#this is brought to you by the quilt i’m currently sewing
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how many big projects will i hand sew before i finally learn how to use a sewing machine place your bets
#this is brought to you by the quilt i’m currently sewing#and the coveralls i’m planning on modifying afterwards#and the long furby i longified by hand#idk something about sewing machines is very intimidating i think i’ll stick to spending hours sewing by hand tbh
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✨ End of Year Questions ✨
Tagged by @ongreenergrasses 💖
I also didn’t think I created much this year, and. To be completely honest, I didn’t really make much new art, and what I did I didn’t really post here. Most of what I’ve done this year is really continue writing snippets of lyrics/verses/poetry in my notes. Hoping to make more time for a lot of things this year!
What is the favourite thing you created?
A sailboat reduction print (lino style but on a literal disposable plate)
Which work are you most proud of?
Honestly, either that same sailboat print or some of the poetry/lyric snippets I’ve written this year. Or the leather medicine pouch (also created for my class final project)
Is there anything you’re proud that you achieved this year?
I’m proud that I created anything at all outside of class requirements (I took one art centred course at the beginning of the year, which my sailboat print was created in)
Did you explore anything new this year?
Not so much for creating, but I did get stickers made of some of my previous work to sell at fairs and whatnot.
Wait no the leather medicine pouch - I haven’t done much leatherwork yet though I really want to create super long lasting functional pieces and textiles is very new to me and is a way of connecting to my grandmothers’ past. And I also joined a sewing/quilting club at school (which doesn’t seem to be running this year but I have no time anyway this semester so that’s fine) (I have not finished the sewing supply bag project we started)
Which work gave you the most difficulty?
Anything finished haha. I am still striving to fully finish and edit and refine some of my lyrics into songs (eventually to try to record and produce with whatever free and/or cheap software I can find).
Also some of the more unusual custom cake requests at work were difficult to do but they worked out.
And textiles can be. Frustrating.
What was your biggest creative challenge this year?
Finding time to create. I definitely took this as a year to go and do things that I. Had to go to. And while I probably could’ve brought a mini sketchbook with me, I didn’t usually.
Which work brought you the most joy?
A birthday card I did for a friend. It’s a pen sketch of their favourite beach (at least the view I got when I took a quick visit and picture of it)
Which of your works do you think people should check out?
…from 2023 nothing is posted unless you’re on my personal instagram or something. (Unless I did post my year of the water rabbit watercolour paintings? In which case - those.)
Otherwise my Creating Awl Together story/series (once I make time to create more for it 😅)
Do you have creative plans for the new year? Is there anything exciting that you’re working on?
Oh always 🥺💖✨
I accidentally made a new years resolution to record one of the songs I’ve written,, but also I want it to be. Better than the literal middle school vent lyrics I’ve written.. so we are. Trying to write some new stuff and upgrade to… mid twenties vent lyrics… (and some like!?! Joyful lyrics too?!?!) (I’m actually excited and terrified and don’t really play any instruments right now and what I played on flute isn’t really necessarily the vibe for what’s in my head?? But it could have a place so I’ll probably play again and if need be I could probably rent a tenor sax for a day or so.) so. Next up is learning (or throwing together) a bit of music production (I am currently gathering royalty free free samples from anywhere I find them more or less)
I really want to draw a lot more this year!!
And paint more again!!
And of some of these drawings I want to transfer them to be lino cut or dry point and do them as prints!!!
I have several quilts I want to make!! I’m going to start really small though to. Learn how to sew them haha 😅 But I hope my first quilt is a lovely sea turtle themed quilt for one of my best friends’ cat. Or a lap quilt for mum. I. Realistically I don’t think I’ll get to this before the end of the year.
I want to paint more ceramic pieces at the paint your own ceramics place (I have. Several pieces that I just need to finish painting)
More cards that I drew on~ I have a bit more energy than last year despite everything it seems right now so I am hoping I can continue to draw on cards for my friends 💖
This shall be the year I finish my dogs out doodle (barefoot ship life!!!)
Lastly, any words of wisdom or advice to share?
To myself: just try. Just try. Just do. It can be whatever. Just create something. Just create anything. Joy, catharsis, one single line. Anything you can.
Given how late I filled this out I’m not tagging anyone 😬
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Sick Call for Healer 3
After two failed tries, Raphael finally managed to turn the doorknob. And then started to climb the stairs behind the door. The walls were… painted. Creative, in a way, certainly full of birds. In trees, bushes and other greenery.
Certainly not done by someone with much expertise in the matter. Simply glancing at them, the creatures were anatomically correct. But had no sense of artistry.
It looked like a sketchbook on a wall. Unfinished.
Quite a few different species, sometimes with annotations for proper identification or close ups of wings. On a wall.
The hungry-looking cardinal over the door on the upper floor was something else.
Asmodeus certainly had enough time to look at everything, since his ‘host’ was moving in a bit of a snails pace, holding up a finger to take a break, leaning against a wall.
This angel certainly was not healthy. And definitely had a fever, judging by the temperature she emitted alone. The second door was opened in one try. And they stumbled into… a room.
It had high ceilings, plants crawled up the walls, the whole ceiling was made of glass. It already felt cold just seeing it. It was cool, too.
At least there was a sofa on the side of the room. Clutter-free except for pillows and a blanket. A perfect place to deposit an ailing angel with a desperate need to sit down. He gently led her down to she cushions and sat down next to her, made sure she had a blanket to curl up in.
With a confused expression, she did take the blanket and wrapped herself in it, legs pulled up against her chest. The shoes fell on the floor sometime later.
Raphael might be able to talk a little bit later. Which presented an opportunity to observe… the room. The pull-out couch – facing a TV and some electronics - was the only place clutter-free. The room was not untidy – everything seemed to have a place. But apparently Raphael had hobbies.
The couch table was filled with half-filled journals, magazines and…a laminator. The first shelf was dedicated to textiles with a sewing machine, countless needles, a miniature loom (of all things), enough wool to produce several quilts, many unfinished projects – and quite a few finished ones. The next shelf? All kinds of artistic material – pencils, coal, acrylics, watercolours, canvases, scraps, scissors, glue. Next up: Pottery, airdrying plasticine. Funnily enough, he also spotted a 3D printer. It made him smirk. But there were lot of painted figurines next to it. The next shelf was filled with so many books. With annotations… Several pieces of sports equipment… something like a greenhouse… and that was only what he spotted at first glance.
And then there were other rooms – one actually had a door. It went into a laboratory, she had said something along the lines. The other rooms simply had no doors. One was a bathroom, at least the tiles said so. One was a bedroom, at least according to the many pillows strewn about…
No kitchen.
A light cough next to him brought the attention back to the angel, she looked intensely miserable and said: “I… did not realize that letting you in… means you see this place.” She blinked slowly, looking very unhappy with herself. “It’s… it’s not for visitors.”
Asmodeus looked at her, looked at the mixture of certainly well used equipment all around them and chuckled: “The couch is big enough for two, is it not?”
Some tension left her already weak frame.
“Are you going to paint the walls in here, too?” They currently were still white.
And just like that, she relaxed completely, looking feverish, but more like her usual wide-eyed self and said: “Wanted to get… better before. Got distracted. I’m better with music than with pictures.” She coughed into the blanket, groaned and put her head on her knees.
“Well, time for soup”
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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
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Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?
43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter
from winter writing prompts here
oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny
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Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.
“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”
“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”
“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.
He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.
Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.
“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”
“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”
“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”
It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?
A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.
As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.
“Oh, boy,” Newt says.
He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?
Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.
“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”
“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”
“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.
“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.
“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.
“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”
“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”
Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”
“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”
“Cool,” Newt says.
He scurries up the stairs.
The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.
He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.
Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.
Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.
Then he waves.
“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"
“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”
“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”
“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”
He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”
His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”
Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”
It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.
“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”
“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”
The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”
“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”
“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”
“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”
“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”
Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”
(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)
“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”
Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.
“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”
Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.
“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”
“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”
Hermann snorts, and nods.
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Noblesse Oblige
Summary: Robin Hood AU. (Sort of.) After her father is arrested for harboring and aiding the wanted criminal Chat Noir, Marinette must seek him out or lose her father to a crime he did not commit.
Chapitre six
Healing
Ten days came and went with no sign of Chat Noir, and her butt had long since grown numb from consistently sitting for the lack of being able to properly walk anywhere for more than a short distance. Getting down and up the stairs had been more than enough of an adventure.
The Sheriff questioned her the second night. She acted like a shy and fluttery little rabbit, staring up at him with wide eyes that she hoped managed to convince him she hadn’t been out in the woods when the guards had heard the noise. (“I was already at the old mill,” she had said in a soft voice. “I heard some shouts, but I thought it was all part of a bad dream.”) He believed her, of course. She had never been so terrified or exhilarated than after he’d left.
She hated liars and lying, but it was necessary. Her father’s life was on the line.
Brother Fu was summoned to check on her ankle. He didn’t charge much beyond some fresh bread and water in exchange for some herbs for teas to help with the pain. Marinette didn’t look forward to his visits. He was kind and gentle, and he lifted her spirits. But he also seemed to know the truth – though he did not press the issue.
Nathaniel and Alya continued to assist her mother in the mornings, and Max or his father delivered the flour when they could. She hadn’t heard or seen any of the children to know if they were getting any food – she hoped someone within the village was kind enough to take up the task while she was unable.
With all the time she sat around, she had plenty of time to think – most of the time it was spent worrying over her father, wondering if Chat Noir would help, and new cheese recipes. The second day she’d finished making a wheel with dandelion and roasted walnuts – brought to her by Alya, though when she had the time to gather them, Marinette hadn’t the faintest.
She wasn’t quite sure what to do with that particular wheel, but she thought that since she wasn’t sure how much longer she had to stay off her foot, it was best to find an activity she could do sitting down. Like, sewing.
Marinette longed to feel soft fabric between her fingers while she stitched together something new for someone to wear – possibly herself. It’d been a long time since she made herself a new dress or smock.
And she knew the village’s best tailor had the finest collection of fabrics – and a distinct fondness for cheeses.
It didn’t take much to convince Nathaniel to help her to the tailor’s and back again. He looked ready to fall over – making her feel bad for even asking – but he easily helped her along. He offered to carry the satchel with the cheese in it, but she declined.
“Have you heard anything?” she said. “About… well, you know?”
“Not a thing,” he said. “I’ve been quite busy.”
She flushed.
“Sorry about that. Look, you can go on home after we get there. I can always ask his wife or one of the apprentices to help me get back home.”
“I’d hate to just abandon you there.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m in Rochers. What bad thing could happen to me here?”
He didn’t say anything, which made her nervous. Bad things could and did happen within the bastide, but they were few and far in-between. He shouldn’t worry, really. She’d be safe. She wouldn’t be traipsing through the forests for quite a while.
The tailor’s home was a cozy little place tucked between two taller buildings belonging to the shoemaker and the leather master. Inside, every flat surface was dripping with green plants – some still flowering – and ornately carved furniture.
The tailor’s wife, a tall beauty named Tikki, greeted them in her renowned cheerful way.
“Oh, Damoiselle Marinette, Monsieur Nathaniel,” she said, practically chirping. “Lovely to see you dears. Damoiselle Marinette, please sit down, won’t you? You shouldn’t be on that foot yet. It hasn’t had the proper time to heal.”
Tikki helped her over to a chair next to the fireplace – which was slowly dying out. She retrieved a quilt made of scraps of beautiful fabric and draped it across Marinette’s lap. Nathaniel stood awkwardly by the door.
“Why don’t you head on home, dear?” Tikki said, gently tucking the blanket down. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely before it gets too dark.”
“Are you sure?” he said, looking between them.
“I’ll be fine,” Marinette said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
He nodded and ducked back out.
“There, comfy?” Tikki said.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good, good. Now what can I help you with?”
“I was hoping to speak to your husband, actually.” She withdrew the cheese wheel and held it out. “I know it’s not much, but I was hoping to trade some fabric for this?”
“What kind – Oo! Dandelion and… is that roasted walnut?” Tikki sniffed at the wheel, eyes twinkling. “It’s been a while since Plagg has had any cheese from you. He’ll be so happy. Yes. You said you wanted fabric? Anything particular in mind?”
Marinette opened her mouth. She actually didn’t have anything in mind. Really, there was nothing she needed new clothes for except…
“Is there something I could possibly use to make a dress for the tournament that’s worth that cheese?” she said, unsure.
“Let me go look,” Tikki said, tapping her jaw. “Plagg hoards fabric like some people hoard old, broken toys. Wait here for a moment, alright?”
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The “Knitting Lady” is a Surgeon, and She’s Paying Attention
Unlike Phones, Handiwork Does Not Distract
Original source: Medscape, 8/12/2019, Nick Mulcahy
Last month, Rhea Liang, MBChB, attended a professional conference in her homeland of Australia. She brought along her current crocheting project, a lap quilt that will be a wedding gift for her cousin.
Liang, an associate professor of surgery specializing in breast cancer at Gold Coast Hospital and Health Service in Robina, does "wool craft" during lectures to help her listen to and recall information.
Toward the end of one presentation, Liang and her crochet quilt were thrust into the meeting spotlight — a moment she (@LiangRhea) described on Twitter.
Invited presenter at a small surgical meeting- 'The knitting lady isn't paying attention'.
1. I'm a surgeon
2. It's #crochet, not knitting
3. I haven't taken my eyes off you. Why don't you pick on the guy next to me playing on his phone?#ImplicitBias#ILookLikeASurgeon
1,055 people are talking about this
The tweet set off hundreds of retweets and responses, mostly from healthcare professionals.
Dozens of nurses, physicians, occupational therapists, medical students, midwives, and others tweeted that they can't pay good attention — unless they knit, crochet, knot tie, macrame, sew, needlepoint, or doodle. Repeatedly, people said their mind wanders without manual activity.
Kathleen Wild, MD, general practice lecturer, University of Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia, spoke for many (@KathlWild): "Knitting helps me pay attention to what's going on, if I wasn't knitting I'd be daydreaming!"
Another Tweet was also representative of the responses: "I'm able to better pay attention to you because I'm knitting, not in spite of it."
Kerry Wilkins, MD, a psychiatrist in private practice, Millbury, Massachusetts, (@KerryWilkinsMD) provided neurological explanations about what others described anecdotally.
Wilkins' "illuminating" comments, said Liang, "back up what many crocheters/knitters have figured out empirically for hundreds of years." To wit: "Knitting grannies don't miss a thing," she summarized.
Before the tweetstorm, Liang believed her crocheting-while-listening-and-learning at scientific presentations was an "individual quirk." Now she sees it as evidence of "neurodiversity" and is grateful to have met so many similarly wired learners through her post.
Not all Twitter users were supportive.
Al Rush, former paramedic, Royal Air Force, UK (@RAF_IFA), saw Liang's crocheting as a problem. "Don't you think it might be a little disrespectful/distracting to the presenter and/or other delegates?" he replied to Liang's original tweet.
Liang countered: "Any more than everyone else tapping on phones, scribbling on paper, or typing on devices?"
Next, Rush, a retired paramedic, posted a photo of himself as a young man with three women, all kneeling by a Resusci Annie doll: "Me, teaching infant Emergency Life Support — too important for knitting."
In response, Liang pointed to sexism from the presenter at the surgical meeting.
"My original point stands — calling me out when I am paying attention, while not calling out the guy next me [who is] not paying attention — there are only ugly reasons #bias," she posted.
Related Science
Much of the understanding of how repetitive physical activities are connected to attention and cognition comes from brain imaging studies of people with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and autism spectrum disorder, the Massachusetts psychiatrist Wilkins told Medscape Medical News.
However, the general population also has its own "regulation strategies" to enhance focus when there is "motor overflow" in the brain, which may occur when we confront big cognitive challenges (like listening to a scientific lecture), she said.
Think of the work colleague, Wilkins gave as an example, "whose leg is always moving up and down under the table during meetings, or someone who taps his pen when he's focusing intently."
Knitters, crocheters, and other handiworkers have not been studied in this regard. (A PubMed search turned up nothing.)
However, doodlers have been.
In a first-of-its-kind study, adults randomized to doodling recalled 29% more information on a surprise memory test than controls after listening to a mock telephone call (Appl Cogn Psychol. 2009;24:100-106). "Unlike many dual task situations, doodling while working can be beneficial," wrote study author Jackie Andrade, PhD, University of Plymouth, UK.
Jan Odom Forren, PhD, RN, agrees. "I have friends who knit or crochet in meetings. I doodle while I listen. For all of us, it helps us stay focused!" tweeted Forren, professor of nursing, Lexington, University of Kentucky (@JanForren), who responded to Liang's tweet.
The Surgery–Handiwork Connection
Today's medical school students are less dexterous than in the past, which may impact new generations of surgeons, argued a group of five physicians in a New York Times article published earlier this year.
The reason? The rise in screen swiping and decline of manual hobbies such as woodworking and sewing, they speculate.
Crocheting improves manual dexterity, shouted Twitter users after breast surgeon Liang's dustup.
Lisa Dietrich, PhD, behavior researcher, Stony Brook University, New York, humorously stated the obvious (@lldiedrich): "She [Liang] has nimble fingers. Just like...wait for it...a surgeon."
In vascular surgery, the relationship between crochet and surgery could not get any more direct: there is a "crochet hook method of stab avulsion phlebectomy for varicose veins," as described in an article published in the American Journal of Surgery (1996;172:278-280).
Manual Hobbies Are a Learning Aide — But Not a Fully Accepted One
As responses to Liang's tweet indicate, handiwork is a learning aide for some healthcare professionals.
Patricia Furey, MD, vascular surgeon, Catholic Medical Center, Manchester, New Hampshire (@drpfureymd), tweeted: "I spent the first 2 years of medical school knitting during lectures at Dartmouth 20 years ago."
But other people indicated that the practice is not routinely accepted.
Kayte Kett, MD, a pediatrician in the UK (@kayte_mccann) also knitted during medical school lectures: "But, I used to do it under the table in old fashion lecture theatres in case I got told off. It kept me awake and I was knitting hats for the delivery suite."
The fear of being caught was also expressed by Elva Robinson, PhD, senior lecturer, biology, University of York, UK (@Elva_Robinson). "Recently did some sewing during a course and it genuinely increased my concentration — but I was nervous I would be called out on it," she tweeted.
Liana Clark, MD, said knitting is not allowed in the pharmaceutical industry. She is senior medical director, Global Medical Strategy, Sanofi Pasteur, Swiftwater , Pennsylvania.
"Never had trouble knitting in peds/adolescent medicine. But pharma? You would think I was doing a pole dance! There's no knitting in pharma! #knittingislife," wrote Clark (@teendoc), formerly at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. "It's just the culture. Knitting seems unserious," she said.
Manual crafts are esteemed and tribal at some scientific conferences.
Sunae Reilly, midwife, Gold Coast, New Zealand (@saltwater_sunae), tweeted: "As a midwife, it's EXPECTED we knit or crochet at conferences."
Sarah Bodell, occupational therapist, Salford University, Manchester, UK (@OTSalfordUni), told Liang: "You need to join at the @theRCOT annual conference. We have zones for knitting, creating, sewing and more."
It's a Female Thing
Manual crafting or handiwork is perceived as a female thing, Liang said: "I think what the presenter conveyed was — 'I am uncomfortable that one of the audience is doing a generally female activity.'"
Practicing a golf swing would have been more acceptable, she quipped.
Gender-limited crafts are a loss for males, said Robert Hill, MD, chief executive officer, Harmonigenic, a cancer diagnostics and outcomes company in Rochester, New York (@harmonigenic).
"My son began knitting in 4th grade & started knitting on the way to school riding the bus, but wasn't able to continue with all the teasing," he responded to Liang. "More people should normalize it."
Manual crafts are not gender exclusive, observed Charles Jenkinson, MBBS, cardiothoracic surgeon, Fiona Stanley Hospital, Murdoch, Australia (@charlesj_au).
"My grandmother taught me to sew and knit in primary school...I still fix all of my children's toys — these days with 3-0 prolene or silk," he wrote, in response to Liang.
Also, Michael DeBakey, MD, artificial heart pioneer, "credited his surgical success to his Mom teaching him how to sew and knit," tweeted Sara Jiang, MD, associate professor, pathology, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina (@Sara_Jiang).
Final Thought
Among the Twitter respondents to Liang was Jelte (@JltJ), a general practitioner in Arinagour, on the island of Coll in Scotland, UK, who is living with primary mediastinal B-cell lymphoma and is recently 1 year with no evidence of disease.
The physician, who does not list her name in her profile, had some advice for Liang — via Batman — on how to handle future troublesome meeting presenters.
Oh so annoying when
- they pick on you for the wrong reason
- people belittle you as ‘the knitting lady’
- they mistake crochet for knitting!
#knitting#crochet#stimming#neurodiversity#sexism#got told off for knitting during a training session the other day and it made me think of this article#I copied the whole thing because medscape is a shitty website to click through so here#long post
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Threadbare
Pairing(s): John Seed x F! Reader/Deputy
Warning(s): A little bit of Possessive Behaviour near the end (when isn’t there in my fics haha)
Word Count: 9,101
A/N: Gonna use this opportunity to apologise to @starsandskies @softseeds and @seedlingsinner for not getting back to you on your ‘Last Line Meme’ tags, I’ve been working on this and didn’t want to risk spoiling anymore of it than I have 😅 Apologies again, lovelies! ❤️ Now, I hope you all enjoy this inconsistent mess; I’m just glad that it’s finally over!
Also, side note: this is the final/original version of ‘A Moment In Time’ that I never thought that I’d finish, so... yeah, I actually finished it; oops? 😅
- - -
The room is quiet, save for the gentle rustle of fabric and your calm breathing, only ever holding when your concentration tightens or a loud sound catches your ear. It’s a risky move you’re making, being here of all places. All it would take is one slip up and any patrolling Peggies would come running. In your current position, rifle resting just out of comfortable reach against a nearby night stand and hand gun securely holstered to your thigh, the potential outcome could be precarious.
Still, such thoughts are far out of mind. If anything, for once, your mind is not plagued by the worries, fears and demands of the people. It is quiet, tranquil, filled with an occupied motion that lulls and eases. It is the most peace you have had since this whole debacle began; and secretly, unknowingly even to yourself, you take your sweet time and milk it for all it’s worth. An unconscious action deeply needed.
Every so often you take stock, pausing to look, only to end up staring at nothing in particular, around the room you hold court in. It��s a surprisingly large room and it is as gorgeous and telling as the man it belongs to: all high-class with expensive taste, yet subtly simple – modest in design and openly exquisite in every minute detail. Almost everything, save for the immaculate wooden furniture and feather-soft carpet, falls within the spectrum of blue. It creates an oceanic space filled with a deep and enriching sense of stillness and liberation, emulating the ebb and rise of a tempered wave.
It’s an absent wonder why sloth is visualised as the coercing colour.
You shift slightly, readjusting your position as you turn back to the article of clothing in your lap, eyes layered with an embedded fatigue not aimed at anything in particular. The glaze is misleading, your movements speaking not of a tired body. Instead, they are easily measured with a humble confidence, working at a steady pace with a precise and focused concentration, all benign.
There is an edge of paranoia, sharp and teetering like the point of a knife. It fuels the anvil-heavy weight on your shoulders, makes it hard to breathe even the shallowest of breaths. Worry gnaws at your edges alongside its cutting twin. ‘What ifs’ are a dangerous line of thought, yet even with an empty mind it turns in the background, twisting and coiling like a viper as worry and paranoia feed and pamper it.
The stress of the situation – the position you’ve been made to hold, a final bastion in a red-dyed field – has left a very real and scarring impression upon you. A bitter taste you can’t wash out.
It’s why you draw out your time with a self-imposed task that could be over within a matter of seconds. You drown yourself in an old action and memory, away from the war you have been made charge of.
It actually makes for quite an interesting scene.
Away from the tragedy of a civil war and the reluctant role you play in it, in the confines of a grand modern home, one would see the image of domesticity. A young woman sat on a satin quilted bed, expression relaxed and eyes tinged with oblivion as they lose themselves in a rhythmic motion, effortlessly mending a piece of male attire with a needle and thread in hand. A simple kit that the young lady wields with a conviction that rivals that of a knight and his sword.
Yes, quite a scene it makes.
Admittedly breaking into the infamous Seed Ranch wasn’t the best place to host such an image, despite how well you fit into the frame (obscenely so), but it wasn’t your idea to come here in the first place. No, the Resistance has a way of... puppeteering you. Not that you would ever openly admit to such a thing.
Thankfully you have it on good authority – ‘it better be on good authority’, you had snarled, before stalking out of the door of the outpost you had been visiting – that the youngest Seed would be away for the day. Overseeing another load of confessions and such, you had no doubt. It would be the perfect opportunity to take the ranch for the Resistance; loot the cave while the dragon is away, so to speak. Perhaps that’s why, along with the decrease in guard numbers, you had somewhat made yourself at home, taking your time to slowly wander the grand ranch and really take it all in; all in its full and undisturbed splendour.
Arguably you could do so once it was under the Resistance’s control, it would be a lot easier and less stressful to do so then, but you are not naive enough to believe that they won’t change anything once it’s theirs. No, it’s better to see it as it’s intended to be, before that travesty occurs.
Yet, despite your initial wanderings into the many, many rooms around the ranch, it was John Seed’s bedroom – of all places – that had caught your eye. It is why you are currently perched contently on the man’s king sized bed as you tend absently to one of his shirts.
It’s truly silly when you think about it, it’s just a shirt after all, but it turns out that sewing your younger sibling’s toys and clothing growing up has ultimately left a very lasting impression upon you. You had found solace in the action growing up and you still felt it now, more so than ever with the violent turn your life has taken, and you wanted nothing more than a brief moment to try and capture that same tranquility once again.
Although, in all honesty, even you know that you’re not potentially endangering yourself like this for a reason so small and seemingly petty.
With your modest sewing kit on the night-table next to you, and the faintest whisper of the birds songs outside, you pause to look over your work. It’s not turned out too bad, it won’t be the worst you’ve ever done, but not the best either. Not that you believe for a second that John would actually appreciate the gesture, no matter how perfect it turned out.
John Seed, though mainly known for his slippery lawyer ways and role within the infamous Eden’s Gate, was a very rich man. His life before Eden’s Gate, before being reunited with his lost siblings, had him as a rather successful property attorney from what you’ve heard, and it’s from that life and accumulated wealth that’s allowed the project to get as large and domineering as it has done.
It’s also allowed him to lavish himself in some of the most luxurious, and most audaciously expensive, brands that you’ve never heard off. Not only was he good looking, tall and slim with a lean frame painted with tattoos and gifted with a pretty face home to a devilish smile, but he dressed impeccably well.
It was near impossible to not initially swoon at such a charming character, but sadly he was a bit of an open book. The exterior may be exquisite, utterly unique and persuasive in how it draws you in, but it’s too easy to read and you find it’s pages to be littered with an underlying venom and rage; a bitterness that may be understandable, but hardly justifiable.
It was actually quite sad when you chose to sit down and actually think about the man and his siblings, to sit down and try to read them as best as you could. Each of them were broken in their own ways, left in disrepair, from the lives they had lived. You had even gone so far as to read Joseph’s physical book, the bible by which Eden’s Gate knelt before, to see if it could tell you more. The question of how they became – how you know them to be – a guiding hand as you flicked through the yellowing pages and over painful words.
Theirs was truly a sad story.
Still, you know it is no excuse for what they have done, or what they continue to do; and yet there is a part of you that, secretly, knows that you do this simple gesture for more of a reason than out of habit or past influence. It’s a simple but nice gesture and, although you don’t feel like it’ll be appreciated, you’re sure it’s something that they – John in-particular and especially so – have never been given before. At least not willingly.
If anything, with how rich John is, you wouldn’t be surprised if he just brought a new shirt from an equally fancy, if not tear-inducingly expensive, brand without even batting an eye. That’s if he didn’t get it custom made. You’re pretty sure your average store doesn’t sell plane printed jackets and Eden’s Gate belt buckles after all.
Even so there’s no need to waste money, even if he can burn it and still be well off, when you can just as easily fix it. Besides, it’s actually a really nice shirt. Even with its predictable colouring.
Despite all the terrible things the man has done, and will no doubt continue to do, you can’t help the small smile that blooms across your lips. The knowledge that the Baptist, the dreaded Reaper, of Eden’s Gate has a favourite colour and is so shameless in embracing it is strangely humanising to you; and also surprisingly sobering.
At a leisurely pace, mind now hollow with an echoing sorrow, you pierce the fabric and loop the needle through the gap between the strand of thread and pull, creating a knot. You do this a second time, creating another knot to make sure it stays, before you reach for the small scissors in the kit beside you, cutting the remaining thread loose.
With a soft touch you run your finger over the fabric, silently marvelling at its heavenly texture as you thoughtfully look over your finished work. The thread you’ve used isn’t as high quality as the shirt itself is made out of, a fact that actually irritates you, but it’s the best that you own and you find yourself sighing in resignation; leaving it be.
Yes, it’ll have to do.
With a lingering gaze you start to slowly turn the shirt back to being inside-in, taking your time to enjoy the quiet that’s fallen over you. It’s only as you go to straighten the shirt, holding it out in front of you and giving it a final, critical look-over, that the silence breaks and you’re startled out of your revere.
Looking toward the bedroom’s door with wide doe-eyes you are shocked to see none other than the Baptist, John Seed, himself standing at the threshold. Eyes equally as wide, but much more bemused than your own, staring at you as you internally curse your luck with a tensing jaw.
He isn’t supposed to be here...
“You know, I must admit, Deputy,” he drawls with an intriguing lilt, ocean eyes dragging over you as he leans his lithe form against the door frame with crossed arms, completely at ease despite the situation, “I never pegged you for a housewife. It makes for quite an... interesting image. Did you also happen to cook me a meal and do the laundry by chance, darling?”
His smile is mocking, sharp and cruelly delighted, and it has you flushing in a mixture of shame and restrained anger. The fact that you’ve been caught in such a position puts a nasty dent in your pride. You know how this looks: the fearsome Deputy, poster child and head of the rising Resistance, sewing; and not just sewing, but sewing the damned enemy’s – a man on your given blacklist – shirt of all things.
It’s a colossal embarrassment.
You’re also aware of what this could do to your reputation if this got out and you don’t need John Seed, the smuggest bastard around, to gloat over that. Nor do you want him making smart quips that you know he’s more than likely going to constantly torment you with now over the radio for everyone else to hear.
Life’s a living hell at the moment as it, and you don’t need something like that being added to the proverbial pile. The humiliation would kill you quicker than a piece of shrapnel from a plane crash.
“Oh shut up,” you snip, “like I’d do you the honour; and if anyone makes for an interesting image around here it’s you, unexpected as you are,” you sass lowly. “Honestly, when are you going to do us all a favour and just fuck off. Maybe you should go and play with that little toy collection of yours like a good little brother instead of harassing all of us, now that would be an interesting image.”
It’s hardly even a half-baked comeback you give him, your bite a mere brush of teeth, yet it’s still enough for his expression to turn into something testing. A tick in his jaw as his icy eyes pierce you like a needle, pinching and uncomfortable; attention grabbing in the worst way possible.
The look is near enough water off a duck’s back. If you’ve come to learn anything from your few, but nonetheless taxing interactions with the man, it's that he won’t take the risk of action unless he’s a hundred percent certain that he has you right where he wants you; where you can’t or won’t fight back.
He wants things, people and confessions alike, handed to him on a gem encrusted platter. Given to him so he can play his twisted little games and break all his new and precious little toys. Always pushing past limits and breaking you down until you can do anything else, but give him exactly what he wants. Spoiled brat.
Perhaps John isn’t as absolved of his sin, carved into his chest like a fatal warning, as he thinks he is.
Closing his eyes John kisses his teeth with a restrained annoyance that is difficult to miss. For all his talk of wrath, and how well you embody it, he puts you to shame in how well it suits him, wearing it like a second skin and parading it like a model wrapped in Prada.
“As much as I’d love to spend my free time doing things that don’t concern you or your petty Resistance, it’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it dearest,” he hits back with a chilled, but airy quality. “After all, you’ve made yourself quite a fixture in my life as it is, and I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually want out of that.” There’s a hint of something knowing in his words that doesn’t sit right with you. “And in case you haven’t noticed, but this is my home that you’re trespassing in. I’m pretty sure you’re breaking the law actually; you hardly have a warrant after all, Deputy,” he bites, cruel and vile and so self-satisfied.
For a brief moment the twins of worry and paranoia raise their heads with salivating jaws, itching like an infection to tear into you as you suddenly start to fret over John’s motives for this back and forth; along with the simmering anger that lurks beneath the water.
The anticipation of what his next rage fuelled actions could be is rattling. You can’t tell if he’s going to laugh this all off like some sort of bad joke or straight up lunge at you with the likes of a wild animal by the end of this. He can be rather unpredictable, and it’s that unpredictability that makes him so feared throughout the Valley. It’s what makes him so dangerous.
Yet it seems you can do nothing but poke the bear lately, your own frustrations and stresses giving you a false and reckless bravado. Albeit with a soft and unthreatening tone.
“And do I look like I care? We’re at war John, I’m pretty sure anything goes; your methods have already proven that. Now, are there any other normal past-times that you want to mock me for while I’m here, or am I free to go?”
Internally you wince. That came out a lot more defeated than you intended it to be. Still, you hope he at least concedes on this petty back and forth of yours and actually lets you leave–
“I’d hardly call your level of wanton wrath ‘normal’, Deputy. Tell me, what is your total body count at the moment? How many innocent lives have you gorged yourself on in order to fuel that gluttonous soul of yours, until it’s satisfied with the carnage you leave in your wake? Don’t worry though, you’re in safe hands. I’ll be sure to give your soul a good scrubbing once I get you in my chair. Starve it out of you until you bleed across my floor...”
You don’t say anything, merely roll your eyes and gently shake your head at the flip in attitude, continuing to look and touch up the shirt in your tender hold. He’s likely lost in his own warped thoughts if the way he stares through you for moment is any consolation. However, even lost in thought, you’ve found that John is not one to keep quiet for long, and he quickly proves that notion right.
“You know,” he says suddenly, conversationally; tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks for all the world like he just discovered the weight of gold, “if you wanted to confess to me you could of just called. Really, you needn’t go through all this trouble just to make my life easier, darling. I could have set up a welcome party and everything for you. Pulled out the red carpet, set it all up and made it all nice and perfect, for you... just for you, Deputy.”
It doesn’t make sense to you how he can warp what strangely sounds like the most sweetest and innocent of words into something so filthy, sinful and ultimately twisted; as if whispered around a forked tongue made of false promises and sugared venom. He’s an expert at his craft, you’d give him that. Sadly though you can’t help but skim over your absent companions playful jabs and blasé observations with a newfound air of caution.
The beast of worry looks at you with a telling, razored grin.
“... Flattered,” you drawl warily.
For such a simple and plain response you don’t feel that his boyish grin – filled with an emotion that is so foreign on the sadistic and calculating man that you feel the lazy shift of fear beside the intent prickle of paranoia and worry; something self satisfying and grateful and speckled with awe – is justified.
Like the flippancy of the wind John’s expression shifts, fluidly, into an emotion akin to a played up indignation. He sharply huffs through his nose.
“You should be. I make so many exceptions for you my dear and you do nothing but repay my kindness with more bloodshed. It’s rather rude of you in fact.”
“To be fair,” you cut in with a tired glower, careful with were you step in this game of twister, “your kindness leaves much to be desired. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen, so forgive me for misconstruing your intentions.” It’s said with the most blatant sarcasm, dripping thickly like molten tar, and yet John lights up like a town on the eve of Christmas. The remains of his coiled agitation shifting into an unwarranted giddiness.
Good Lord, you’ve not even spent five minutes with this man and already you’ve got a killer headache.
“Oh? Should I learn by your example then, my dear Deputy? From this... quaint little gesture of yours, hmm?” He’s eyes hungrily roam over your lap, no doubt acutely aware of the way your thumb has comfortingly been brushing over the silken fabric of his shirt. “Not to say I don’t appreciate it mind you.”
You can’t stop the roll of your eyes nor the huff that accompanies it. “Trust me, John, there’s no gesture here.”
He makes a sound in his throat, chimed with a badly contained mirth. Slightly, barely visible from your perch on his bed, he leans forward with something almost predatory in those sea-deep eyes of his. “Then what’s that in your lap?”
You turn to hold his gaze, icy and sharp with a smugness that screams of a known victory. He’s got you there. Your teeth grind into each other as you will for a retort to come to mind, but nothing does. With a heavy exhale through your nose you turn to the ceiling and pray for the strength to survive this ordeal.
Not that you’re completely confident that you will. With a swift flare of frustration one of your hands shoots up, palm facing skyward, in a half-arsed admission. “I don’t know. I don’t know, okay, I was just trying to be nice I guess.”
“Nice? You?” John barks mockingly, “Oh don’t make me laugh, Deputy. You’re a killer; there’s not an ounce of mercy in that tainted soul of yours. After all,” There’s a humourless chuckle, a glint of something vicious in his sea-deep eyes, “what ever happened to serve and protect?”
The look you throw him is completely disbelieving, practically aghast from insult, but there’s also a familiar rage resting within the glaring pools of your eyes that John knows rather well. Truthfully, it’s not something he’s ever seen in you before, more a muted irritation than straight up fury, and it thrills him something fierce to see it threatening to come into full bloom.
Conflict has never been in your veins. You came from a quiet and career driven family, to the point where your parents were hardly ever around. Arguments were rare, and if they did happen they never lasted long. You didn’t have the courage, nor stomach, for such things; and despite how much this County has twisted your placid instincts into something sharper, more aggressive and impatient, some things will just never change.
Lips in a tight line, brow furrowed and eyes ablaze in a dirty glare, you look away from him; down to your lap then across to your resting rifle. He’s not wrong, and ultimately that hurts worse than anything physical that he could very well do to you. The battle of your morals – your conscious – against your duty, against the pedestal that everyone has hoisted you up onto like some sort of savour – another Joseph almost – , is a constant one.
“Then what does that make you?” You ask quietly, something cruel lurking beneath the surface of your own waters. “What makes what you do so good, so much better and different than everyone else? Because you believe your brother, because he believes he talks to God?” There’s a huff of a laugh, a mocking condescension hissing with fangs bared, “don’t make me laugh, Inquisitor.”
John’s away from the door frame before you can even blink, a warning shift that tells you that this is no longer a strained, but casual banter between enemies. There’s a familiar glare in his eyes, dark and treacherous like the deepest waters and daring you to get a little closer, to swim a little deeper; to say another word against his brother.
Despite your writhing worry at the sudden tension in the air, twisting and flailing and coiling, you take a deep breath, let it suffocate you a moment too long, and then let it go. Tracing the lines and scratches on your rifle as your shaking anger lessens into a quiet ache. You’ve never been able to maintain it for long; you’re just glad that it no longer makes you break down crying anymore.
John on the other hand...
“Joseph,” he starts, voice so tight that it trembles, “wants to save people.”
“And you don’t?”
There’s a pause; a subtle shift.
You watch as John’s jaw gets tight, his head tilting the slightest amount to look down his nose at you; arms crossing over his chest in a defensive gesture as he leans back against the door frame again; a faux display of casualness.
It’s all the answer you need.
Slowly you nod your head, an acknowledgment even though you needn’t give one. A murmured ‘right’ scoffed under your breath. In all honesty you didn’t expect him to be so (indirectly) honest with you. In a way you can very much respect that, appreciate it even, but in another it only has the beast of worry grinning hauntingly at you; a new dread crawling up from the deep. It’s twin sewn from paranoia slinking up beside it with an equally telling flash of teeth.
Surely he can’t be doing this just for Joseph, just for the Project; there has to be something more that he’s gaining out of this. There has to be.
“Atonement,” the word is drawn out, a slow and delicate dissection, “is the absolution of sin… without it we are left to fester in the disease of our past transgressions. If we are not absolved of sin then we can never even begin to hope to be allowed entrance into Eden. However,” the baptist gives you a pointed look, head ducked and eyes alight but shaded, a stray strand of hair falling loose, “that decision must be genuine. They must want to atone, otherwise what would be the point?”
There’s a bitten laugh that scraps between his teeth; bared in a feral frustration that speaks of long talks and discussions that lead to nowhere but dead-ended roads. A hand claws through his hair, putting that stray strand back in place as he looks to bite at the inside of his mouth; eyes briefly cast to the side.
The afternoon sun, gradually turning richer as time goes on, catches against the satin blue of his vest, making it shimmer like the clearest of Caribbean seas. With his gaze turned away from you for the moment you can see the way the light glazes them, can see the hellfire for all it’s worth beneath those choppy waters; the rage given a flare of new life with the setting sun as the shadows stretch and consume, turning the once clear and shallow waters of his eyes deep and foreboding.
You think you may actually be starting to see some of the truths that lie within the Book of Joseph.
There’s a hesitant inhale; a steadying breath.
“But, it is the will of The Father to save everyone, regardless of if they are worthy of it or not.”
Looking away from the shirt still in your lap you turn to John, many questions on the brain, but only one that gets voiced.
“So you don’t think I’m worthy?”
John blinks. A moment of consideration before he meets your curious gaze; stars glinting against a multitude of emotions, all buried and unspoken, but telling all the same.
“I don’t think you believe yourself to be worthy.”
The bluntness of his response catches you off guard, eyebrows jumping high in surprise. It’s straight to the point in a way that you never imagined him to be, and you can’t help the interested ‘oh’ that melts on your tongue in response, lilts in newfound curiosity as your head tips to the side ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?”
You half expect a smile and some sort of jab, another dig to attempt to provoke you and prove a point that only he is fighting to prove. Yet, he does nothing of the sort. He’s quiet, simply watching you, and it’s with a strange type of realisation that you realise that, not only is he back to looking relaxed and at ease, but so are you; the tension lost and in its place lies a peculiar air, a feeling of contented melancholy almost; an accepting moment of reprieve within the wheel of fate.
“You’re still here,” he answers simply, an airy awe cushioning his tone, “if you didn’t want to be convinced then you would have left a while ago. You wouldn’t be asking me in the first place.”
There’s a tightening anxiety in your chest, a truth struck too close. Are you really that easy to read? Is your dissatisfaction and growing suspicion of the Resistance – coupled with your thirst to learn more about the local cult and its founders – really that obvious? You should hope not, such things will get you into trouble if you’re not careful. Satisfaction over discovering such things would certainly not bring you back if that were the case.
“Tell me, Deputy,” there’s a new glint in John’s eye, a new interest piqued, “what is it that you’re looking for exactly? Because whatever it is apparently can’t be found within your little Resistance, otherwise you wouldn’t be entertaining me like you are, nor would you be concerning yourself over such a touching gesture.” Surprisingly there’s a lack of sarcasm to his tone this time around as he loosely gestures toward your lap, where his shirt still lies under your gentle touch.
You suck on your tooth for second, petulantly glancing away with a quick, but weak rebuttal of, “It’s not a gesture.”
A familiar, if not slightly fonder and more teasing, lopsided smile lights up across John’s face. This strange companionship of yours back on steady waters. “If you say so, my dear.”
The warmth of the gradually setting sun is a welcome blanket at your back, the stillness between you both comfortable despite the different lines you draw and stand on in this war. Faintly you can hear the chatter and motions of the guards outside, the rumble of distant engines, but they quickly fade into the background as you genuinely consider John’s words.
Just what are you looking for?
You’re not too sure, and you don’t suppose John would appreciate such a response no matter how honest it may be. Really, if you were to be insanely honest with yourself, you would guess you are looking for a reason to stop; a reason to turn your back on those you are fighting for and not those who you are fighting against.
No matter how many times you humanise the Seeds, excuse their actions on past situations, you can’t justify what they’ve done. You may one day forgive them, when all is said and done and this whole sorry war is nothing more than a story for the grandchildren; but you could never forget the horrors they have put people through, the uncountable and unimaginable things they have done to get to where they are now; to both you and the residents of the County.
Yet, does that justify what the residents of the County have done? Does that excuse the crimes and damages conceived by the Resistance? No, no if things were even a sliver close to normal, if you were actually a proper deputy and not so damn green, then maybe everyone would of been locked behind bars by now; and you would be no exception, right beside them with blood covered hands.
The world has never looked so grey to you as it does now; and that honestly scares you worse than any cult.
“But please,” John continues after a beat, breaking the silence, “indulge me; what is it you’re after, my dear? What is it that you are really searching for?”
Absently your thumb brushes over the fabric in your lap, a heavy hesitancy causing you to take your lip between your teeth, biting at the skin there until the taste of copper hits your tongue. Eyes downcast as you debate with yourself over how honest you can be with John, how raw you’re willing to let yourself became in front of someone like him; as an enemy, as an ex-lawyer and – maybe, just maybe – as a friend.
You look up at him, see the interest and something else that you can’t quite name dancing like fireflies over a lake’s still surface. Watch as he patiently waits for you, for what you think and have to say… It’s a nice change, if not a little strange.
Without a thought you smile at him, a beam too tight that it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, a huffed laugh under your breath. “Nothing much,” you squeak, “although a decent meal would be a start.” The laugh lingers on your breath, eyebrow cocked and lips tilting into lopsided smile; an intended joke.
John looks wholly unimpressed at your bid at humour, his own eyebrow raising casually in a silent question. Surprisingly though he doesn’t say anything in response, doesn’t call you out or outright accuse you of lying, even though you both know that you just did.
Ultimately, it leaves you with a new type of uncertainty, anxiety rising once again as the smile slowly falls from your face. Still, you push past it as best you can, clearing your throat awkwardly as you decide to stand from your seat on the bed, looking and then making your way toward the set of draws on the left where you had found his discarded shirt.
You feel, but still try to ignore John’s eyes on you as you place the shirt back in (what you hope is) its original resting place, neatly folding and fitting it between others not unlike itself. Briefly you brush your fingers over the collar, savouring the uniquely expensive feel of the shirt before closing the open draw. No doubt you’ll never get an opportunity like this again. It’s a little sad in a way.
With a quiet hum you turn – back facing John – toward the bed, and with a casualness as if you own the place you start brushing down and straightening where you’d been perched on the edge of the bed, smoothing out the creases.
Admittedly, with the sudden lack of conversation, John’s silence is really starting to get to you, a familiar edge of paranoia creeping into the forefront of your mind like scavenging rodents. You listen with a keen interest as you finish your work, the rustling of fabric and your own soft breaths the only sounds that really catch your ear.
With your back facing the infamous Baptist you would have thought this would be a great opportunity for him, your more laidback and docile nature on full display for him to take advantage of if he so wished to. It really would be a perfect opportunity.
Yet, as you turn around, once more with a hum at your work, you find that John hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway. If anything he still looks very much at ease there, completely comfortable and unconcerned as he rests his lean frame against the door, arms and legs casually crossed as he simply watches you with soft eyes; reflective pools that refuse to hide even the tiniest of emotions. Yet, strangely enough, you suddenly feel as if time is impervious to the both of you. As if there is no one else in the world, but you and John.
The sparkling sapphire of his eyes, deep and as unfathomable as the ocean, whisper in dulcet tones the promise of a loving caress within the safe haven of his gaze. An unexpected gentleness in the sorrow of a buried plea, a want for something never owned, but always craved. Such a display of tenderness, from a man that you know to be cruel and volatile at times, is so far removed from the usual turbulent seas in his eyes that it makes you feel breathless.
His face – strong defined jaw, coupled with an immaculately trimmed beard, and skin a naturally tanned hue that looks as smooth as the silk of his shirts – is not masked by barely contained snarls of rage like it often can be, nor the sharp displays of malicious mockery and petulant pleasantries that hiss between his fangs when bared. Instead he bears a freedom and fondness that has your heart racing, a strange vulnerability on his suddenly boyish features; an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth stroking over something deep within your chest that you had feared you were starting to lose.
A thought skims across your mind, and is banished just as swiftly as it had appeared; but even so it leaves an impression that you can’t help but entertain. No matter how futile and unachievable it may be; a hopeless romantic forever at heart.
Lost in fanciful scenarios that will never come to be you don’t notice the way that John also takes you in, cataloguing every minuscule detail and committing it to memory with a keenness that rivals the amount of silver on his tongue.
With where you stand, still and serene in the heart of enemy territory, the large window of his bedroom holds proudly behind you. The fading afternoon sun casting a light pastel orange across the earth and room, beaming through the glass and haloing you in a warm and intimate glow, your form mesmerising and ethereal with how at peace you look when held within such a divinely born light.
Your eyes, typically brimming with a wrathful defiance and a gluttonous need for misguided justice, are a demure beacon that glitters like the limitless galaxies within the cosmos. A flare of hope and unconditional love, soft and reassuring, for all of those that catch a glimpse of your guiding starlight. And although he feels unworthy, tainted and irrefutably damaged as he is, John also feels unbelievably blessed to bare witness to such an otherworldly sight; to be gifted with the absolute vision that is you.
And, for a moment that never quite ends, John can’t help but question how you could be hell-incarnate when heaven touches you oh so sweetly.
There are many words John Seed would have used to describe you, none of them necessarily complimentary or flattering, yet in this shared time between the two of you – just the two of you – only one word comes to mind as he unknowingly, longingly gazes at you.
Angelic. Yes, angelic you truly are. Stunningly and perfectly angelic.
John can’t remember the last time he felt this way about anyone, if he has ever felt like this at all even, but suddenly he finds that nothing else matters to him. Not the Project, not his brothers, and not even the work that he should be doing but that he had slipped away early from, because – frankly put – he was tired. He was as fed-up with this war and the responsibilities placed upon him as he suspected his dear Deputy to be. Both falling foul to your shared sin of sloth in regards to the duties you uphold.
Yet, John at least holds direction and dedication to the work divinely placed upon him. Knows what the end game is and strives to achieve it to its fullest potential, but you? You’re wavering; you’re doubting. Straying away from the path you are on, looking into the distance for something else, all the while refusing to even acknowledge the right one. The one alongside him.
You may not say it, nor ever even admit it, but John knows exactly what it is you are looking for. Knows the evidence that you’re desperately trying to compile in order to build a strong case in favour of yourself and the choices that you’ve been making, wanting to justify yourself and the many actions that you’ve made until this point between you both in the name of your feeble Resistance. And John also knows that he and his siblings are partially to blame for that.
If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t have to try and stand alone for yourself in your own self made courtroom. Wouldn’t have to stand before your self-conscious as you pleaded your guiltlessness before your own guilt. But, really, that’s why you needed a lawyer; that’s why you needed him. John could help you with that, could show you a better path where you could be free of such shackles. He would stand and defend you where no one else would; he would protect you when no else could.
He just wished that you’d let him. Wished that you would just sign the contract laid out before you so he could aid you, so he could fight for you. Yet, you still refuse to bless him with the payment of his favoured word. You still refuse to acknowledge just how in debt this battle will leave you without his help. It’s a small ask, a tiny payment, for a lifetime of rightful assurance.
Yet, John wonders if maybe it’s not just the courtroom that he wants to defend you in.
In his previous life, before the Project and his reunion with Joseph, John likely wouldn’t have even paid you a second glance. You’re a bit of a Plain Jane, have a very girl-next-door sort of look about you. Yet, in the wake of this interaction, bathed in the golden hue of the setting sun, John can’t think of anyone more beautiful. So human and down to earth; lost and conflicted, yet certain and firm. You really are an oddity, and one that John finds himself genuinely wanting to learn more about.
True, he had always had an interest in you, especially when this war between you first began, but it had always been a professional interest (despite what many thought or claimed). You needed to join the Project, Joseph decreed it so, and although his interest had risen to a slightly more personal level it was still business; without you he wouldn’t be able to reach Eden. His fate was in your hands.
Yet, fate seems to want to play you both into each other’s arms, for if it didn’t then surely this sacred moment between you both wouldn’t be happening. Surely, if this wasn’t meant to happen, John wouldn’t be longing for the love that Joseph promised him – the love that only you could give him – like he suddenly and hopelessly is.
John knows where he stands in this war, it’s a fixed point that he can’t move away from even if he eventually decided that he wanted to, but really his dear Deputy is still undecided. You still have a choice to make in this divine plan; you still have time to choose. And, funnily enough, it looks as if you’ve already started to make that choice. That curiosity of yours, you being in his home – on his bed – looking so domestic, like a wife waiting for her husband… to John this is a sign, a hint, a mere taste of the future that he’s always secretly hoped and longed for. A prophecy in its own right.
Yet, as much as he wants to fight for you, to defend and cherish you, he regrettably knows that the time for such things isn’t quite here yet. It’s close, certainly within his reach, but you need to meet him the rest of the way. You need those final damning pieces of evidence before you’ll come to him. You’ll want every piece of evidence available before you’ll walk your chosen path; and although he shouldn’t interfere, John could very easily acquire such evidence for you. He could very easily make such evidence for you. A little more time, a few strings pulled and a couple of sins stripped, and he could give you everything you need and so, so much more.
The temptations of the promised future are a fruit too sweet not to savour.
Eden’s Baptist watches with a fresh interest as you sigh heavily, chest rising and falling with the action, as you start to walk towards him. John’s chest tightens, flutters under the way your sparkling eyes meet and hold his own, only a hint of uncertainty, a fleeting touch of something questioning – do you feel it too? Do you feel this like he does? – on your face before you look away, glance down like a bashful bride, and come to stand next to him.
He doesn’t move from where he’s been leaning against the door, doesn’t even dare to breathe in case this moment is blown away like ash on the wind. Yet, when nothing happens and all he can focus on is his and your own gentle breathing, he takes a gamble and swallows thickly, slowly turning his head so he can look down at you next to him, naturally pretty despite the odd scratch and speck of dried blood on your well worn clothes.
The tension is palpable between you both, not so tight that’s it choking you, but tight enough that you can certainly feel it; hear it moan like a bow dragging steadily over a cello’s strings. Although, not as ominous as one would first suspect, but more melancholy; a rich sadness. As though despite how much you might want and wish for something, it will never come to pass; a sad inevitability that you can do nothing but walk past, never to stop and consider. Or at least you shouldn’t, for only heartbreak lies down those withered and desolate roads.
Which is why you shouldn’t stop, why you shouldn’t be wanting to reach out with a tender touch, a reassurance to this greedy want of yours for something more out of this moment, for more out of this strange connection and unlikely companionship you have discovered between the two of you. You shouldn’t feel this safe when standing next to the man that wants to starve this Valley into submission. You shouldn’t feel so at ease around a man that derives a sick thrill out of torture and the power it gives him. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve finally found a home when you’re sitting on his bed with his shirt in your arms.
You can’t deny that you’re attracted to him, that there clearly is some sort of unexplainable connection between the both of you, but whatever this connection may be… it can never be explored. It can never happen. You will never side with Eden’s Gate, and even if you decide that you can no longer be with the Resistance, it’ll be for the same reason why you can’t join Joseph’s cult. Ultimately, your decision, whatever it may be, will change nothing. Just like nothing will change John’s decision.
Ruled by the cry of your heart and the attachments it’s quick to make you hesitantly lay your greedy hand upon him, turning slightly as your right hand crosses you in order to gently grip his toned arm; the familiar feel of uniquely expensive silk sliding pleasantly
against your skin.
You feel him tense under your hand, arms tightening from where they are still crossed across his chest, but you don’t blame him. Really you’re not even too sure what it is you’re doing, this will only hurt you more when you walk away from whatever this could’ve been if things were different, but you always have had a bit of a penchant for torturing yourself with things like this.
So no matter how much the ‘what if’s’ will wound you in the future you still immerse yourself in the feel of him, of the way he relaxes as your thumb brushes back and forth in a comforting gesture against his arm, the smell of his cologne naturally intermingling with his natural scent… it’s a bitter torture that already has the tears coming to your eyes, but still you stay a little longer; heart hopefully romantic even though you know better.
This – the two of you – could never work.
“Deputy…”
“You know,” you cut him off, the slightest fracture in your softened tone, “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, about your planes. They’re not toys; they’re really cool actually,” there’s a buried laugh under your breath, a small smile that speaks of a brief reminiscion, “the way you have them all set up, cataloged with their little name plates… it’s really cute. It would be super cool if you had them hanging down from the ceiling though; like, having them act out dog fights and things almost. Can you imagine it?”
You giggle there, head ducking as you get lost in thoughts and bitter imagines – helping to set them up, walking in and seeing them like that, being lifted and twirled under them like stars in the sky – that will never be.
This war has taken everything from you, has made you doubt and lose sight of who you were before. Even your dreams for the future, regardless of who they may be with, have been tarnished by the stains on your hands and the things you have been pushed into doing. How could you ever have a normal life after this? Who would want a life with you after all of this? It all seems so impossible and far too far out of reach for you now.
Although it may be cruel, your wandering thoughts and the reminder they bring is a good grounder, and in turn your smile sours; even as one blooms sweetly across John’s face, a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.
For the better, you don’t see it.
“Anyway, I better go; got a County to save and all that after all. I’ll see you around though, John,” you pause, hesitate, desperately cling to this fleeting moment that’s finally reached its end, “take care of yourself now, sweetheart. Lord knows we need to...”
With nothing else to say, that quiet piece of compassion laid out before him like a final offering, you leave; letting go of his arm with a parting squeeze and a faint caress as you pull away, walk past him and out the door until you’re eventually lost to him yet again. A weary ghost bound to forever wander the lonely battlefield.
John doesn’t follow you, doesn’t even reach out to stop you like a part of him begs him to do, and instead merely turns to watch you leave. Head down and arms wrapped comfortingly around your waist. He really should stop you, force this moment to last for as long as he can get it to, but he doesn’t; and that surprisingly hurts him, letting you go. Yet, the pain it brings only hardens him, makes his thoughts straighten and become resolute in the face of the same realisation that had dawned on him only moments before hand.
And as the sun sets over the horizon, the sky streaked in sunburnt northern lights, colours shifting like water with the flowing of time, John finally moves to sit in the same place you had been on his bed; alone and lost in thought. Reaching out to pick something up off his nightstand as he draws his elbows to rest on his spread knees. His hands cupped against his mouth and securely around your forgotten sewing kit, as he stares blankly at your abandoned rifle.
Another sign in and of itself.
Although you hadn’t been looking at him when you had left John had certainly been watching you. He had seen the way that your eyes had glistened like unsteady waters as the courtroom erupted into a debate that you felt that you couldn’t win; the choice taken from you as your morals and exploited loyalty raged and dictated the sentence you should face.
He knows you felt it, knows that there is something special between the two of you, and that it’s taken this moment between you – this one act of rebellion stemmed from your curiosity – for him to see it; for him to finally grasp the meaning behind his brother’s plea.
You were right when you had questioned him on his lack of care regarding the Atonement; how he doesn’t care to save those that don’t believe, how he doesn’t want to put in the effort for those that will only put it to waste. If their motives are not genuine then the process is entirely pointless. Although, John won’t deny that there is a certain gratification in having such control over someone. Forcing them to say yes, purely for their own survival, is not the intention, but it certainly works all the same. After all, Joseph hasn’t exactly scolded him for his methods; especially if he gets a little therapy and self management out of it.
But what of you? What do you have as an outlet, as a way to cope and make the prize all the more sweeter? Better yet, what is the prize that you’re working towards, because John certainly has his in mind, and it won’t just be the end of a cruel and uncaring society.
You’re a puppet, both in terms of your occupation and the leading role you’re now being made to fill, dancing on fraying strings. Strings that John could fully free you from, help to cut you loose, if only you would just say ‘yes’. He’d be able to properly protect and defend you then, reassure you in your choices and how the things you’ve done were never truly your own; your caring nature merely exploited by those that you were forced to associate with while under the influence of shock. The trauma brought on by that helicopter crash disorientating you and leaving you vulnerable toward their manipulative and pressurising ways.
At least if you were to say ‘yes’, John would be able to safely guard you and your surprisingly tentative character. He would be able to love and cherish you, hold you close like no other, and make it so that you would want for nothing while in his arms. He could actually keep you in his bed, smother you in the pleasure that he would gladly give you as his beloved; chain you there as he ravished you and the softness that you would offer him, that you allowed him a tantalising glimpse of.
If you said ‘yes’, then John would finally be able to secure you and your loose strings, worn and threadbare under the continued pressure of your wailing guilt, to his own tangled ones; knotting them together until they have been sewn into something new, becoming one and the same. And when that finally happens, you will be entwined around a silk too rich and blissful to be so easily frayed.
#thank god it’s over#i’m done!#I’m not sure how I feel about this still#but then again i never think highly of my work so...#john seed x reader#john seed x female deputy#john seed x deputy#john seed#fanfic#fanfiction#my writing#fc5#far cry 5#far cry
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i was hoping my last ask would get me a free rant without having to make a dreaded choice uhhhhhhh do maybe washcloths or fake smile?
Hahaha no you have to specify what white person thing you want a rant about, or else I’m paralyzed by too many choices. And nb. by “white” I generally mean white Anglo-Saxon Protestant; WASPs have traditionally been held up as the cultural standard everyone else n North America or other British colonies should follow, and the “whiteness” of different European ethnicities in those colonies is generally judged by how assimilated they are to the WASP ideal. So my observations will not apply very well to, for example, other European ethnicities, or people from areas colonized by those other European groups.
WASHCLOTHS. Related to another trap, Guest Towels Guests Must Never Use. Which are usually distinguished by their elaborateness and a thin layer of dust. As a certified White Person (Anglo Canadian) I can say: This is a real actual literal thing my family does. If I stay at an aunt’s house, I don’t use her guest towels; I walk past the guest towels on the towel rack and ask my hostess, “What towel do you want me to use?” and she fetches me a new, less nice, towel out of the linen closet.
The actual washcloth meant to be used is hung somewhere separate. When I was about 13, I rebelled against sharing a washcloth with my brothers, bought my own washcloth from a department store, embroidered my name on it, and zealously defended it against all comers. These days, my older brother has four children. When we go to his house to eat dinner, his children all wash their hands before they eat… and then wipe them dry on a single towel hung in the downstairs bathroom, which his guests also use. So we all wash our hands and then share germs. I… think? There might be a bar on the opposite wall with guest towels hanging on it? But my eyes have been trained to skate right over guest towels. They’re decor, not things we actually use.
Why White People Do This:
1. Washing and cleanliness… have not traditionally held a central place in European life the way, say, wudu does in Islam. Although priests ritually wash their hands before performing the consecration of Mass, nobody else in the congregation has to. This is partly because in Christian Scripture, Jesus says that if something is ritually pure but spiritually suspect, it should be treated as impure, which Christians kind of took to mean “ritual purity and cleanliness rituals are things non-Christians do.”
So in the 19th century, a German doctor discovered that you could reduce the rate of infection dramatically when doctors washed their hands and instruments between dissecting dead bodies and attending in childbirth. Doctors were OFFENDED and APPALLED by this–partly because the guy pointing it out was an asshole, yes, but partly because there was a feeling that “a gentleman’s hands are always clean”, so it was offensive to say their hands were dirty because it impugned their class and education.
Cleanliness is hugely related to class and status–I could go on a LOT more here about how in the 19th century, British and American attempts to “educate” and “civilize” poor white people and people of colour included imposing standards of hygiene on them that felt cruel and punitive–scrubbing skin raw, using caustic soap, delousing with kerosene–partly because white people didn’t have a very advanced idea of what chemicals made good cosmetics, and there wasn’t much awareness of the need for oils or moisturizers. (For a long time very few sources of natural oil, like canola, olives, or sunflowers, or even petroleum products, were available in Britain, so until somewhat recently they only really had pine tar and animal fat, which they used for everything from making soap to lighting lamps to greasing cart axels.) And the 19th century cleanliness movement did not have a good opinion of traditional bathing methods like the sauna, banya, or steam room, where sweat was scraped off the skin. So people who HAD hygiene rituals that worked for them, when they emigrated to western Europe or North America, got shamed and discouraged from using them. It was just expected that part of “civilizing” a child who hadn’t been “well brought up” was forcefully ducking them in a bath and scrubbing them while they screamed and fought you.
So for white people from everything but the highest classes, if you go a few generations back, there’s this feeling that cleanliness is something unnatural and unpleasant, something imposed by a punitive authoritarian force, and not something intrinsically desirable. Old men used to talk about “taking a bath once a year, whether I need it or not,” and fear of losing their “protective coating of dirt.” Which makes sense when you realize how awful old cosmetics used to feel.
I mean, as I type this, I’m applying Vaseline to the hangnails on my fingers, because when I use soap in the bath or do the dishes or wash my hands after going to the bathroom, the soap strips oil from my skin and dries it out, leading it to crack and bleed. This is a really common problem but the current solution seems to be “women carry tiny bottles of moisturizer everywhere in their purses, and men… suffer if they want to seem manly, and then post memes to facebook about how rough and terrible their hands look to emphasize their heterosexual masculinity.”
This also relates to why white people say racist things about people of colour being “dirty” when they use natural methods of keeping their hair or skin clean. The white conception of cleanliness is honestly really fucked up.
2. Cloth holds an especially weird place in white society. I mean, lots of cultures everywhere like their cloth to look nice! But in Europe and American colonies in the 1600s there was an extra special movement to restrict women economically and bar them from business and public life–so while a rich woman could run a business outside the home and buy and sell in 1400, that freedom was disappearing in 1600. Only women of the ~lower classes~ did real actual work. And the religious sentiment at the time really emphasized Purity, Hard Work, Productiveness, and No Fun. So women were supposed to stay inside all the time and not participate in industry! But they were always supposed to be busy. The saying was literally “Idle hands are the devil’s tools”.
That turned embroidery from an aesthetic, decorative art into a moral act. You didn’t embroider to make something pretty; you embroidered for the good of your soul. Fancy embroidered pieces displayed in a home were meant to demonstrate a) that the house was rich enough to have idle women, and b) the moral purity and obedience to gender norms of the women of the house. (This also extends to things like quilts, lace doilies, hooked rugs, etc.)
So towels used to be made of linen, a plain flat cloth, and then embroidered and otherwise embellished. My mom, in the 1960s, learned how to do embroidery where you painstakingly pull a few threads out of a piece of linen, and then embellish the place where the threads have been taken out.
Linen, incidentally, is a strange and amazing fabric. When new, freshly starched and ironed, it is flat and crisp. But pressure and moisture can change it really easily. When I sew with linen, I just have to lick my fingers and fold it over, and it stays like that–something most fabrics don’t do. So if you actually use a linen towel to dry your hands, you will crumple it in a way that is very hard to reverse.
Therefore: Fancy linens were displayed prominently in the home as a status symbol, but a guest who wanted to stay on his hostess’s good side did not use them. There are a lot of ettiquettes around using linens when you absolutely have to, like just gently wiping your fingers on a towel, that diminished the damage the fabric would take.
So, I mean, actually rich people used their good towels, because if they ruin them, they can just get new ones. Fancy linens were intended for high-class guests who knew how to keep from damaging them. So using someone’s guest towels sent the message, “I am so high-status that I’m WORTH potentially ruining something that took a ton of work to make and maintain.” Or, if you obviously weren’t that high status, “I don’t know about the work that goes into making nice things, or don’t value the work you did and don’t care how much effort you’ll have to go to because I wanted to wipe my face.”
But that was in the days of linen. Guest towels are going out of fashion, partly because modern terrycloth towels are almost impossible to crease or ruin, so it doesn’t really matter if guests use them. But even with terrycloth towels, homeowners sometimes like to create really elaborate towel displays. I don’t know how those people feel when guests use them, but as a white girl I feel really uncomfortable taking a towel display in somebody else’s house apart, and try to wipe my hands while causing the least disturbance possible.
Oh, I guess I should mention that invisible tests no one will ever mention if you fail are absolutely a white person thing. Like, if you watch costumed period drama movies, there’s often a scene where someone is really unbearable and rude, and everyone is super polite and awkward and just sits there and says nothing. That’s not consciously an exclusive practice; from the perspective of white people it’s just an ingrained reflex, “Freeze and smile when something awkward happens and then later cut them out of your life.”
That reflex comes because the Industrial Revolution and colonization (1600s-1800s) led to a lot of class mobility. Ordinary men could get involved in business and become wealthier than the hereditary landowners! Which the hereditary landowners felt super threatened by, so they went out of their way to cultivate manners and standards that were very unlike those used by the common people. Upperclass accents became more marked and exaggerated; dictionaries decided to make English spelling and grammar especially hard to learn; manners got super weird and unintuitive. They wanted to make it as hard as possible for common people to fit into high society.
Therefore, to enable that system, the rule became: Never tell someone when they’re fucking up. If they know what they’re doing wrong, they’ll FIX it, and then they’ll fit in better! And that would lead to the absolute downfall of Western civilization! Which would of course be a bad thing! And that got codified as The Right And Desirable Way To Do Things. A low-class person might say “Hey, you just insulted me, I’m upset,” but someone with aspirations of rising higher in life learned to freeze and say nothing. That was how you defined “polite”.
So like I said, if I, as a white person, point out to other liberal white people that the freeze-and-smile-awkwardly response is really exclusionary to people from different backgrounds, they go, “Oh my gosh, you’re right!” and we can talk about changing it. It’s why white people invented assertiveness training. It’s a thing white people have to unpack and decolonize. But it’s not commonly a conscious attempt to exclude someone by not letting them know they’re breaking the rules.
ANYWAY. Towels.
So IF someone has guest towels taking up their towel rack in their bathroom, there’s very little room left for the actual towels. (Unless they’re like my aunt, whose bathroom literally has a second towel rack to accommodate her guest towel arrangement) Therefore: The entire fucking family sharing a single washcloth because that’s all they have room for, and it doesn’t feel that important not to share.
WHITE CULTURE IS WEIRD AS HELL.
And if you come to my house? You’re allowed to use my guest towels. It’s what they’re there for.
#staranise original#white culture#lis explains white people shit#AND I DIDN'T EVEN NAMECHECK CALVINISM ONCE#chucktaylorupset
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Making is still slow going. My life living with people now means compromise, and that’s okay. I learned this past week and another culprit might also be the cancer drug I’m on: tamoxifen. It’s great stuff, and will help me not develop more tumors, but over the last three months, I have become increasingly tired, sore, and sad. I have been off it for a week as my oncologist wanted to see if some weird side effects I was having were related and went away. As of this weekend, I don’t hurt nearly as much, I am feeling more alert, and I have energy and strength again. I have been trying to make hay while the sun shines and do all the things I will not be able to do when I’m on it again!
This weekend, I found the waffle iron, and am hoping to make a load of waffles to put in the freezer (there is currently a surplus of buttermilk that must be used up – oh woe!). I bought some lavender plants last week (on sale! more on that later), and will try to weed the area I want to put them in today, and then I’ll plant them. I am going to try to figure out all the heavy lifting I’ve been meaning to do and do it today.
Okay. On to Making over the past month.
I finished up the overshot towels! One is in use at home, two of the yellow ones went to friends as a gift – their kitchen is yellow and green – and one has stayed with me, as yet unused. I now think these are the perfect weight for towels, and are very absorbent, but if I sell them, they’re going to be very expensive, because these take twice as long to produce.
When I am preparing to hem, I always wash and dry the cloth two or three times before I do anything. Then I iron the whole thing front and back. (I know lots of weavers say press, but honestly, this is cotton. They’re towels. I have never found a need to get super fussy with an iron other than to flatten the cloth.) Then I cut along the weft marker lines I threw when I was weaving. Sometimes, there are bits of scrap. I save those and use them to make greeting cards, or sometimes just as reference samples. Then I go over each towel looking for errant weft ends sticking out and I snip them flush with the cloth. I have read that snipping the weft ends flush while you’re weaving is okay, but I’ve always found a few sticking out anyway after wet finishing. I’ve attributed this to the shrinkage of the yarn, and then the ends just pop out. But I like snipping the weft ends because it also allows me to really inspect every inch of the cloth, and sometimes I see a mistake I didn’t see before, which I can usually fix.
Sometimes I also find knots in the weft yarn that I didn’t notice while I was throwing the shuttle. The thing I’m pointing to above is a knot. (Sigh.) It was on the back of the cloth, so I didn’t notice it until the pre-hemming stage. I could fix it, but it’s hard to do after the cloth has been washed. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it when I was winding quills – normally, if I find a knot in the yarn, I’ll cut it out and just overlap the weft in the same pick as if I were starting a new quill.
With this batch of towels, the cloth is a bit thicker than just twill, so I did a little different thing with the hem: I wove a a bit of the ground, leaving the pattern out, and just folded that over and stitched. Behold:
This hem is sooo thin and unobtrusive.
I like it a lot! I had seen something like this in a picture somewhere and thought I’d give it a try. I also love how it looks.
What I need to do now is get an inkle loom or put together a backstrap loom so I can weave bands – I want to sew loops just under the hem of each towel I make (and maybe weave a logo into them?).
I took the last week of August off from work. Man, I haven’t had a vacation in what feels like years (and it might be two or three, I can’t remember), and it was pretty good. A friend and I went up to Shelburne to Apex Orchard to go peach picking, and we could not have picked a better day for it! The sky was blue, the air was clear and ever so slightly crisp, there was a gentle breeze…and the trees were positively laden with fruit. Some of the branches were nearly on the ground.
The view from the orchard’s shop is staggeringly gorgeous. That picture above doesn’t do it justice at all.
We each picked a large box (and spent several days eating our respective peaches), and then went back up to the shop for lunch. There was a lovely eating area outside, and I’d brought All The Food in an ice chest. We had already eaten several peaches in the orchard, but managed to get something other than fruit into our systems before packing up and checking out the shop in detail.
It doesn’t look like much, but this is actually quite a lot of peaches!
The shop is lovely, and I highly recommend a visit if you’re in the area. While the orchard has been around for years and years, the shop is fairly new, so don’t expect too much – but they do have pottery from a local potter or two, maple syrup, honey from the orchard, some handmade quilted things, and coolers of fruit. They also have a walk-in cooler of seconds!
I took advantage of this cooler of seconds a couple of days later:
This is a LOT more peaches than you think. I learned what ‘half-bushel’ really was. Also, please note the lovely and very useful overshot dishtowel under the peaches on the counter.
For a mere $22, I got a half-bushel of Red Haven peaches. They were fiiiine, and only some were very slightly bruised. They were very nearly all ripe to being completely ripe, and they were perfect to make into jam.
There was a bit of a kerfuffle with getting enough canning jars, running out of pectin and sugar and running out to buy more, not adding enough acid to the second batch because I’d been canning for six hours and was exhausted, canning the second batch a second time the next day after adding the right amount of acid and slightly more pectin, but in the end, I got it all done. Two cases of half-pint jars. I still have three cups of peach mash left (in the freezer) because I ran out of time and energy, and I thought this would be enough for a very modest batch of peach chutney. Which was supposed to maybe happen today, but won’t because omg I’m doing all the things today and will run out of time.
I finally finished my friend’s jeans:
FINISHED. FINALLY.
It took months, and most of the delay was due to nonsense with the house I’d lived in before, being diagnosed with cancer, freaking out, and moving house…well, all of that is now behind me and this was actually on the top of the list for my vacation! (That list is so long still…) I’m so happy I finished it – it’s not quite right, but I couldn’t figure out what else needed to be there, and my friend was being SO PATIENT waiting. She loves them and I am thrilled to have learned a new method of repairing holes in clothing.
So, during that kerfuffle of getting enough canning jars (see second case in photo above), I might have accidentally bought five lavender plants (var. Provence). They were on sale! They were so healthy and so large! (Actually, they were so much on sale, I couldn’t NOT buy them.) I got that little pink yarrow as well because, well, it’s pink yarrow, and beautiful and well, it was on sale, too.
I am currently trying to get the garden by the front walk back into garden-shape again. My friends who I live with do not have time for this, and are sad that it’s gotten to this point, but basically don’t have time to really think about what to do with it. Well, this is something I can fix, albeit slowly. The strip is quite long as is not obvious in that picture above, and it seems to be taking forever. The grass/weeds are actually growing on the layer of old rotten bark mulch, so it all peels up pretty easily. I feel pretty much like I could run a race today, so it’s on my list of things to tackle. Maybe I can get it all peeled up? My plans are to put the lavender in the bit that gets the most sun. (I had plans to put it in the back yard where the drainage is probably slightly better, but I discovered there are ground wasps living there, so digging in their nest is probably not a good idea.) I hope there’s enough sun in the front.
My next plan is to keep an eye out for beautiful (and inexpensive) mums so I can add a bit of color to the front. I might put some spring bulbs in as well, but I want to ask my friends first – I don’t want to set up something that they will need to take care of after I’ve moved out. That would be mean. My Ultimate Plan is to plant perennials in there that will basically look after themselves with minimal weeding required. So, daisies, mint (already there), bee balm, lamb’s ears, maybe a rose or two (hardy)…you get the idea. The hostas and a couple patches of daylilies plus weeds is just sad. (And don’t get me started on this way of landscape planting that wastes so much space with bark mulch and nothing else – argh!)
I also will mow the lawn today:
A toy!
I can’t hardly believe my luck, and the trust my friends have in me. As a member of the household, I am always looking for ways to be helpful and contribute (other than financially), so I mow the lawn. It’s a very big lawn, and it takes just short of two hours to get it all done. Above is what I use to mow it, along with a regular push mower to get the edges and fiddly bits. It’s an actual tractor (not a lawnmower), with a mower attachment on the power take-off underneath. I like to think of it as a Kitchen Aid mixer with the fun attachments. There’s a snowblower attachment parked behind it in this picture that I will likely also learn to operate when it’s time. The driveway is also large.
I can’t adequately express how much fun it is to mow the lawn! I hope that never wears off.
In other news, I’ve been thinking hard about something else to make. I’ve been wanting to do this for years:
A good friend was off-loading some books…of course I nabbed them!
I figure I’ll scope out supplies and gather as necessary and required, and start small. So small. My goal is to make the rose scented soap I can’t get at the store anymore (because amazon bought Whole Foods, and while I do not buy into the complete hipster/yuppie/whatever it’s called this decade philosophy that WF peddles, they do carry a few things that I do like – but so many things have been discontinued). Rose oil, it turns out, is five times more costly than it was when I last checked (maybe 15 years ago), and there are varying reviews about the fake rose fragrance that most people use. So, I’ll start with lavender because that’s not too expensive and I can get it locally.
And I’ve saved the best for last.
Remember how I started that cello experiment? I started with three months. That was one billing cycle for the instrument rental, and I figured that was a good window in which I could decide if I liked learning to play it or not, liked the teacher or not, etc. And it was. Well. I have been mooning over the viola da gamba for a while (a year and a half, about) and this semester, I got my name on the list for a gamba class over at UMASS, just down the street from my office, and got the okay from my boss to take a long lunch once a week. And I got in. No auditions, no previous experience with string instruments required (but it helps).
So pretty!
I have borrowed the tenor gamba. It’s lovely in every respect. Well, not tuning. I’m sure I will get used to it, but tuning is a pain right now. The strings are gut, so any whiff of air from elsewhere makes it go wildly out of tune, especially if that air is of a different humidity.
So for three months, I’ve got to figure out how to practice two instruments – but the opportunity is so good! And it’s only three months. And maybe I’ll make musician friends? And maybe it will help with the anxiety about playing in front of other people? Seems like it couldn’t hurt!
GUYS, I GET TO HAVE VIOLA DA GAMBA LESSONS.
And I’ll end the post with a picture of cuteness:
Ollie above, Marlie below. Not the best picture, but it was tricky to snap this one with one hand.
Ollie stayed with us for a week, and has gone back with his owners. They were a joy to take care of together. I will miss Ollie, and give Marlie extra snuggles for a while.
…in which Things Get Done. Making is still slow going. My life living with people now means compromise, and that's okay. I learned this past week and another culprit might also be the cancer drug I'm on: tamoxifen.
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Two to Take Care - an imagine Confession about Marius Pontmercy
Look, one more request delivered successfully, my faithful devotees: That one belongs to @shellelyn, who told me was in need of Marius.
Check here her lovely ask: https://ladybalem.tumblr.com/post/172994546063/my-love-i-am-in-need-of-marius-perhaps
Well, I just can say that, depending on me, if you're in need, you'll have him, and as you asked me a day: Covered in chocolate and strawberries (giant ones, directly from my Garden of Delights and in a silver platter). Dearest, I hope I've reached the point.
(P.S. That's the last imagine, officially done with them...)
Yayo! And here we go: I witnessed it happened like this...
*
Imagine...
You and your beloved husband Marius Pontmercy are married for yet some time and you live in plenty happiness, actually lacking just one thing to turn this happiness already so intense into a fully complete one. Place: The mansion where you live, in Paris. Time: XIX century.
*
*
*
Leaned on the smooth pillows fulfiled with goose feathers to which Marius had so diligently piled up for you some minutes ago, you were laid down at the huge dossal bed at the bedroom of you two, but actually you weren't feeling quite good. You just couldn't tell if you were about to get sick (getting a cold or something like) or if it was only just tiredness, but it was like you were feeling: Tired and sick. With a moan and a sad sigh you tried to rearrange yourself on the comfortable bed, but that was oddly uncomfortable, and you just couldn't find a position there. And seeing your gestures, Marius, who was sat down at the edge of the bed by your side, ready to act to whatever it would be necessary to assist you, quickly bended over you, saying with a worried feature:
- (y/n), my dearest... Are you alright? Want you something? - and all of a sudden he started to arrange the high pillows under your head, delicately arranging then the sheet and the embroidered quilt which were covering you up to your waist.
Trying to smile you looked at his tense features, trying to mentally count how many times he had still asked you that and you had answered that everything was fine, but the truth it was that you were doing that just to tranquilize him and nothing more, cause you weren't, truly speaking, feeling no fine. But even then, more for love than for anything else, one more time you insisted in what it was actually an untruth at that moment:
- Marius, I... I've already told you, love, I'm great - and once again you tried to arrange yourself better on the bed - I'm just a little tired, just that.
Quickly placing his large hand on your forehead to verify if it there was fever, for that which seemed to be the fifteenth time on the last five minutes, worried, Marius in sequence smoothed your hair, sliding along it his eyes for an instant, as he seemed to be thinking, and then he said you in a very low voice:
- My love, I... I told you. You'd have been sewing and doing crochet too much, until late at night, all of this passed weeks... You shall rest and feed yourself in a proper way, (y/n). I told you you were about to get sick this way.
Shaking your head in the most vehement way you were able to do due to your current state, with a hand you took his which was on your hair, averting it a little as you held it firmly with your delicate fingers, and looking right into his eyes you said in a sweet but very firm voice:
- No, Marius, the winter... The winter won't wait me to finish my work to come, do you comprehend? It will just come, just rigorous as always... - and then you took a pause, breathing and swallowing saliva, feeling to be everything, less fine, at that instant - I need to finish those tiny clothes, Marius. The children at the orphanage just can't wait, they're just can't be in lack of the wearable when the winter comes.
- But you made so many yet, my love, isn't it enough?
- No, it's not enough, Marius, it isn't - you said firmly, before to close your eyes for a while, suddenly feeling ill, passing a hand on through your face - The winter, Marius... None of the children will suffer from cold this year, on what can depends on me.
That it was already something of your routine to help the Parisian Municipal Orphanage, where so many children lived without the coziness, the warmth and the love of a home, but lately you were worrying about them above the average. Maybe it was because you were yet married for so long and had not yet got pregnant, maybe it was because you were starting to feel guilty cause you weren't being able to give Marius the children to whom you well knew him (as well you) desired so much to have. And although he always used to say that no one of you were absolutely not guilty and that it just hadn't yet happened cause it wasn't still the willing of God, internally and secretly you just couldn't avoid to feel this way. And maybe it was due to that you were trying to seek for some comfort as doing the possible and the impossible for the children who weren't yours.
Looking right into your eyes as he heard these your last words, Marius couldn't help but feel the most completely in love with you than a minute before, looking at you with a deep love and feeling profoundly proud of your charitableness. You were, just as always, placing other's wellbeing above your own, and although it was clear that at that right moment this was prejudicing you in a certain way, and the last thing Marius would desire to see in this life it was you at that state, even so he felt proud of the woman he had choose for his life, to be at his side, feeling at the deepest of his own he have made the right choice. And it was that feeling which got to extract from him a light and tiny smile even at a time like that, and slightly passing his fingertips by your face he spoke under a breath:
- There's no words in this world to express how much I love you, (y/n).
Looking at his face you didn't know why but you felt suddenly embarrassed, and you lowered your eyes, slightly tightening your lips, and in a second you felt the tears to come up to your eyes, at hard costs getting to avoid them to fall. And smoothing your hand that was over the quilt for a while, as turning into the bedside table, Marius said with a sweet voice, as taking by the saucer to the cup of tea he had brought you and left there:
- Now drink at least a little tea - and taking off his hand from yours, he took the cup by its handle, approaching it from your face - It's not fair to left it here cooling this way, my dearest, come, drink it - and stopped with the cup right in front of your face, who looked at him actually undecided - Drink it, (y/n), it's delicious and it will make you to feel better.
Not having not the minimum willing to, you slightly frowned your eyebrows, but you ended inclining into it your face, and as you touched its edge with your lips, carefully he inclined the cup, so the tea could touch your lips. But as soon as you took a little sip, the smell of the tea suddenly made you nauseated, and you frightened yourself, almost doing him to overturn it all over you, and repelling him from you with your both hands you turned your face aside, quickly covering your mouth:
- For God, Marius, it's horrible... What did you put into my tea?
Looking at you with wide opened eyes and really frightened, Marius recovered the cup, slowly leading it to his own nose, starting to smell it in order to inquire if it there was something really wrong with it, and after having take a sip and see that the tea was fine, he said:
- I... I didn't put nothing in your tea, just... just the amount of sugar you like, (y/n) - and leaving the cup on the bedside table again, he said - It's your favorite tea, I can't comprehend.
- My favorite tea? So then why is it like I am about to vomit? - you said, feeling nauseated again, before to left yourself to hopeless to fall down on the pillows, as your husband took a hand of yours, starting to give you light slaps at its back, and then Marius said pretty lowly, the most for himself than for you:
- You're not a little fine. I did it right on calling the doctor to see you.
Frightening yourself, you complained - You did what? Marius, I told you it wasn't needed!
- Yes, it's needed - and he started to arrange you again, at this time covering also your arms, before to check at your temperature again - You're not even a little fine.
And being desolated, you closed your eyes, with a sigh.
*
Soon one of the servant maids appeared at the bedroom door, with her face down, due to shyness and the sadness for seeing her so adored mistress bed ridden, and addressing herself to Marius, she murmured:
- My sir, the doctor arrived.
- So ask him to come up now, please!
And as soon as she disappeared behind the door, you sighed:
- Marius... I told you it wasn't needed.
- Shh... - he was still softly slapping at your hand's back, this time over the quilt and the sheet which were covering it - Don't say no word, don't fatigue yourself.
- Mister Pontmercy - sounded a well known voice at the door, and lifting up and straightening his back Marius looked at the man anxiously, stretching an arm into his way, just as like if with this gesture asking him to approach quickly.
- Enter in, enter in, docteur Montpassant, she's here.
Listening to that you lightly beamed, cause it was clear the doctor could see it by himself, but that was your Marius: A little foolish, sometimes, but an adorable fool, the little fool you loved so. And gesturing with his arm he mutely asked to the old aged doctor to come closer, what this one actually did, with a amiable smile on his face, placing his case on the tiny table aside the bedhead, looking at you both with tenderness.
- I was about to ask you how you'd been, but I can clearly see you're not quite well. It seems, inclusively, you're worse than her. Would you like me to examine you as well?
Really, the doctor's arrival seemed to, instead to soothe Marius, that it had made him tense the most, and he was stirring himself impatiently, looking at you with a kind of angst. And taking off one of your hands from under the quilts you grabbed one of his with strength, kindly tightening it into yours, slightly smiling for him before to give a glance at the doctor:
- I said it wasn't necessary to call you, doctor Montpassant. Forgive us for that. I'm a just a little tired, I've had not slept enough, just that.
- But doctor - said Marius, seeming afflicted, with his free hand taking the cup and stretching it into the other man's way, looking at him with a supplicant expression - Look! It's her favorite tea! I ordered it just because she loves this tea, and however, she gets nauseated with it!
- Marius, I'm fine...
- That's what we shall see - the doctor smiled in a amiable way, looking the most as a father than a professional - Now, please, calm down, my young man - he addressed himself to Marius - We don't want two patients here, isn't? Set your mind on rest - and opening his case, he started to put out of it his apparels - Now, if you allow me, I'm going to examine mistress Pontmercy.
Quickly getting up in a bit mixed-up way, as he started to straight up his own clothes, Marius just as if asked for forgiveness:
- Yes, docteur, please.
And slightly bending over you, the doctor beamed - (y/n), as you allow me.
You lightly smiled, lowering your eyes, and, placing the stethoscope held at his ears, he auscultate your heart. Calmly and diligently the doctor examined you with care, asking you an endless series of questions to which you answered as you could in spite of the weakness you were feeling, and at the end of some very long minutes that for Marius seemed like an eternity, the doctor asked you:
- And about your period, (y/n). For how long haven't you still not bled?
You looked at him with eyes a bit too much widened, actually a bit scared with the fact that, as you noticed it was really on a large delay, how could the doctor know that through just the superficial exams he have made, and you babbled a little, actually a bit shy, as you answered him in a whisper:
- I think ... that at least for three months... - and you thought for a while - No... Four. Four, for sure.
You at that last days had been so busy on sewing and manufaturing all of that innumerable child clothing for the orphans that you have not even had the time to pay attention on yourself, and notice what it was happening, or better saying, what it was NOT happening, and feeling a bit shocked due to all of that you lowered your eyes, blinking them innumerable times, slightly contorting the fingers of both hands in between, as Marius finally asked, seeming to be completely perplexed:
- But and then, doctor, what... What does it all mean? What is wrong with her? Will she be fine soon?
Slightly smiling as putting his apparels back to his case, the doctor said, with a good-humored voice:
- She would get fine just in case her problem it was an illness, mister Pontmercy, but it isn't, absolutely.
- I don't... I don't comprehend, doctor Montpassant. Won't you prescribe her not even a remedy?
- The remedy for her is to restart to sleep and feed herself properly, cause she truly couldn't be into a better health. Maybe the one who need some help by now it will be you, my esteemed lad - and this tone of suddenly intimacy puzzled Marius, although he knew the doctor since he had been born - Cause (y/n) is pregnant, she's not sick.
Only hearing the confirmation to what you were dedicating the last minutes to think about, you couldn't keep a sigh of admiration, but as you saw Marius to suddenly wobble before to let himself to fall sat down at the bed by your side, you let out a loud sigh, as you stretched both of your arms to him:
- Marius... Oh, mon Dieu!
- Your husband will need you, my mistress - the doctor beamed, taking up his case - Do you think you can deal with it or will you need some help?
- Doctor, don't... Don't leave me here alone with him in this state!
Contouring the bed, the doctor gave a half of a dozen tiny slaps at Marius's back, before to say, in a joyful and confident tone:
- It isn't myself you both need, but each other. You both are enjoying perfect health - and then he stood some steps back before to turn himself into you two for a moment - I wish you all the happiness in this world. My congratulations - and saying this, with a smile he got out of the bedroom, as you turned your attention into Marius again, who seemed stricken in shock.
- Marius? My love? Are you alright?
Frightening himself a little as just like to return to himself, he looked at you for a moment before to whisper:
- (y/n)... We... We're going... Oh - and then placed a hand over your stomach, lowering into it his eyes - A child?
- So it seems - you said, a little in doubt, as if you actually couldn't still believe it, and you lowered your eyes to his hand over you. And didn't getting to say nothing more, Marius just started to sob, as you urged yourself on saying - Marius... Love...
And bending over you on the bed he hugged you, and as he could you hugged him back, and still confused you said under a breath:
- But, oh my, I... I need to make even more children clothing by now, Marius, I... Please... bring me the wool and the needles, please.
Raising up his face washed in tears of pure joy he looked you right into yours, caressing it very slightly with his fingertips, and he opened you a smile as he said, with a touched voice:
- We can ask two maids to help you with that, (y/n). But later. By now you need to rest - and he kissed you very softly, with his tears salted lips - Now you need to rest, and I'll be here taking care of you - and suddenly he halted, just as if suddenly thinking about something, and lifting himself a little over an elbow, and lovingly caressing your belly with a hand, he corrected himself - I'll be here, taking care of you two.
And when you noticed, you both were sobbing and smiling, at the same time, and with relief sighs you embraced between again, until you two were both crying and giggling.
*
*
******************************
MY CONFESSION TO PRIOR PHILIP:
Prior, little loved one, hi, hello. Passing here just only to see you, right, cause, isn't?, let's stipulate that today I'm the most pure than a Nile River's water-lily, cause, look, besides all of that showing of charity, that, isn't?, that's the biggest of virtues, as if it was not enough, by this day we had only romance and, as I always say, here everyone is properly under the sacred ties of marriage, then you know.
Free from sin we are.
Unless that romance and fluffy by now is considered a sin, but sincerely, let's stipulate, what's that my lad, and then they still say I'm no romantic. Wotz, crazy people. Quoting my mom, go wash a pretty vat full of dirty clothes you all, you meddlers! Lol!
AND AMEN LORD BALEM!
#eddie redmayne#marius pontmercy#writings#confessions#my writing#fanfic#fanfiction#masterlist#master list#imagines#lady balem#romance#marius pontmercy imagine#les mis#les miserables
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Fiber Crafts, Feminism, and Subversion
Stephanie McCarter’s article “From Penelope to Pussyhats, The Ancient Origins of Feminist Craftivism: On Subversive Uses of Women’s Handicrafts Throughout History” appeared on LitHub a few months ago.
As someone who engages in a variety of typically feminine fiber arts (sewing, embroidery, and weaving), the title spoke to me. While I’ve never considered my crafting as a subversive or political act, this was an invitation to read that I couldn’t resist.
McCarter talks about how women’s handwork is decried or downplayed by many modern feminists as being unworthy or demeaning. “On the other hand, such denigration disturbingly participates in a long tradition of belittling women’s artistic pursuits, particularly those associated with poor women and women of color, which have rarely been afforded consideration as serious art.” Men’s art hangs in museums; women’s needlework is displayed in grade school cafeterias at weekend craft shows. (Each June, it’s off to Fort Bragg, California, for the annual Fort Bragg Quilt Show, which is, yes, held in a grade school cafeteria. The quilts on display are amazing works of art, meticulously planned, cut, and stitched by women with more patience in their little finger than I possess in my entire person. But, you know, they’re just quilts, so a small town grade school is the right venue for viewing, not a proper museum. /end sarcasm.)
Fiber work is a way for women to spend time doing something they enjoy, but which is perceived as virtuous (she is making something useful) or a deserved break (she is making something pretty) (as long as she doesn’t take too much time away from being useful). Realistically, it’s an opportunity for companionship, support, and bonding, and a much-needed break from daily stress. For a few years, I held a monthly “Ladies’ Circle”, to which everyone brought their needlework, artwork, and treats to share. It was the best Saturday of the month. We chatted about fun things, discussed deeply personal matters, analyzed the state of the world, and made progress on our projects which were usually rather neglected the rest of the month. It was an opportunity to indulge ourselves in positive ways (okay, there may have been rather a lot of cake sometimes!), and simply unwind while making time for the projects that didn’t get enough time otherwise. Was it resistance? Perhaps we were resisting the cultural pressure to be useful or to be helpful. But if you can’t be helpful to yourself, you can’t be useful to others.
Crafting can also be a direct subversion of power. Natalie Zarelli’s article “The Wartime Spies Who Used Knitting as an Espionage Tool” on Atlas Obscura discusses the use of knitting to encode messages in fabric to support the resistance in World War I and World War II. Whether encoding messages in their knitting, or using their knitting kits to conceal messages, the women were perceived as being useful and harmless, while recording and passing information. “Knitting used by the Belgian Resistance during World War II included dropping a stitch, which forms a hole, for one sort of passing train, and purling a stitch, which forms a bump in the fabric, for another, which helped the resistance track the logistics of their enemies. Elizabeth Bently, an American who spied for the Soviet Union during World War II and later became a US informant, used her knitting bag to sneak early plans for the B-29 bombs and information on aircraft creation.”
Even if they are not actively plotting social or government resistance, the crafting women are enjoying personal expression, creative work, and bonds of friendship. Creating strong relationships and encouraging each other’s authenticity is also a form of subversion in a society that urges conformity and fitting in. When women are still encouraged to sacrifice their personal pleasures to family or social duty, taking time to enjoy something just for yourself is subversive.
McCarter encourages us to keep at it, even if we don’t think of ourselves as political persons. “Women have honed such resistance through centuries of oppression by using its very tools. Rather than denigrate or reject these long-established feminine forms of art, we should remember them. Craft, cunning, art, coded speech—these are the weapons of the oppressed. As women’s hard-won rights grow increasingly eroded and the parameters of free speech more contested, we must always keep at hand the subversive power of craft.”
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to weave.
Yes, this photo is the early stage of my current project. It’s about 2/3 complete now.
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Apr 16 Garner Retirees to the Rescue; Making Masks Makes a Difference in Local COVID-19 Battle
BY MARGARET DAMGHANI
An unexpected endeavor started in mid-March with an email sent to the students of a sewing class at Saint Andrews United Methodist Church looking for anyone interested in fulfilling a request for homemade cloth masks needed by a medical center in Elizabeth City.
In the weeks since then, an impromptu team of about 20 people, mostly residents of the Village at Aversboro retirement community, have contributed to the production and delivery of 721 masks to organizations near and far. After that first email and the accompanying pattern, the idea to create masks was put out through the Village’s messenger service.
“We are just using what technology skills that we know how to do to meet the need. We’re all stuck at home with nothing to do. It kind of adds a little power to what we can do in our retirement,” said Nancy Cope, a retired educator. “We do not sell them, and we do not have any for sale. Our focus is healthcare and frontline workers like the police and the fire department.”
It kind of adds a little power to what we can do in our retirement.”
- Nancy Cope
There are at least six sewers making two different types of masks, along with pattern cutters, a quality control person to snip the threads and insert filters, others help to prepare coffee filters to improve the masks efficacy, a courier, and those that donated materials all contributing to the team of people that have now been working at it for nearly a month.
“We have a system going. We have baskets on our porches, and the deliveries come in Ziploc bags and we leave them in the baskets for several hours, and some of us spray the bags before bringing it in the house,” Cope said.
They only exchange fabric, finished masks, and other supplies through the baskets and are adhering strictly to social distancing guidelines to protect everyone involved, including not accepting donations from the public.
“It really has been neat, the sharing, the community,” said Mary Gail Ellington, a retired nurse and Garner native. She, like many of the sewers, has spent full days sewing.
“It’s a need, and the love of Christ I have, to be his hands.”
- Mary Gail Ellington
The recipients range from Garner’s local first responders to numerous medical offices, hospitals and assisted living facilities, and even a few to caterers and individuals handing out meals to school children that are missing school lunches. The Garner police received 70 masks total, including 50 for their officers and 20 in smaller child sizes, made in kid-friendly fabrics as requested.
The sewers have gone to great care to pick out fabrics suited to the recipients, such as special fabric for the fire department and the cheerful ones for nurses and police officers.
The supplies to create this volume of masks come from a variety of fortuitous circumstances. Spearheaders Cope and Ellington both run Bless This Child programs at their churches𑁋Saint Andrews United and Plymouth Church, where Ellington’s son is a pastor.
The programs provide homemade clothing to children in the U.S and during mission trips abroad, and thus there was already a network of people who, as luck would have it, have an abundance of scraps saved that are too small to do much else with.
Garner Officers Cameron Driver and PL Kevin Pena sporting their Garner grown face masks.
One current issue for anyone producing masks is obtaining enough elastic, which has become nearly impossible to find locally and across the country. Ellington just so happened to have an abundance of elastic she had held onto for years, ever since a local store changed hands, enabling her to give away 10 yards or so to others.
“‘Okay God, you showed me what I’m going to do with that elastic.’” Ellington said. She had recently been wondering if she should just throw it out after holding onto it for so long. “That first week when everybody was sewing, I think I’m the only one in Garner that had elastic.”
The group also received more than one donation from a quilting store in Angier, Sew There. Owner Bonnie Glover has been giving sewers between 10 and 20 yards of elastic at a time, according to Cope.
“Our neighbors were a tremendous source, and the lady at the quilt store (Sew There), Bonnie (Glover), has been very helpful,”
- Nancy Cope
“Our neighbors were a tremendous source, and the lady at the quilt store, Bonnie, has been very helpful,” Cope said. “Just about everybody in this neighborhood found elastic at their house, so we had many sources of elastic...One of our sewers brought me 288 yards of elastic. 288 yards for me and 288 yards for her. I’ve already shared quite a bit of it.”
Jana Soward with Johnston County Pediatrics was one of the first to receive a Garner grown mask.
The spirit of sharing seems to permeate everything the neighbors do, and the requests have not slowed down since they started, though they managed to complete all of the larger requests just before Easter Sunday. They have even begun sending masks by mail to family members and have a list of at-risk residents of their community that may need a mask for medical appointments who will get extra.
Cope said they will continue “As long as we’ve got energy and threads and elastic. Every time we think we’ve finished our list, somebody else calls.”
https://www.thegarnernews.com/garner-news-features/garner-retirees-to-the-rescue-making-masks-makes-a-difference-in-local-covid-19-battle
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Tagged by @meliciousintent
5 things you’ll find in my bag:
My bag is a backpack so the common things are my textbooks for school.
Notebooks, of course. I try to keep one for each subject.
Pens and pencils. Even when I’m not in school, I have writing implements galore. You never know if you have to loan one, jot something down, or utilize it as a weapon. The potential emergencies are countless. :P
Post-it note and tab booklet that I got for free from my college. They hand them out for free at the beginning of fall quarter. Currently, the first post-it is a doodle that drew of Solas. I shared it on here ages ago. Shows how much I use post-it notes. XD
My wallet. It contains my debit card (with a perpetual 49 cent (US) balance), library card, state ID, Student ID, and almost every single receipt from the last year and a half. My regular bag/purse is pretty much the same except there are not any textbooks or notebooks. I have a boring life.
5 things you’ll find in my bedroom:
A really cool tree picture, drawn in pastel, made by my best friend for an art project. The tree looked so cool and I loved the colors that I begged her to let me have it once she was done with it for school. It adds a pop of color to my very gray room.
A ribbon that holds my button pin collection. I love button pins and I started a collection. A majority of them are from college events, but I hope to score more from other places.
A hurricane lamp made out of recycled vintage tins. I bought matching ones for my best friend and myself. She has a tall one and mine is short. Also a colorful edition to my room.
TV and my Xbox One, where I play games like The Witcher III, DA:I, and Skyrim. I prefer PC, but my laptop is a very basic machine for school, but I hope to get a decent rig so I can play my favorite games.
A really pretty blue and white quilt. I was once homeless and I remember there was this lady who would make regular visits to the park I would frequent and sew her quilts (she liked to do some parts by hand). I really loved the colors of the one she was working on and I told her so. I didn’t see her the next day, but the day after that she handed me the finished quilt and told me she hoped that it would keep me warm, and when I wrap it around me that I would feel the love she put into making it. She was Wiccan and she often blessed her work as she made them. Protection, warmth, and love were what she put in and I have an awesome sense of that when I sleep with it. It was the best thing someone outside of my friends and family ever gave me.
5 things I’ve always wanted to do in life:
Travel somewhere that is outside of the US, preferably off the continent. I have always wanted to visit Europe. When I was young, I wanted to visit the famous major cities like Paris and Rome. Now I am aware that cities have too many people and I’m not a fan of that, so I would love to visit the rural villages and towns.
Swim with dolphins. Preferably in the open sea and not captivity. I know that’s not a likely thing, but a girl can dream.
Adopt a panda. When I was about 4 or 5, my grandparents took me to a county fair and one of the booths had a video about how the habitats of pandas were being destroyed, and how they were dying out. I was so upset and when I learned that you could adopt a panda, I begged my grandfather to do it. My grandfather was a very doting one and had a hard time saying “no” to me or my brother (he did sometimes, but it was very difficult for him). He spoke to a lady at the booth and brought out his checkbook and filled it out. After all was done, he was given a certificate and other paper work, everything but a panda. I was inconsolable upon learning you don’t actually physically adopt pandas. It wasn’t until my grandma handed me a stuffed panda that we got as a thank you gift that I became content. I was a fickle 5 year old. To this day, though, I am still pissed that I didn’t get my panda.
Attend a convention. I have never been to one. My guy friend invited me to one. He wanted me to wear a retro Star Trek costume and help him sell his homemade action figures. Sadly it was on my nephew’s 2nd B-day party and his mom would have never forgiven me if I skipped it. So I had to turn him down. :(
Be the first member in my entire family, both sides, to graduate college. Which I will do next month!
5 things that make me happy:
My nephew, who is the most awesome 5 year old ever. My 17-yr-old niece too, when she’s not being a bratty teenager, I love her to death though.
My field trip that I’m going on tomorrow. We get to visit Mt. Saint Helens and I’m excited.
Roadtrips in general. Every male in my family have been long-haul truck drivers, and I think that contributes to my wanderlust.
My grandparents. Sadly my grandfather (the one who adopted a panda for me) passed on two years ago, but I have my grandma still. I got to visit her last summer and I don’t remember ever being so happy or my former self. Memories of my grandfather are sometimes sad, but mostly happy because he was awesome and I miss him terribly.
Baby animals. I mean seriously, how can anyone look at a baby animal and not feel warm and fuzzy? Monsters, that’s the only way I can explain them.
5 things I’m currently into:
Dragon Age
Shameless (US version). I swear this could easily be my family.
Harlots (on Hulu). I am so into the drama of this show. I even like that the soundtrack is modern even though the series is set in the 1700′s. Reminds me of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette.
Books by Juliet Marillier. I love how she writes her female characters. Strong but you still get a sense of their fragility. They are almost never portrayed as damsels in distress, but rather heroines in their own right. One saved her brothers from a curse. Another saves her lover from the fae world. She’s awesome and deserves to have more readers.
Knitting, though I never finish the things I start.
5 things on my to-do list:
Finish that final chapter of my fic, maybe even work on more sketches for Cassandra (my drabbles)
Actually start my homework assignment way before it’s due.
Clean my room. It is a disaster zone.
Mail my homemade mother’s day card to my grandma. It’s cheesy and kind of bad, but she’ll love it anyway.
Pack my lunch for an upcoming field trip.
5 things people may not know about me:
I was homeless for nearly three years. First year of that was spent living in a van with my dog. Second was spent in a women’s shelter, the third was a transitional shelter before I finally got back on my feet and was able to get my own place.
I can eat jello with chopsticks. It’s a fun party trick.
I am terrified of the sound of popping balloons. I have no idea why.
Not really uncommon knowledge and many do it, but I procrastinate a lot.
I have a weird and secret relationship with a friend of mine. We kind of get a thrill out of being the only ones who know. We don’t really have the same circle of friends, so it’s easier to maintain the illusion of not really being anything more.
#Not Dragon Age#I don't know who to tag#but feel free to participate anyway!#I am kind of boring#the only interesting fact about me is probably the fact I was homeless#that was an interesting experience#don't want to do it again though
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Arplis - News: TOO MUCH excitement
Please forgive me but my brain is going a hundred miles a minute. I'm finding this self-isolation thing so stimulating. I know I'm probably the only one, but there's so much happening and so much to do and I've now got the time. I also have the time to dream up new things. This is BAD!!
I know that some people are struggling with the self-isolation thing and I know it's hard to be stuck in the house and can't go anywhere. I can only hope that has provided people with some time to reflect on things. What is important to them? How can they change their lives going forward and a whole lot of other questions? I strongly believe that getting outside and varying up what I do and LEARNING something new every day is keeping me from even thinking about the situation.
I remembered this quote that hangs in Studio U and I think it pretty much sums up why I'm so happy.
One of my favorite quotes
So a LOT happened at my house yesterday. It was a very exciting day. We started off with this in the backyard.
I've noticed on our walks, that our neighbors are getting their first lawn treatment. I don't even know what that involves, but some chemicals being sprayed on the lawn or fertilizer or whatever. And at some point in the year, they'll have their sprinkler systems madly running to try to keep the lawn green.
At our house? We don't have any grass. NOT a single blade - any grass is a WEED at our house.
Yesterday morning the backyard looked like this.
Murphy surveying her (I mean Lexi's) kingdom
Here's the view of the gazebo from the back door.
Along the back of the house
View from the deck to the shed and what I like to call the "upper deck". Lexi has dug herself a nice little spot to sleep under that shed.
View to the shed
Lastly, there's the view down the side of the house. I call this the secret garden. There's a nice bench out there and no one really knows that area is there. We're on a crescent so on this side of the house we're not breathing down our neighbor's neck.
The secret garden
Then this happened in front of the house. My favorite landscape crew dropped 5 yards of mulch. In the past, I've done the mulch thing myself. But I've managed one section of the yard per year and we thought that this year, we'd support our favorite landscape company (Hinkley Associates) and have them lay the mulch for us. It took Mike and Peter all day to lay the mulch, but it looks and SMELLS amazing.
A load of mulch to be spread
I didn't get cedar - I just went with the natural mulch. But it still smells nice.
And once they left? It looks like this.
The secret garden
This area is Murphy's speedway along the side fence. Oh yes - the girls were not happy being in the house all day, and they had to inspect every single square inch of the backyard to see what happened.
The dog run
Here's the view of the gazebo. The guys even put up my bird feeder. The darn thing has four huge spikes and I just can't get it driven far enough into the ground. They dug a HUGE hole and embedded it into the clay soil. I don't think that bird feeder is going anywhere. That was awesome. Thanks so much, Mike for that!!!
The bird feeder is now back in place
And here's the view looking towards the back fence.
The back fence
That's it - we're done our yard maintenance for the year. No watering, no planting (although every year I say I'm going to plant flowers, why bother with my two monsters). Yes - the deck needs to be power washed and the gazebo needs to be painted and the filter in the pond needs to be cleaned and a few weeds need to be pulled throughout the summer. But no grass to mow (no grass clippings to deal with and no allergies to go haywire), no worrying about brown grass, no excess water bill). Our front yard is the same - no grass, just mulch, and a few plants. It's the easiest and most carefree yard I've ever owned. It's also the nicest yard I've ever owned. We've lived here for almost 20 years and this didn't happen overnight. We've never had any regrets.
Now if the weather will only warm up so I can sit outside!!!
I had some homework to get sewn and I needed to pull some more orange fabric for my quilt. Oh god - you know how I shop at my house for fabric. Let's just say it's been a long, long time that I shopped in the orange fabric. There are two baskets - two OVERFLOWING baskets of orange. Why did I buy so much? I've no idea. Anyway - it would appear that I don't use it often so I'm trying to use more orange. And why didn't I use it? I NEED it. Nope - nothing is sacred now. Honestly, it was such a mess that I couldn't be bothered.
The stash of orange fabric
I brought both baskets out onto a CLEAN worksurface and dumped them out. Then I proceeded to "shop" and put most of the fabrics back into the baskets. Neatly of course. But nothing had to be folded - it was already folded. I don't get the refolding thing on comic board pieces. That's just way too much work. The baskets work just fine.
Two "reasonable" baskets of orange fabric
These are yardage pieces that I pulled from the baskets. Oh boy - I seem to have a wee problem here. These pieces will work for quilt backings so it'll have to be measured and a permanent home will have to be found for them. There currently isn't room on the backings shelf, but I have a temporary holding spot for extra backings and I'll put these in the same spot. It's not on the floor. As I empty a spot on that backing shelf, the pieces from this temporary storage go in the spot. It's all good.
Fabric pulled for quilt backings
So you can see the problem. If I still have two full baskets of fabric and I pulled all this? The shelf was a mess and no wonder I only dug through the top of those baskets. Now it's going to be easy to dump them like the other colors and find what I need.
This is what I pulled to continue working on my quilt. I've decided that I have enough variety of oranges that each round is going to be made with different oranges. I'm liking that. I won't make much of a dent in these but that's OK - they are now going to be used.
Fabrics pulled for a project
I was looking through another basket of UFOs and OMG -- I found a brand new package of elastic that would be great for masks. I wonder how much I could sell that for?? Just kidding - I think I'll hang onto that one. But I also found a BRAND NEW RULER. And more thread and a couple of UFOs. Oh boy!! But that's OK. I didn't have time yesterday to sort and file all this, so that's a job for later today.
More treasures unearthed
I can only imagine what else I'm going to find as I work my way through the various bags and boxes.
I spent an enormous amount of time on the phone yesterday which is why the written homework that I wanted to have done this morning isn't quite done. But that's OK. I had two test calls for the ZOOM classes that I'll be doing this morning. Both worked out just great and it's amazing how many people are using this solution to stay in touch. I've been out of the loop. I now have a year's subscription all paid for so I can talk all day if I want.
It's simple to use, yet it's pretty powerful. As I find more uses for it, I know I've got more learning ahead of me. I see presentations to guilds because they don't want to have a physical meeting. Already working with one guild on that. So if you have a guild and nothing to do for May or June, let me know - I'd be happy to put together a ZOOM trunk show for you. Or if you're a faraway guild and wouldn't want to pay my travel expenses, this is also a super way for me to talk to you!!! It won't be free - my regular fees apply.
My brain just won't go to sleep these days. After one of my many conversations yesterday, a comment from an IG post, and a couple of e-mails, my brain is coming up with some other great things. Oh boy -- I may have to stop sewing to take care of the technology side of things.
I love seeing the backgrounds that people use when they are on ZOOM. Mine was my messy office. ACK!!! And that's very hard to show stuff against. So - I got busy yesterday and did this.
I needed to move the table in the office, but it had so much junk on it and the rubber mats under the wheels were stuck to the floor, so I had to empty the table - I just dumped the piles on the floor and moved the table. I actually have great visions of getting rid of all that stuff.
The table in the office is empty!!!!
There - you can see the entire mess. I mean it's not a total disaster. I've seen much worse. There is a LOT of floor showing even with all the stuff off the tables.
The office with an empty table in the middle
Then I hauled my three portable design walls from Studio U and set them up behind my chair.
The design wall set up behind my chair
This is what it looks like from the back and yes - the table becomes handy to hold things for the class.
Behind the design wall
Then it was easy to put my quilt on the design wall so I could use it in the class. This is Aviatrix Medallion and my modified border.
The quilt for the class
Here's a shot of me on the computer with my new background. I thought that was very clever of me. It actually worked out really well and I could share my screen as well with the class so I used EQ8 to help with the design process. Oh yes - I'm embracing this technology and I'm going to take it to the max!!!! I've got a couple of great plans to do a trunk show via ZOOM. Just wait for that!
My backdrop for ZOOM
As I was walking yesterday, I passed this townhouse complex. They've been redoing the roofs for a while. Holy - I bet no one thought of the extra expense in this style of roof. Not only are there tons of shingles, but they need cranes to maneuver around to install the new shingles. Something to think about when you buy a house.
That's a LOT of shingles, not on the roof
Our house has a lot of peaks and valleys on the roof. Not my choice and from time to time when I'm walking, I wonder how the roof could be redesigned to make better use of the surface to install solar panels. The way it is - it's not a very efficient roof and it's costly to reshingle. See? My brain just won't shut down - I have my Dad and my Grandfather to blame for that!
I also saw this on my walk. Do you see what it is? It's an airplane!!! We live near the flight path of a major airport and the planes are usually stacked up (well - pretty close together). There are two runways so often we'll see two planes at a time. Lately? We've hardly seen any planes.
A plane!!!!!
Since the girls were cooped up in the house yesterday, I gave them each a bone which was a mistake because Lexi likes to savor and Murphy likes to devour. So Lexi lay in this bed protecting her bone which was in front of her. Nothing like having your back to the enemy!!!!
Lexi protecting her bone
Phew -- aren't you exhausted? I am!!! OK - so I'm not. I should be because I don't seem to be getting all the sleep I should with all this excitement. After the two ZOOM classes this morning and the final editing of two more written documents, I'm off the hook for a couple of days until I need to start over for the homework that is due next Friday. Thankfully there's only one project due next week. It wouldn't have been so bad - I did have time to get it all done - it was the phone calls that delayed me. But they were so worth it so I'm not going to complain.
Oh - here's a tip for you - well - you may not need it. But I edit a LOT of pictures and write a LOT of documents. If you do - then you had better have a darn good filing system on your computer. I do - now I just need to do the same with paper!!!
Have a super day!!!!!
Ciao!!!!
Arplis - News
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