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#the balcony
fionaapplerocks · 9 months
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Fiona Apple photo by Pablo Serrano, 1996
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castironnbitch · 4 months
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laurent is high key chaotic at all times and damen laps that shit up like wine
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1d1195 · 17 days
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The Balcony Extra I
You can read the rest here: The Balcony
~2.2k words
This is the last update from the last round of voting. I'll have a new round of voting posted soon. I have some really fun ideas for the next set :)
Warnings: vomit/sick (it's not described, more so mentioned. But just to be sure.) I promise it's really not going to continue to be a theme with my writing. I just didn't know what to do with them tbh. I hope you enjoy--particularly this sweet anon who thought about them two years after I first wrote about them 😭💕
It was overwhelming and Harry swallowed watching as she mopped up his mess. He wanted to scoop her up and put tuck her into bed like the day he burst into the very apartment they were in now protecting her from her ex.
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The balcony was still their favorite spot. Now that Harry had moved into her apartment officially, they only had one. There was something about having two, the will-they-won’t-they kind of vibe. When they shared Chinese food across the slatted posts or when she straddled the rail to get back into her place when Harry got home late. There were so many pieces that felt like they were missing now that they only had one. They put plants on tall tables (even a small lemon tree) to make a wall for their new neighbors.
They were squished when they were out there, two little seats and their space heater along with all the plants made for very little room. It was cozy and they loved it, but it was different. Working from home was different. Everything was different. Good. Perfect, even. But different.
It had been three years of their routines and schedules. Interrupted by weekend getaways, work trips, girl’s nights out, and family holidays. The sex was incredible as that very first time. She still did chores in an oversized shirt that barely covered her underwear. So, chores took twice as long when Harry noticed because he reminisced and thought back to the days when he was falling for her from afar (even if afar was just one little half wall between them).
Harry returned from the office and found her laptop open on the island while she continued cooking. She had been fighting a stomach bug, so it was good to see her cooking. Soup by the looks of it. Something so as not to upset her further.
“Hey kitten,” he called gently putting his keys on the table by the door and slipping his shoes off.
“Hi, Harry,” she sounded so sweet, so smiley. It was his favorite way to be greeted. “Sorry, guys, it’s dinner time,” she told her laptop. Harry blushed, feeling bad he interrupted her call unbeknownst to him and that he called her kitten in front of her students. “Check out the notes on Blackboard.”
Sorry! He mouthed.
She shook her head easily with a smile. She said her final goodbyes to the people on screen. Once her laptop was shut, he felt relief that he could freely chat with her. “I had extra office hours because I’ve been sick and out for the count,” she explained and turned back to the stove. “I told them I had to make something to eat at the same time or I would die so they also got my cooking show in addition to math help.”
Harry looked at the face of their fridge with a dry erase marker filling the silvery complexion with complicated equations that he didn’t understand. He snorted and she smiled shyly. “Sorry, I’ll clean it.”
“Don’t,” he shook his head. “S’cute,” he assured her. It was. The way her brain worked, even thinking to draw on the fridge was adorable. It was so cute Harry wanted nothing more than to frame the door of the appliance and put it in the living room. He put his lunch Tupperware in the sink and turned back to her stirring the soup. “Y’okay?” He asked.
“Yup, only threw up once since this morning,” she sighed and shook her head. “I hope you don’t get sick.”
Harry didn’t even feel an inkling of feeling unwell. They had eaten the same foods for the last few days, so food poisoning didn’t seem suspicious either. “I think I’ll be alright,” he cupped her face and pressed his lips on her forehead. She didn’t feel warm or clammy. “Y’feel cool,” he murmured turning to the fridge and filled his water bottle from the spout.
She shook her head returning to stir the soothing mixture on the stove. “It’s so weird. I don’t feel sick until I’m actively sick, you know?” She shrugged. “Oh, well.”
It was hard to believe that two heavily educated people didn’t figure it out sooner. But the moment it popped into his head Harry gasped. He dropped his bottle, and the ice and water covered his socked feet. “Shit,” he whispered.
“I got it!” She hurried to the closet with their cleaning supplies. Harry picked up the ice cubes and tossed them into the sink. When she returned with the mop, Harry was staring at her. Like he had never seen her before. It wasn’t earthshattering for her. This moment. The moment he realized. It didn’t matter. He would have it for himself. This perfect, beautiful girl that he was so lucky to know...
So lucky to live with and be with and to have her worry about him.
It was overwhelming and Harry swallowed watching as she mopped up his mess. He wanted to scoop her up and put tuck her into bed like the day he burst into the very apartment they were in now protecting her from her ex.
He tried to refill the bottle, but he nearly overfilled it again, his hand getting wet. “You sure you’re not getting sick?” She asked dragging the mop over his feet playfully at the second, minor spill. He shook his head, swallowed.
“No, sorry. Distracted.”
“I got dinner covered, you can go lounge if you want,” she smiled sweetly. “I was laying down most of the day. I feel like a bum. I was thinking about going to the gym after I eat just to feel productive.”
Harry shook his head. He didn’t want her lifting anything, didn’t want her running on the treadmill, or stepping on the stepper. “Y’don’t need to, kitten. M’jus...” he trailed off. He didn’t know if he was right, it was an assumption. “Jus’ a little tired. But y’should sit,” he suggested. “Y’don’t feel well.”
She shrugged. “I feel alright now. I feel lazy.” Harry didn’t want to tell her that growing another human inside her was the least lazy thing she could do. As far as he was concerned, she could do nothing for the next nine months. His eyes dropped to her stomach briefly, like it would suddenly round with the baby he suspected was forming. She didn’t notice.
He was adamant. “Y’not lazy,” he assured her. “Why don’t—”
“Here taste this,” she held a spoonful of the soup out. “Does it need more salt?” She asked. With his gaze locked on her eyes, he let her feed him.
“S’good,” he promised.
She tilted her head at him. Her eyebrows pinching together. “You sure you’re okay?” She repeated.
He nodded. Trying to remember everything about the moment. She didn’t know, he did. It was surreal. There was going to be a little one that looked like him, looked like her. They were going to be parents and she didn’t even know. “M’okay.”
She shrugged and grabbed two bowls out of the cabinet and then returned the broom to the closet. Harry grabbed the edges of the island counter and took a deep breath. They would have to abandon the apartment. The balcony. It was going to be hard, but it would be so worth it.
How did she not know?
When she returned, she ladled soup into the bowls and handed Harry his before she situated herself on the stool behind the sink. “Do we have any plans this weekend?”
Making a baby registry? Telling his mum? Finding a house and decorating a nursery? “Nothing comes t’mind, kitten,” he murmured sitting beside her.
“Louis was wondering. He wants to go out and drink or something.”
“Uh...” he swallowed. “M’not really in a drinking mood.”
“You’re not in a drinking mood?” She repeated. “You know you’re not going to be in a drinking mood three days from now?” She asked. “Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
He took a deep breath and turned to her. “Do y’think y’might be pregnant?” He asked.
She dropped her spoon back into her soup and spun to face him as well. Their knees bumped together. “Am I what?”
“Well...y’don’t feel well. But only when y’actively don’t feel well. Then...I don’t remember y’having bad cramps since June,” he reminded her. It was over two months ago. “I don’t feel sick,” he told her.
He watched her pretty face and now wild eyes process all Harry’s logical assumptions. She jumped from the stool and ran to the bathroom slamming the door shut. He followed her immediately. Knocked gently. “Kitten?” He asked nervously. “Are y’okay?”
She didn’t answer.
“Kitten?” He repeated knocking again. He hadn’t anticipated a negative reaction. She wanted kids. They both did. They talked about it many times over. “Baby?” He hummed. “Can y’tell me if y’okay? Need something?”
“I just...” she sounded scared. “I just need a minute.”
“Okay, okay,” he nodded; nerves made sense. “Are you alright?”
She didn’t respond for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Can you open the door?” His voice started to hitch, worry plaguing him immediately. Poor thing.
“I’m peeing on a stick, Harry. Please just...” she sighed. Frustration was heavy in her tone. He was surprised she already had a pregnancy test there. He would have to ask about that later.
“Kitten,” he gently tried the door, but it was locked. “What’s—”
“Harry, I just need a minute!”
He stepped back from the door and leaned against the opposite wall. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited silently. He heard her sigh repeatedly. The shuffle of her perhaps pacing the small bathroom floor. The sound of the toilet flushing. More moments that he would memorize for eternity.
The three minutes felt like hours. He wanted to see her, wanted to know what was wrong. A timer went off from inside the bathroom. He pushed off the wall and she opened the door holding the plastic stick out to him. “I can’t look.”
“Kitten,” he frowned grabbing it from her and sticking it in his pants pocket without looking. “What’s wrong?” Harry was still in his suit pants. No jacket. The sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was so pretty. It was unfair. She kept her eyes at his feet. Still damp from his water spill.
“You have to look,” she whispered.
“I will, but y’have t’tell me what’s wrong, kitten. Y’making me nervous.”
“We’d have to move,” tears welled in her eyes.
“So?”
“So?” She sniffed. “This is where we fell in love. It’s where we had sex for the first time. That balcony is more important to me than the entire square footage of this place in total.”
“Kitten,” he frowned.
“Don’t you care—”
“Baby,” he shook his head. Before she could finish her question, he pulled her toward him. He was gentle as he squeezed her, fearful of the baby being squished between them. “Of course I care ‘bout that.”
“Then—”
“Kitten,” he tutted. “We’ll get a house with a balcony. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make sure y’have whatever y’want. Y’can’t be sad ‘bout that.”
She sniffled more, only solidifying Harry’s assumption without even looking at the test in his pocket. “But this is...” she sniffled. “I love it here.”
“I love it too, kitten. But we need more room if we have a baby. A lot of babies.”
She frowned, pulled from him slightly. He wiped his thumbs below her eyes to rid her of the wet tears that soaked her cheeks. “You must think I’m ridiculous,” she pressed her forehead against his body again. He wrapped his arms around her again.
“No more than usual,” he chuckled into her hair and reached for the test in his pocket. He looked at it over her shoulder and smirked. Returned it back to his pocket.
“What’s it say?” She mumbled into his shirt.
“I love you,” he kissed the top of her head.
“It definitely doesn’t say that.”
“Y’don’t think your pee could love me?”
“Harry!” she pinched his sides at his silliness.
“Say it back, first.”
“It’s going to be really unfair that you knew I was pregnant before I did,” she grumbled.
He pushed her away again just far enough to meet her gaze. He smiled at her, that lazy smile he had about him that made her blood warm throughout her body. She forgot why she was grumpy with him. Even if it wasn’t that serious. She already knew what the test said in the pit of her stomach. The swing of her mood flipping like a switch. His expression was soft. Like he was holding a crystal vase from the seventeen hundreds and if he looked at it too hard it would break.  “Say it,” he whispered.
It was like she wasn’t in control of her own voice or movements. Not that she didn’t want to say it. She did. All the time. So, it was easy to whisper, “I love you.”
For the third time he pulled her back to him and kissed the top of her head. “We’ll have t’see if we can find a baby swing for the balcony.”
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petersfalk · 7 months
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Oh lord
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derangedrhythms · 2 years
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My eyes found yours, your eyes were mine to keep.
Charles Baudelaire, Complete Poems: Spleen et Idéal; from 'The Balcony, tr. Walter Martin
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maudeboggins · 1 year
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peter falk and leonard nimoy in the balcony, 1963
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idfkendall · 5 months
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mom told me to make my xmas list
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catb-fics · 6 days
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hesbianspock · 1 year
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I Just Think That Leonard Nimoy In The Balcony (1963)
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polkadotjohnson · 2 hours
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vimeo
The Balcony by Mike L. Taylor
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1892 · 3 months
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the balcony, 1963
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providnce · 6 months
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And if you wanna act more drunk than usual To help you get away with more, then Rest on me honey, that's alright
Catfish and the Bottlemen - Cocoon (Live @ TRNSMT 2019)
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fall0utb0y · 5 months
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now that catfish and the bottlemen are back PLEASE add the unreleased version of tyrants to spotify you know the one i mean xxxxx
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1d1195 · 2 months
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Time to decide again!
I didn't hear any anti-voting issues the last time I did this so I guess I will do it again! :) These will be the updates in between my new little mini series as long as I have time.
This is the idea for Right Here and Committed based on asks I got. the others I would keep a secret for now but there are a LOT for Zipper let me tell you 😘
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petersfalk · 7 months
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Peter's hands make me feel some typa way
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theeleventhhour · 2 years
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Happy 8 years to The Balcony.
I felt obligated to post the album trailer because I need to hear every song over and over again like i’ve doing the almost entire last year. Every time I play it I got goosebumps. I don’t know if it’s for the lyrics, the explosive and energetic combination of sounds, the feelings it transmits but i feel incredible hearing it. If tattooing every compass and every second of all the songs were possible i’ll do it altough i think i know them all pretty well. I’ve just turn 21 years old and i think the reason I’ve stuck with them all these months it’s because i don’t want to grow up anymore. I feel like The Balcony captures pretty well this stage of life: being young because at this point you don’t really know nothing of the world, being reckless, comiting mistakes one back another, partying so hard that you won’t remember almost anything in the morning, laugh and scream with your friend until your body ackes, live and feel the music with every fiber of your body and soul. But also I adore with the rage it captures the negatives parts like all the fallouts, the hearts that were broken, being away of the people you love, the misunderstandings. Life isn’t perfect and you are going screw it all a lot of times. And it’s okay. And I haven’t even experienced half of the things they sing. It make me want to scream of joy, scream for happiness, scream angry and stomp everywhere. It’s a catharsis. You can’t only feel the music with your ears, it envolves you as a person, your life, your experiences. Maybe I love it so much too because is the debut of a lot of years of people who dreamed and worked too big to make this happen, showing the world that you don’t need a magic wand to succeed in the industry. They came to us because wanted us to experience their music and what they where trying to say to us. Even with this massive testament it is difficult to me to put in words how I feel about it. I will be forever grateful that this happened.
Thank you Catfish and the Bottlemen, altough you couldn’t make it together to the present day you will be present in us. Long live music
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