, characterized well, and is the best iteration of Big Boss to date.

Peace Walker's also the FUNNIEST MGS game by Kojima as well. There's so much more personality and levity to everything, to the point where Big Boss often feels like an MCU character. That might sound bad, but it's really not. That corniness fits MGS PERFECTLY, and I'd argue is tonally spot on for this series. MGS doesn't need to be dark, gory or explicit. It's a silly series that's about giant robots, corny bad ass super agents with an anti-nuke message.

The only downsides to Peace Walker are the QTE's and the boss fights. This was a feature that only ever appeared in this game and for good reason...it was fucking terrible. So basically, you had cutscenes that forced you to do various QTE's or else get dinged on your ratings at the end, even if you played perfectly. Fairly minimal, but then, you get to Strangelove's torture. And this is the single most rage-inducing part of any MGS game ever made. It's an insanely physically painful button mashing sequence that will leave your fingers raw and your PS3 triangle buttons jamming. And the ONLY way you can replay one of the best missions in the game (the prison escape where you have no items) is by redoing that sequence over and over. And the boss fights? While inventive, they're all just grindy bullet sponges with no personality, no stealth tactics, and no room for creativity the way you can get creative with every other MGS game's bosses. This was the biggest disappointment for me because the stealth and combat mechanics of PW are great and would've been SO good against human enemies like what Portable Ops had. Instead, every boss is a mini-Metal Gear all voiced by the VOCALOID AI from the mid 2000's, and each one takes forever to destroy. It sucks because PW had a TON of bosses, but only a few of them are any fun, and that's only if you have weapons that are strong enough that they don't take ages to destroy.

But asides from the bosses, the REST of the game is so damn good that I don't even care because that's just one element to a much larger, grander game. Which is even more impressive when you consider PW was originally on the PSP before the PS3 port. And this game has more content and replay value to it than most games I've played since.

Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain

1. LOVED it!

Hooooooookay...so, I've rambled about my storybook romance with MGSV for YEARS now. (Just ask @twistedtummies2, he's been subjected to my fanboying of this game more than anyone in existence XD) But there's a reason I regard this game as one of my all time favorites and the best MGS game to date.

It's REALLY freakin' fun.

Kojima had been re-energized by the time he got to MGSV. He'd been working on the game around the time he finished Peace Walker in 2010. He KNEW it was his final MGS game and wanted to do something completely different...

...He wanted to make a game where the central focus was on...waaaaait for it...the gameplay...

MGSV was designed to be, what he described, as a toybox. You have these missions that all take place in structurally unique outposts like any level in MGS. And the missions are designed with the structure needed so that they all feel different, but all remain so open ended that you can play them countless different ways.

MGSV's game model is everything GTA SHOULD'VE been. It fully embraces the open world freedom and incorporates that into the missions flawlessly. And it plays in such a way that stealth and combat both feel like they were the primary point. In MGS, combat is usually a last resort. But with MGSV, you can fly into an outpost blasting away on your helicopters mini-gun, shoot up the bad guys, rescue your target, throw them back into the chopper and fly away while "The Final Countdown" blares on your choppers loud speakers.

Every method of gameplay is valid and the controls, the enemy AI responsiveness, it's all, bar none, the best I've experienced in ANY video game. Sneaking around feels tight and tense and combat makes you feel like Jack Bauer on adrenaline. (I mean, he IS the voice of Venom Snake)

And I really like the story for the most part too. Its weaknesses are really glaring. Namely, the "Fun" of MGS is completely devoid in the story (which is really odd since it's FRONT AND CENTER in-game). Venom Snake only has maybe six minutes of dialogue in the entirety of this 30+ hour long game. And the way Skull Face gets completely undercut right at the home stretch is something I have NOT stopped bitching about for almost six years, and my friends can personally attest to that.

That and the ending feels too abrupt.

We know that Kojima got fired by Konami's VP and said VP scorched the entire production company after that and made a series of dickheaded decisions that pissed off a LOT of fans, burning much of the good will Konami IP fans had towards the company. But that had nothing to do with MGSV's abruptness. That was the plan from the start because only Kojima would think to end the entire series on a plot twist like that.

And I think the issue isn't the twist at all. In fact, I LOVE the twist. The issue is that the game should've continued beyond it so Venom Snake could cope with the truth and realize how badly he'd been screwed. I think even people who hated the twist could've been won over if there was a little more to the games epilogue than Episode 46.

Also, the games boss fights were a tad underwhelming. Not the fights themselves, I LOVED all five of the games bosses.

Oh? There were twelve?

No. I meant what I said. Because so many of the games bosses are rematches against the same bosses. All MGSV has is the Skulls, Quiet, Eli, The Man on Fire, and Metal Gear. They're great bosses that do everything the best MGS bosses always did; give you tons of options, incorporate combat AND stealth, have varied attacks AND even have multiple methods to sneak around the boss and avoid the fight completely. But for a game as long as MGS, you need more variety. And frankly, the bosses NEED more personality. Skull Face should've had more XOF assassins acting as the bosses in the game along with the ones we have. Elite assassins like Quiet, with their own powers and specialized weaponry so the fights feel completely different from the ones we have. And oh yeah, SKULL FACE HIMSELF SHOULD'VE HAD A GOD-FUCKING-DAMN BOSS FIGHT!!!!

Buuuuuuut those issues don't even matter if for all the games issues, I still replay it frequently when it's almost six years old.

So yeah! There's the massive rant you totally didn't ask for! :D

#ask belliesandburps #mgs4 #mgsv #peace walker #metal gear #metal gear solid #seriously #i'm very very VERY bitter about how Kojima did Skull Face dirty #here's this really great villain with a super complex backstory and motivation #whadduya wanna do with him kojima-san? #I'VE GOT IT!!!!!! #we'll do...absolutely nothing! #he'll show up in five missions out of a thirty nine mission long game #he'll talk at venom snake a few times and do some cool things #then right around the time we're supposed to fight him? #a random twelve year old will hijack metal gear through a PSYCHIC twelve year old and crush Skull Face before we can do anything cool! :D #hold your applause children! :D #................we weren't clapping kojima-san........... #also sins of the father? #heaven's divide? #donna burke is amazing #seriously she is an in-freakin'-CREDIBLE singer #sorry cynthia hall #i got love #but... #whoooooa-HHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!

[purplesurveys]

1245

Serious question, peanut butter or nutella?  Oh you are just mean. Nutella is amazing as a filling or icing, but when it comes down to it I guess I look for peanut butter more often. I love both though.

Do you prefer baked potatoes or mashed potatoes?  Mashed. But baked potatoes are pretty good too; the only reason I didn’t pick it is that I don’t get to have it as often as I do mashed.

What is your oldest sibling’s middle name?  I’m the eldest sibling, but my sister, who comes after me, has Beatrice as her second name if that’s what you mean by middle name.

Do you like breadsticks?  Yes. The more cheesy-garlicky, the better.

What are your favorite things to spend money on?  Merch or food.

Which would you rather have a new puppy or kitten?  Puppy. Not the biggest fan of cats.

How old will you be on your next birthday?  24.

Do you ever feel self-conscious when you eat around other people?  If it’s the combination of having to be around people I’m not too close with, like workmates, and I’m eating something that tends to be messy, like jjajangmyeon, then yeah I can definitely feel conscious.

When you opened your eyes this morning, what were your first thoughts?  I fell asleep from 11 PM to around 3 AM and when I woke up then I thought  “ugh, I fell asleep early again?”

What is one thing in the room you’re in that reminds you of somebody?  My vape pen constantly reminds me of Andi because they were the one who gave it to me.

Could you ever be friends with somebody who was homophobic?  No.

Would you ever want to be a supermodel, or date one?  I did want to be one, at one point. It was all a matter of being stuck with the wrong crowd at the time lol.

Honestly, have you ever made fun of somebody so bad they cried?  Probably with my sister when we were very young.

Honestly, would you rather be complimented on your looks or intelligence?  Intelligence.

Have you ever purchased a pregnancy test, for yourself or otherwise? I never have.

You can get one thing, anything, for free right now. What do you pick? Why?  A 1 or 2 TB hard drive. My phone has reached the stage where I’m starting to have to constantly delete shit so I don’t reach the maximum storage, so I need someplace to dump all my photos and videos in to free up my phone.

Honestly, have you ever danced naked?  Nope.

What was the first illegal thing that you did? Did you get caught? I dunno...buy pirated movies? I didn’t get ‘caught’ since pirated movie stalls are widespread here anyway, so for the most part I’ve always been more concerned for them than I am for myself.

What is the home page on the computer you’re on?  Technically it’s supposed to be the Google home screen, but I have an extension that shows me my to-do list for the day.

Do you like to write poetry?  Nah, that’s always been my Achilles’ heel when it comes to writing.

Are your ears pierced?  Yup. Surprisingly enough they’ve never closed up despite never having worn earrings (clip-ons notwithstanding) in the last 13 years.

If so, were they pierced with a piercing gun, or with a sterile needle?  I’m not sure, since my mom had them pierced when I was a baby. I would guess piercing gun, though.

Do you wear makeup regularly? I never wear makeup.

Did you eat cereal for breakfast today?  I never have cereal unless I’m staying at hotels. It’s just never been something I look for.

When was the last time you tripped over something?  A box that was lying around in my room.

Any obsessive-compulsive tendencies?  I’ll sometimes get concerned with how many times I have to flick the switch of our hot water dispenser or open and close the refrigerator door before I feel completely satisfied...but I dunno if that counts.

Who was the last person you yelled at?  Technically...Angela? I was filming an unboxing video for a gift she randomly got me and I loved the gift so much I was yelling my excitement through the screen.

Why did you yell at them?  ^ That.

Favorite type of apple?  I don’t like fruits.

Ever seen live horse racing?  No, it’s not something that interests me.

How about live greyhound racing?  I don’t even know what that looks like.

What’s one thing, besides the obvious, that you couldn’t live without?  The arts, I guess. I need something to listen to, to watch, etc on a regular basis.

Have you ever touched a giraffe?  I don’t think so.

What does your mom call you?  Robyn, or the Filipino term parents use for their kids.

What stresses you out the most in life?  A particular client at work. We have a million campaigns going on for them at any given point so my life virtually revolves around that brand these days.

Do you play any PC games? What is your favorite?  Nope.

If you were pregnant, how would you tell the father? Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Did we want a baby? Was it a bad surprise, a happy surprise? I can't answer this with just one idea. < Yeah.

What’s the hardest level you can play on Guitar Hero?  If I’m using a Playstation controller, I can go Hard or Expert. But my finger coordination with the actual guitar controller is terrible and I fail most songs even at Easy.

What ever happened with you and your first boyfriend?  There was never any ‘boyfriend,’ but my first girlfriend and I have basically had a falling out and I haven’t talked to her in months, and I expect it to continue being that way.

What’s your favorite country song?  I don’t have any.

What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you?  Putting her pride and anger first even when I’m obviously in a state of disstress or breakdown in front of her. That’s some emotional rollercoaster I’m glad I don’t have to deal with anymore.

What were you for Halloween last year?  Just Dora the Explorer again, which was a repeat from the year before that.

Are you feeling guilty for something?  I don’t think so; at least there isn’t anything I’m actively feeling guilty about at the moment.

Are you usually quiet or loud?  I think I’m in between? I’m pretty loud but I can space out at the most random moments hahaha.

How many hours do you spend on the computer a day?  This question always makes me wince at myself...I guess anywhere between 16-18 hours? The only time I put my laptop down is when I’m off to bed, but otherwise it’s constantly open.

What is the show that you watched when you were little, and you still do? I don’t think there is such a show.

Do your siblings text you?  Nope. We live under the same roof 24/7 so there’s been little need to text.

Do you want a small or big wedding?  Big.

Have you ever searched for your own house on Google Earth?  Yes, but that was when Google Earth was still super bare so I wasn’t able to see the actual house anyway, but just the general area where we’re located. I haven’t used Google Earth in years.

Who is your ex dating/talking to?  I don’t know and I hoooonestly could not care less.

Ever kissed someone who smokes?  Yep.

Does it take a lot for someone to annoy you?  Depends on my mood. I have my moments where it’s very easy for me to get irritated.

Do you own your own computer?  I mean it was bought for me, but I didn’t get it with money I earned.

Did you ever have to share a room with one of your siblings?  When my brother was starting to mature, my sister and I very very briefly experimented sharing a room, but it lasted like all of two weeks. My parents ultimately just transferred our balcony to a bedroom so that all three of us had our own rooms.

What noises in the room you’re in, do you hear at the moment?  An airplane is flying above me at the moment so I can hear its engine. I can also hear some crickets chirping and the faint barking of dogs.

Have you ever dated someone with longer hair than yours?  Yup.

What’s the biggest upcoming event for you?  I guess my second vaccine dose is kinda big? It’s happening this Friday.

What do you typically order from Wendy’s?  I rarely get Wendy’s tbh, but when I do I usually go for their Baconator.

Have you ever been given a lapdance by an actual stripper?  No, it’s not something I would be into.

What do you love most about yourself? Continued the next day because I am terrible at taking a survey in one go. I like that I don’t hesitate to do or buy things for my loved ones, not even inwardly. I guess it’s because my family has always lived very practically, so I want to make up for that by spoiling my friends.

Have you ever received a hickey from the last person you kissed?  Yes.

What are you doing right now?  I am supposed to be at work but it’s a relatively quiet day, so I’m here. I do have my screen split between Tumblr and my emails though, so that I’d be able to see if new work will come in hahaha.

What’s bothering you right now?  Quiet work days always make me anxious because it makes me think if I’m forgetting about something crucial.

What was the last thing you drank?  I literally just took a sip of my coffee before moving on to this question.

Be honest, do you like people in general?  Depends on the situation, I think. Like when I go to concerts, I know I’m around people I share the same interests with, so there’s a sense of solidarity that goes with that. But when I’m like...I dunno, lining up to get my license renewed at a government office, I know people there are in a rush and tend to get rude, and that makes me feel a little bit overwhelmed. I don’t think this is something I can generalize.

Do you want your tongue pierced?  No. Lip I can consider, but I have to pass on tongue. 

Do you change your phone background a lot?  I do these days, yeah.

Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something?  Possibly.

Have you ever been strip searched?  I’ve been searched, but was never asked to strip.

Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it?  No, it’s an ordinary surname.

Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly?  Never.

Do you get sick of people who call themselves bipolar all the time? I get sick of people who call themselves bipolar, and of people who use ‘bipolar’ to describe someone else who just has your typical mood swings.

Describe your day so far in three words:  Business as usual.

What was the most stressful project you had so far/while in school? I was once designated as a leader for a science investigative project, which didn’t make sense because science was definitely not my strongest point. Needless to say it didn’t go well and I ended up being a terrible leader. Choose one- Butterfinger, Milky Way, Snickers:  Butterfinger, even though they’re a bitch to eat and chew.

Have you ever stepped in dog poop?  Maybe once or twice. It fortunately doesn’t happen a lot.

What was the last thing you spent money on?  I got Angela and Reena cheese tarts. The reason behind it was Jin held a VLIve last Monday and he had been eating egg tarts during the stream; and because I was happy to have watched my first Jin live, I got my friends cheese tarts hahaha. I don’t know a lot of places that sells good egg tarts so I settled for cheese tarts instead, which I think are better anyway.

Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed?  Yeah.

Is there a guy that knows a lot about you?  I guess Hans? We personally don’t get to have a lot of heart-to-heart exchanges, but considering how Angela’s my greatest confidante I’m sure she has shared bits of my life to him, which I don’t mind.

Is there someone you just can’t imagine your life without?  I don’t really like answering this question anymore because the people that I’ve declared ‘for keeps’ have faded out of my life at some point. I’m a lot more guarded and self-preservation-y when it comes to this now.

Do you prefer Starbucks coffee or small cafe coffee?  Ooooh, both. I love coffee.

Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum?  No.

Do you enjoy being outdoors?  If the weather is nice, yes.

Do people tell you that you have an accent?  I mean I’ve been told my English is strong, but my accent in particular doesn’t really get noted.

Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July?  I don’t celebrate that.

What’re some unspeakable subjects for you?  I don’t like talking about my brother. Otherwise I am pretty open about everything.

Is there anyone you would take a bullet for?  Several people come to mind.

Do you enjoy tanning?  If I’m at the beach, sure. It’s honestly not something I have to constantly keep up with, though, since I’m already naturally tan enough. Are you a virgin?  No.

Who’s your celebrity crush?  Taehyung :(

Did or do you get good grades in English class?  I always got pretty good grades in English.

What part of your body are you self-conscious about?  Teeth, and my legs sometimes.

Are you expected to help fix Thanksgiving dinner?  I don’t celebrate that.

Have you ever lost anyone close to cancer?  Yes.

Do you personally know anyone who is transgender?  Yes.

When was the last time you got a shot?  Last month, then I’m getting my second dose tomorrow.

#survey #surveys

[dmsden]

The Role of Critical Role - How a podcast made D&D cool

Hullo, Gentle Readers. With the rare 5th Monday this month, it’s time for a freestyle article, and I wanted to talk about something that has been an incredible influence on D&D for a few years now. Maybe you’ve watched or listened to it all (I have). Maybe you’ve never seen it, but you’ve wondered about this “Mercer Effect” thing. Odds are, however, if you play D&D, you’re at least aware of Critical Role.

Critical Role wasn’t the first actual play D&D podcast, but it is, arguably, the most influential. With two massively consumed campaigns in podcast form, innumerable one-shots, a campaign-setting book that was published by Wizards of the Coast themselves, their own game-publishing company, comic books, art books, and a forthcoming TV series on Amazon that was funded by a Kickstarter that raised over eleven million dollars, Critical Role has made a heck of an impression on the gaming landscape.

It has been noted elsewhere that Critical Role has demonstrated its influence over the gaming community in a number of ways. I look to the example of Firbolgs as proof. When they debuted as a 5th edition playable race in Volo’s Guide to Monsters, there wasn’t much fanfare. When we got to know Pumat Sol, Nila, and, of course, Caduceus Clay in Critical Role Campaign 2, the popularity of the race skyrocketed. Suddenly everyone I knew had one in their campaign, and art of Firbolg characters online proliferated faster than a Myconid colony!

It can be argued also that Critical Role also boosted the overall popularity of D&D 5E. Yes, there had been D&D podcasts before...the Ac Inq podcasts, for example...but CR was different. Here you had this large cast of incredibly funny, charismatic, and, to be honest, really good-looking folks playing D&D. Their skills as voice actors and improvisational performers stood them in good stead, making the game a true pleasure to listen to. And yes, I’ve groaned at some of the things they’ve done as a player and GM myself, but, overall, they’re so darned likeable that they won my attentions and got me to watch and/or listen to hundreds of hours of game play. 

I think the reason Critical Role was so successful was that it showed audiences a group of people playing D&D that was more diverse than we’d seen in other popular podcasts. There were more women, for one thing, and there was good queer representation. But it also showed them to be just a bunch of dorks. Talented, funny, attractive dorks, yes...but dorks none the less. It demystified the game, making it clear that it wasn’t this crazy complicated thing, but just some cool storytelling around a table. Some people did accents, but many people in the group didn’t. They joked around and cracked each other up. They made mistakes and apologized. They asked questions. They weren’t perfect, and it made the game incredibly appealing and so much more accessible than I think a lot of people would’ve guessed.

You don’t have to like Critical Role, but I don’t think you can dismiss it, for good or for ill. On the one hand, it’s invited more people into our hobby, and I think that’s a good thing. On the other hand, I do worry that it generates unreasonable expectations in some players, specifically in what to expect from their DMs. Now, I’m not personally worried; I have over 40 years of experience, and I have confidence in my skills at running a good game. Newer DMs, however, might feel like they have a lot to live up to, and they might never start, thinking there’s no way to measure up to Matt Mercer’s skills.

If you’re a DM, and you’re worrying about living up to Matt, then please read this. Matt’s an excellent DM, but he’s not fallible. I’ve heard him make rules calls that’ve made me cringe, even as I respect him making them in the moment, because that’s sometimes what you have to do. He does a lot of great accents, but you don’t need to do accents or be an actor to make memorable NPCs. He’s fantastic at improv, but that’s something that can be learned. Your players don’t need Matt Mercer; they need you. And I’m pretty sure Matt would be the first person to tell you that, because he seems like a fantastically nice guy.

So love it or leave it, Critical Role is likely here to stay. You can enjoy it or ignore it, but I don’t think you can just discount it. I’m personally loving it, and I hope they keep giving great content. I can’t wait to see what they play in Season 3! Until then, keep on rolling those dice!

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa. (The one where I had to cheat a little - these are not all letters, per se. But it still fun, I think!)

Chapter Nineteen: The Ketterdam Daily Ledger

LANKSROON BAKERY ORDER FORM

Customer Information

Name: K. Brekker

Delivery Address: Fifth Harbor

Rush Processing: Yes

Payment Method: Cash plus rush deposit, paid in advance

Order Specifications:

Five layer chocolate cake with chocolate ganache, raspberry drizzle, fresh raspberries

Two dozen sugared waffles with apple syrup

Special Instructions:

Just don’t fuck it up.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

(in a package containing a folded up newspaper)  

Look! We’re headline news. My father will be so pleased…to never read this, ever. Seriously, I will murder anyone who sends this to him. I’m a little tempted to buy up every copy, but Wylan’s keeping the cheque book under lock and key.

In any case, here it is, in all its glory. Your wanted sketch is so mysterious and glamorous! They got Wylan’s all wrong, and he’s quite put out about it. See if Brekker wants one framed for The Slat. I have plenty of extras.

The dust is settling here. Life is slowly resuming a bit of normalcy now that the Dregs have returned to The Slat. Anika’s at the reins for the interim, and there’s been very little activity from Stadhall. No inquiry whatsoever. I can’t shake the feeling Kaz has something to do with that. Ask him for me?  

- Jesper  

P.S. – Ambroos is waiting at the window again. He does it every afternoon around lunch time. Let Kaz know.  

THE KETTERDAM DAILY LEDGER

Stadhall In Shambles

Explosion at the Stadwatch’s central headquarters releases dozens of alleged criminals back into Ketterdam’s streets; Foul play suspected, officials report

By A. Van Poel

Stadwatch officers are investigating the cause of a massive explosion that occurred last night in the northern sector of Stadhall in Ketterdam, as well as varying reports of what led up to the event. Citizens of Ketterdam are advised to remain vigilant after dozens of detainees who were awaiting trial are now on the loose following the eruption that tore away wide sections of Stadhall’s northern wall.

According to sources within Stadhall, investigators have set their sights on tracking down accomplices of a privateer known only as The Wraith, who is said to have connections to criminal networks in East Stave.

The Wraith was one of the dozens of detainees who escaped last night, and is described by officers as of a young female of Suli descent, slight of stature and build.

“Don’t let her fool you,” said Stadwatch Chief Inspector Hoedemann, in a statement to The Ketterdam Daily Ledger. “The Wraith is a serious threat and should be considered armed and dangerous. Anyone with information as to her whereabouts should report the tip directly to Stadhall. And absolutely no one should attempt to engage her or her associates without the assistance of law enforcement.”

Rumors swirled last night as multiple sources speculated on sightings of a rogue Grisha Corporalki and possibly a Materialki working in connection with The Wraith, but as of this morning, these rumors had not been confirmed. Speculation on what this could imply regarding Ravka’s involvement in the explosion also remained unconfirmed.

In a statement released by Stadwatch Chief Inspector Hoedemann, the events last night began after a Zemeni man dressed as a Stadwatch guard led in three detainees he was said to have arrested. It was later discovered that the arrest warrants as well as the man’s identification had been forged. Chief Inspector Hoedemann released the following sketches to The Ketterdam Daily Ledger of the man and his cohorts, who are believed to have been assistants of The Wraith.

(in Kaz’s handwriting in the margin: “Assistants”?!?! Inej has drawn a devilish little smiley face.)

In the timeline of events shared by Chief Inspector Hoedemann, the four – three male and one female – are alleged to have walked the length of the Stadwatch detainment cells as this time, as many sources reported multiple sightings around the same time in the evening.

“It is my belief,” said Chief Inspector Hoedemann, “that it was during this period of time that the suspects were discovering the whereabouts of The Wraith’s detainment and possibly other associates of The Wraith that were to be freed in last night’s operation.”

Chief Inspector Hoedemann also reported that the four seemed to have knowledge of the inner workings of Stadwatch personnel and patrolling, as, according to the timeline, they appear to have waited until a particular guard shift change to put their plan into motion. This raised many questions among reporters as to a possible inside connection to Stadwatch officers themselves; however, Chief Inspector Hoedemann emphatically denied these rumors.

“Each one of my officers holds themselves to the highest standard of integrity that the good people of Ketterdam have come to expect of their lawmen,” Chief Inspector Hoedemann said.

Multiple Stadwatch officers who were on duty that night reported that they recognized the female in the group, the suspected Grisha Corporalki, but none would go on record about neither her identity nor how they might have known her.

“I will just say she’s a wiley one,” said one officer, who spoke to reporters with the promise of anonymity, “and leave it at that. She’s like no other Grisha I’ve ever seen.”

The suspected Ravkan Corporalki, described as tall and alluring, is suspected to have distracted the Stadwatch patrolmen while her associates met The Wraith at her detainment cell.

Other eye-witnesses are not as convinced that The Wraith was working in connection with these suspects as Chief Inspector Hoedemann would have the public believe. One Stadwatch officer, who asked only to be known as Officer B., was reported to be down the hall from where the suspects were releasing The Wraith. It is suspected they used a Materialki, as no keys were found missing and no damage had been done to the lock.

“I think they were kidnapping her,” Officer B. speculated. “Maybe revenge or something. From what I could see, it looked like The Wraith was trying to wrestle one of them, the tall one with the funny haircut. At one point, she had him pinned against the far wall, but I guess he won out in the end.”

It is one of multiple opinions about the nature of the relationship between The Wraith and the mysterious four who helped her escape.

“That wasn’t wrestling,” said another eyewitness who wished to remain anonymous. “They were obviously lovers. She was snogging his face the minute they let her out. I think he was an art thief or something. It sounded like she was asking about the art, and he was telling her she could do whatever she wanted with it. He must’ve stolen something for her.”

“Kind of romantic,” he added, “if you’re willing to overlook the illegal nature of it and the complete lack of conscience.”

Chief Inspector Hoedemann would not comment on the nature of the relationship of the two suspects, only that it was clear that all five were familiar with each other on some level.

“We are interested in protecting the public from some very dangerous criminals, not spreading folk lore and entertaining the public,” he told reporters.

Hoedemann has reason to want to wrap the case up quickly and air-tight, as he is running for election to the Merchant Council this year. His handling of the attack on Stadhall is seen by many as a make-or-break moment in his campaign. Many of his would-be constituents are already scratching their heads at how so many of his officers could have been witness to the events and yet were powerless to stop it or apprehend the suspects in the wake of the explosion.

According to reports obtained from Stadhall by The Ketterdam Daily Ledger, at least twelve different Stadwatch guards reported being stopped by the alleged Corporalki or were within range of The Wraith at the time of her escape. Chief Inspector Hoedemann confirmed that there was a significant confrontation that occurred between his officers and the five suspects in the hallways just outside of the detainment cells, but did not report if anyone had been injured during the skirmish.

“By my count, at least a dozen shots were fired off,” Officer B. told reporters. “But the Materialki could stop them all. And the Corporalki…could do something that terrified us all. The lights…the air…it felt like we were being suffocated by dead hands.”

Most eye-witnesses have refused to comment on the nature of the Corporalki’s small science, only that it frightened them, causing several to turn and run.

“We thought at first that we’d had them surrounded - outnumbered two to one,” said Officer B. “But it didn’t matter.”

One thing all reports have agreed on: the smallest of the suspects, a male, was the one to carry in the explosive. And when it seemed as though they were cornered, he used it – but not before the suspected Materialki had loosened all the locks on the detainment cells.

“One moment, it seemed like we could turn the tide,” said an anonymous witness, “and then in the next, a whole wall was blowing out. And there was mayhem all down the hall – all the cell doors were rattling open in the debris. Everyone was running for the hole, into the night.”

The explosion took down all internal communications within Stadhall for hours, and amidst whatever small science the Ravkan Corporalki was using, only a handful of Stadwatch guards managed to follow the escapees into the debris.

None, however, returned.

“We want to assure everyone that this was not a random act,” said Chief Inspector Hoedemann in his statement. “This was an organized, prepared attack for the sole purpose of freeing The Wraith, and, for the majority of Ketterdam, as long as you are not an associate of these people, you are as safe as you have always been within our city limits. The structural damage to our headquarters in no way hinders our ability to carry out our duties to the people of Ketterdam, and I can give every assurance that all is reparable and will be put right long before election day.”

As for any current leads about The Wraith’s whereabouts today, investigators have had nothing to show. But Officer B. put it best.

“She’s a pirate,” he said. “She could be anywhere in the world by now.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Mr. Brekker,  

This is to send my gratitude for your very generous campaign donation. I am interested in hearing your terms in regards to becoming a regular contributor to our cause and would be happy to discuss it further either in person or in continued correspondence.  

I thank you for your continued patronage and support of the Merchant Council.

With gratitude,

Chief Inspector Hoedemann

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My dearest, loveliest Inej (for you are mine, after all, no matter what Brekker insists),

We did not have anywhere near enough time to celebrate and catch up in the aftermath of this whirlwind adventure, so I’m writing this down. In my haste to come to your aid, I left all the letters I’ve been writing you in Fjerda, so one of these days, you’re going to get a massive envelope, but in the meantime, you’ll have this for now.  

Saints, it was so good to see all of your faces again, but especially yours. This was somehow not at all and exactly the proper reunion we all needed, and not just because of the monstrous mountain of cake that I still can’t believe Brekker had delivered to the harbor in the midst of a goddamn getaway. What have you done to him? Or has kruge actually fulfilled his cold, empty heart after all? (I would like to reiterate that it may have been the best cake I've ever eaten, but don't let it go to his head.)

I tease, love – there was a time when I would not have wished love on either of you, but you’re here now, and I cannot imagine it any other way. The sea suits you, and he suits you, and you suit him, and if I could somehow alchemize the feeling of seeing you happy into a flavor of waffle, I’d be the richest woman in Ketterdam. Brekker, too. You can even tell him I said so.

So, while I’m sad to leave you again for a little while, know that I’m cherishing these moments and they will sustain me for months. Change can happen so slowly sometimes, it can feel as if it will never happen at all. But seeing you this time – you and your mad, sloppy prison-kissing and your chocolate-cake-filled face – and how your brilliance feeds and fuels the people around you, the people who love you, I feel I’ve caught a glimpse of the other side. Even people like Brekker can be happy. Even people like me.  

You slurp up every moment of goodness in your getaway. You are not a criminal slinking away into the night. You are a mastermind seizing her bit of the world.

Until we are together again, love,  

Nina

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dearest Jesper,

Kaz is annoyed that the paper called his haircut funny, and he’s not thrilled at all at the prospect of having that framed. But don’t throw them all out yet. Maybe he’ll change his tune by the time we get back to Ketterdam.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Jesper, I don’t know what I would have done without you, and that goes equally for Wylan. Kaz would be dead, and I probably would be, too. You held us all together like the valiant and steadfast true friend you have always been. Kaz agrees – begrudgingly and in far fewer words, but he agrees.  

Kiss Wylan and Ambroos for us. Well, fine, for me. Kaz just made a face, but I know, deep down, he wants to make sure Ambroos is patted and kissed, too.  

We’ve a long journey ahead of us to Leflin, and I’m not sure yet how long we will be in Novyi Zem. A couple months, I think, if I can have my way, and I think I can. We’ll have a more celebratory reunion when we return than this last one, I promise.

With all our love,  

Inej and Kaz

(in Kaz’s handwriting)

P.S. – Dogs respond to body language and consistency. Try not to ruin him while I’m gone.

#six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #leigh bardugo #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #nina zenik #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #ketterdam #kanej #kanej fanfic #fanfic #kaz x inej #kaz brekker x inej ghafa #fanfiction

[chelsie-carson]

DOWNTON Abbey’s Phyllis Logan wishes she had traded places with her Pirates Of The Caribbean hubby — so she could have played Johnny Depp’s pirate GRANNY.

The Scots actress, loved by millions as stern housekeeper Mrs Hughes from the ITV period drama, is married to Bristol-born actor Kevin McNally. He starred as sailor Joshamee Gibbs alongside Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow in all FIVE of the big-budget Pirate films.

But Kevin, 64, also popped up in Downton Abbey back in 2012 as miserable misogynist Horace Bryant. Phyllis said: “It would have been lovely to have done one of the Pirate movies, because my husband queered my pitch by being in Downton Abbey for a few episodes. “I said to him at the time, ‘I don’t come on your Pirate movies and step on your toes.’

“But that really would have been lovely. I would have done any part they gave me — even play Johnny Depp’s old granny.”

Paisley-born Phyllis is currently in lockdown in London with Kevin and their 24-year-old musician son David. She’s been keeping busy recording voiceovers for the current 5Select show The Highland Vet — although admits she’s been having a few technical difficulties.

The 64-year-old said: “I haven’t actually finished my narrations yet. I did the first two in a nice recording studio in London but now I’m doing them upstairs in the study. “So my husband has been my sound engineer because I’ve not been particularly competent in that department. “He sets up the mic, plugs it in and sends off the memory stick after it’s done.“But they sent me this microphone that actually rests on your top lip so I felt like I was commentating on the Grand National.“For quite a few episodes I was narrating the show like that, which sounded quite peculiar. So it will be interesting to hear how it sounds between the first two pre-lockdown episodes and the rest.”

The actress also recently provided the voice of Paddington’s housekeeper Mrs Bird — made famous by Julie Walters in the hit films — for a new animated series on Nick Jnr.She said: “I think the makers had Mrs Hughes in mind when they hired me, but Paddington is so sweet.“It was a great coup when they managed to get Ben Whishaw for the series, who, of course, was the voice of Paddington in the movies.”

Phyllis has also been helping to promote Dementia UK’s new campaign Lives on Hold — which aims to shine a spotlight on the lockdown which dementia carers face on an ongoing basis, not just during the coronavirus pandemic.She says: “When this lockdown ends people will go back to getting a pedicure or going to the pub, but for them it will be just more of the same.“With Dementia UK we’re trying to promote the Admiral Nurses who help take away that sense of isolation.“The more of them we get the better because there are around 700,000 people caring for people with dementia.”

Ironically, her character Mrs Hughes lived through the last pandemic when Spanish Flu killed an estimated 50million people in 1918. It also featured as a major plotline in the hit show.

And she believes that the no-nonsense housekeeper — who made her big screen debut last year in the movie version of Downton Abbey alongside Jim Carter as her head butler hubby Mr Carson — would take any lockdown in her stride. Phyllis laughed: “Mrs Hughes would be doing exactly what I’m not doing, which is going through her house like a blow torch and sorting everything out.  “She would be throwing out rubbish and getting everything sorted. I wish I could have the same impetus.

“At the start of the lockdown I was clearing up the house, clearing bookcases and dusting like a mad thing, and now it’s like, ‘I can do it tomorrow’ — and then tomorrow never comes.”

Before her iconic role in the global hit, the Scot landed her first major showbiz break as Lady Jane Felsham in the BBC1 series Lovejoy, along with Ian McShane, which ran from 1986 until 1994.

But she fears she is part of a dwindling band of stars from the show, after the deaths of Dudley Sutton, who played Tinker, and Malcolm Tierney, who portrayed Charlie Gimbert.

She said: “I loved that show as we laughed like drains the whole time. Sadly, Dudley is no longer with us and Malcolm died several years ago. So it’s just me, Chris Jury and Ian McShane left.

“I met Ian a few years back at Venice Beach, California. He lives there and said, ‘Come and see Gwen’ his wife, so we visited him at his lovely penthouse apartment. It was just really nice to see him again. “And, of course, my husband worked with him on Pirates so I’d seen him then too. A few years go by and then we come across each other again.”

But as well as wanting to be in a swashbuckling pirate flick, Phyllis also longs to play it for laughs.

She said: “It would be lovely to do a farce. Something funny. A real comedy. The closest was a Kay Mellor thing a couple of years ago called Girlfriends on ITV, which had its humorous moments, so a bit more of that would be nice.

“I do like a good laugh but the parts I do are not such a good laugh. “So I’m going to have to sort that one out.”

But did she ever forgive hubby Kevin for trespassing on her Downton patch?

She fumed: “I was miffed when they didn’t tell me they were offering him a part. “But it was actually great fun. We got to travel to the set together and, as I said to him, it was like Bring Your Husband To Work Day.”

(x)

#phyllis logan #elsie hughes #lovejoy #kevin mcnally #pirates of the caribbean #phyllis friday

[heresince93]

Gillian Anderson Sunday Times Interview Transcript

There is a moment in the second series of Netflix’s Sex Education when Gillian Anderson’s character, Jean, sighs a deep resigned sigh as she is lying in bed one morning and spots the messy pile of small change her latest lover, Jakob, has left on her bedside table.

It’s my favourite moment of this uplifting show about the tangled love lives of British secondary school teens that manages to appeal to both parents and adolescents alike. Anderson plays the outrageously inappropriate sex therapist Jean Milburn, a stylish, confident single mother.

The sight of those coins will resonate with any woman of Anderson’s age and stage of life (she is 51), whatever kind of relationship they are in.These pennies, a symbol of how untidy life gets and the constant imposing presence of someone else even when they aren’t in the room, represent for Jean the gradual realisation that the excitement of a new love soon becomes tempered by the boring bits.

For those of us who have been married a while, the coins are perhaps the equivalent of the dull domesticity of picking up the shirt always dropped on the floor or the wet towels you always end up refolding after your teens have left them near but not on the bathroom radiator. Anderson and I chat about this a lot when we meet to talk about the second series of Sex Education, given that we are both working mothers in our early fifties.

The actress, who is most recognised for her role as Scully in The X-Files, is twice divorced and has three children, Piper, 25, Oscar, 13, Felix, 11, all of whom live with her in London. Her partner of three years is the playwright, screenwriter and creator of The Crown, Peter Morgan, himself a father of five.

In person Anderson is chatty and witty, aloof and friendly at the same time, a peculiarly feline trait that I often encounter in driven, confident women who have reached midlife. Tell me about Jakob and the coins, I say, what is it like starting a new relationship in your forties, compared with your twenties?

“It’s very different,” she says. “I think you are more fully formed, especially if you have taken time out of previous relationships to find yourself.

“Early on after the break-up of my last relationship and before my current one, somebody encouraged me to write a list of needs and wants in a future partner. Needs are non-negotiable. If you go on a date with someone and realise they won’t meet, say, three of those needs, then they are not the person for you. It may last as a relationship, but it won’t make you happy. Wants are easier, not more frivolous per se, but easier to deliver. Doing this made it clear to me going forward who would be good for me in a relationship.

“And there is a new creativity nowadays to what a relationship should look like, too. For instance, my partner and I don’t live together. If we did, that would be the end of us. It works so well as it is, it feels so special when we do come together. And when I am with my kids, I can be completely there for them. It’s exciting. We choose when to be together. There is nothing locking us in, nothing that brings up that fear of ‘Oh gosh, I can’t leave because what will happen to the house, how will we separate?’. I start to miss the person I want to be with, which is a lovely feeling. And it is so huge for me to be able to see a pair of trousers left lying on the floor at my partner’s house and to step over them and not feel it is my job to do something about it!”

I’ve never interviewed a celebrity who, even though she is wearing heels (little pointy white boots) is still shorter than me (I’m barely 5ft 2in), but Anderson is tiny. This is only important to note, I think, because her roles since Dana Scully have been so big and so powerful: Blanche in A Street Car Named Desire and Margo Channing in All About Eve on stage; Lady Mountbatten in the film Viceroy’s House; Stella Gibson in The Fall; and now Jean Milburn.

I wonder if she is perhaps filed under “tricky, unpredictable, charismatic, spiky, intelligent and fearless woman” in the casting director’s directory of suitable roles. After all, her next part is going to be Margaret Thatcher (in The Crown). And when she arrives for our chat in the closed Chinese restaurant of a central London hotel, she apologises for the sticky mess in her hair caused by wearing the Iron Lady’s wig the previous day. Her nails are manicured pale pink like Thatcher’s too.

“She had a condition that meant two fingers of each hand would curl around — Reagan had it too — so it affected her gestures and she would wear lots of rings and bracelets to distract. But she kept her nails long, which is how I have to keep them now,” Anderson says. She is fascinated by Thatcher, concluding, after studying her childhood, that “nobody ever existed like her. She was unique.”

Anderson might be unique herself, and despite giving many interviews (three last year), I see that she has been smart and managed to remain a bit of an enigma. When I listen back to the tape, she is very good at general talk, but not so hot on specifics.

She spent her early years in north London with her American parents before going back to Michigan for high school. She was a teenage punk plagued by panic attacks that have continued to trouble her over the years, particularly during her intense work schedule on The X-Files. She went into therapy at 14, then became world famous at 25, and had her first child at 26 (the same age her parents had her, before going on to have her two siblings 12 years later). She split up with her first husband three years after that.

In 2011 she endured the death of her brother, Aaron, aged 30, from a brain tumour, which she rarely discusses. She is an impressive activist, campaigning for a variety of issues including women’s rights in Afghanistan, Burma, South Africa, Uganda and South America. There are 10 charities she has worked with listed on her website, and in 2017 she co-wrote We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, a well-received book of advice for women. She has also designed two small fashion collections for Winser London, which include some gorgeous silky blouses. I found I had three in my wardrobe without knowing they were hers.

She is a Bafta nominee and Golden Globe winner, and Neil Gaiman, who cast her in the TV series of his book American Gods, said: “She is in this strange place where everything exists in the shadow of Scully, yet she is bigger and better than that.”

When I listen to her 2003 Desert Island Discs, though, she tells a darker story. In between Radiohead and Jeff Buckley, she talks of troubled mental health that she has worked ferociously hard to improve. She has been in therapy for more than 30 years.

Anderson tells me she has been teetotal since her early twenties and despite some mild probing on my part is reluctant to elaborate on exactly why. I understand. She has soon-to-be teenage children who don’t need to know about any of the “dangerous things” she has done, as she described them to Sue Lawley.

I’m fascinated by Anderson and can see why she was the perfect person to cast as the quirky, funny therapist Jean in Sex Education, which really hits its stride in the second series. While still a comedy at heart, the subject matter tackled by its fantastic young cast is revelatory. Sex Education is one of the first productions to hire an intimacy director to make the young actors feel comfortable and process what they were doing, often naked in front of multiple cameras, to be happy and authentic about what they did and feel they had input.

Anal sex, drugs, masturbation, STDs and nudity feature graphically in this show, which I would advise all parents and teens to watch, though not at the same time — only Jean would do that. When I interview Anderson I have yet to see the finale, but Jean’s journey is that of many women in the middle of their lives after divorce with teenage children.

“There’s a grief, isn’t there?” Anderson says as we discuss the menopause. “I haven’t quite got to the place where I don’t have my eggs, but your body is going to mourn that, isn’t it? I remember the very last time I breastfed and it was heartbreaking. I wept and wept through it.

“And I know people who describe particularly difficult periods at home without realising they are describing their mothers going through the menopause.

“We’re all at the point where we’re kicking off just as our teenage children are kicking off. I was looking at some home videos of Piper when she was three and wondering where all my patience came from in my twenties. I have forgotten that version of me.”

She says she doesn’t feel quite ready for her two boys to become teenagers, but sometimes Jean slips into their conversations at home.

“I find myself saying something embarrassing at the dinner table and I don’t know if it is me or if Jean has given me the licence to say that. Maybe I have always been that way, though. Some of what she shares is too much information. I wouldn’t share it, even with my eldest in her twenties. But my son came home after having a sex education class and I completely clammed up. I couldn’t bring myself to continue the conversation. I just let it die. I really don’t know why.”

Over the years Anderson has tried to schedule her roles to fit in with her children, but like many of us who have devoted much of our time to careers, she still lives with nagging doubts about doing the right thing.

How did you deal with a small child while filming back-to-back episodes of The X-Files for 16 hours a day, I ask, especially when you decided to go it alone as a mum. “I missed her, really so much. Those moments when you see a small child in the street when you are apart from yours and the conversation just drops, it’s hard. She was on a plane a lot when she was six and we moved production to the West Coast. I justified that, I mean it was selfish on my part. I just could not imagine being away from her for long periods of time.

“I became obsessed with schedules, and I still am because of that time. I would plan and colour-code everything, make a series of propositions about schedules so I could see her, and the show would either reject or accept them.

“With the boys the longest I have been away from them was during the two X-Files movies, but again I would be travelling constantly to see them.”

I ask her if she regrets working so hard. “Not yet,” she says. “I have a feeling that will come. I definitely feel like on a level I do regret Piper flying back [to her dad, when she was six] as an unaccompanied minor.” We sit in silence for a bit, mulling over the thought.

“But there’s another version of my life where I could have worked less, had a smaller life and been more present as a parent. I could have chosen that, that could happen. But sometimes it feels like why would you, if you keep getting work as an actor, doing things you dreamt of doing and being offered incredible roles at this age, while paying the bills, and you still get to see them a huge percentage of the time and they witness a mother enjoying her work?”

She has talked to her daughter about it, but says Piper is not yet at the place where the lightbulb goes on and she realises Mum was still up at 6am the days she faced 16 hours of work to be with her, or those days we all have when we are still on the edge of the sports pitch, despite the demands of a job.

But Anderson is an all-or-nothing personality. She tells me she is either on a healthy eating plan, meditating and working out or hiding like a hermit at home eating chocolate. She has been plagued by frozen shoulders all her life, leading to months of pain-filled insomnia and cortisone injections.

“My default position is sedentary,” she tells me when I ask about her meditating and yoga right now. “I like being in bed in my PJs. When I’m working, like right now, I seem to exist mostly on chocolate. Then I go through a stage when I feel dreadful and I review it all and start a food plan, torture myself counting shots of milk and all that.

“In the cycle of all or nothing, I am in the nothing phase right now. It has gone on for quite some time, but I think I am better to be around. I was having lunch with my daughter and we were just, you know, eating, not asking for stuff without oils or sugar, and she said, ‘It’s so much better when you are not in that place.’ ”

I’ve enjoyed my hour with Anderson; she is likeable and thoughtful. I sort of hope we’ll meet again one day. It’s unlikely she’ll read the interview; she has said before that she rarely does. So what do I think as I walk away from her? I’m impressed by her curious nature and, obviously, her sense of style, a blueprint for us all at this stage of life, but mostly I’m inspired by her strong sense of self. It has obviously taken quite a bit of work for her to get there, but from what I can see, it has been worth it.

@GillianA

Sex Education series 2 is available on Netflix from Friday

Hair: James Rowe at Bryant Artists. Make-up: Mary Greenwell at Premier Hair and Make-up. Nails: Saffron Goddard at Saint Luke using Sisley Hand Care

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