#GLASS BEACH YOU WILL FOREVER BE FAMOUS TO ME!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[charrfie]

Listened to the new glass beach album (my life has been changed irreparably yet again)

[applestorms]

14, 17, 18 for the dmmd ask game (omg I can't believe you played it !!)

-@partingwayssoon

HELL YEAH dude i have literally done nothing else this weekend 👍 i love procrastination it's my favorite (original ask game)

14. Who is your favorite love interest?

immediately starting with the hardest question, oh god ;w; TBH the lame answer is that i like all of them for different reasons. the real answer is that i like aoba the best out of every character oops oh well. the actual answer is, idk, koujaku maybe (ur propaganda has been incredibly powerful) though i also find ren absolutely hysterical on multiple levels. tfw your soulmate who is both you and also your dog is put into your long lost twin brother's body, presumably so you can fuck irl instead of in your mind palace beach flashback. insanity.

17. What's your favorite good end?

possibly biased since this was the first (good) ending i got, but probably clear's, if only because i think it's batshit that it's even considered a good ending at all. for context, i stumbled across clear's route on my first playthru out of pure chance, not really trying for anyone specific, and accidentally got the bad ending first 👍 so that was great, but THEN i immediately went back to get the good ending and the fact that they have the AUDACITY to call fucking your robot boyfriend to DEATH a good ending is. i don't have the words to describe that emotion. yeah okay fine it's not getting all your limbs cut off but pul-lease, the fact that they are so visceral in describing his skin flaking off WHILE his cock is inside him makes me feel like chewing glass oh my god

18. What's your favorite bad end?

hmm i actually really like noiz's second bad ending (the pixel game one) :3c again specifically because it's referred to as a Bad ending and also the "comfortable world," where everything is just the same old shit over and over again forever. there's legitimately some interesting philosophy underpinning a lot of DMMD, especially in the true route w/ all the sei shit-- it seems like they're pushing back against a very particular kind of buddhist philosophy about the value of letting go of desires (?? not only an idea in buddhism tbh, this also shows up in some daoism + greek stoic stuff + hinduism, like i'm pretty sure there's a famous section of the bhagavad gita where krishna specifically advocates a similar idea-- apologies, i'm not familiar enough w/ all the source material to know what exactly which thing DMMD is trying to criticize, if they're getting that specific at all), which is like weirdly perfect for a game largely based around constant gay sex ahahahhaha (note as well the sanskrit om symbols plastered across all of toue's endgame rhyme world). i also just love all the glitchy shit at the end of noiz's route, it feels Very fitting for the character.

+ not the question, but least favorite bad ending is probably mink's, if only cuz it feels incredibly anticlimactic after Everything Else. like the decapitation thing isn't bad but. eh. maybe i'm just desensitized after all the dirkjake but c'monnnnnnnnn, mink can be worse. i know he can. i believe in him <3

[ambitious-procrastinator]

Okay so I've been through a HP revival for the last few weeks (aka a Sirius revival, who am I trying to lie to anyway?) And I fuckimf love the idea of Sirius being french and knowing all of french culture like

Him developing a strong interest in french muggle culture, just to piss off his parents at first but turning genuinely fond of it when he watches a De Funes movie (1)

Showing the boys and lily every movie with him and having one hell of a laugh

Introducing to them the ritual of apéro (2)

Him never planning to buy the motorcycle but falling unexpectedly in love with it on his way out of the garage where he'd just gifted himself a bright blue 2 chevaux.

Him making the funniest imitation of De Gaulles

Taking the crew on a vacation in Paris and showing them the best museums, and pubs, and Notre Dame ("so that's where we burnt the templars"), and pubs, and a cruise on the the Seine ("we used to dump those who died of the plague in it"), and pubs, and up to the Eiffel tower, and a pub, and "let's go to Versailles, a hell lot of people died building this shit and there's such a nice pub there"

"Did I show you the place where we killed the king? Then we'll have a drink en terrasse by the Temple, where we imprisoned the royal family."

Taking them to a wine sampling because "you brittons have no clue"

Just wait until he shows them the catacombs

cheese ("no you don't understand James, we have like 400 types of cheese here (true fact) it's more than a religion")

going on a weekend to Hyères just to show them what a real beach looks like

Stirring them actual coffee "because you brittons have fed me up with your fucking tea"

"Now let's talk real shit guys. Your lives are going to change forever. This, is a croissant."

Perfumes. Only Saint Laurent. He loves Saint Laurent. "No no no lils, this has far too much musk in it for you. You need flowers."

Him absentmindly humming 'la mer... qu'on voit danser le long du golf claaaaaaair...'

"The first one of yall I hear say 'pain au chocolat' I kill. It's bloody chocolatine. Merde! Faut arreter de prendre les gens pour des cons maintenant!"

Him basically becoming the cook of the group because he simply cannot understand how British people put so much effort in their meals and still come up with things so barely acceptable when he just has to throw a few onions and eggplant with olive oil in a pan and impress everyone in the room. Plus, he knows how sexy he is with a pan in his hand and his sleeves rolled up his arms.

Killing Remus with a fondant au chocolat.

Everyone making fun of his irrational interest for the pétanque until he gets them to play a match and they grow addicted.

Him randomly going do you do you do you Saint Tropez

Ugh I freaking love french Sirius!!!

(1) very famous actor who died in the 80's and is still missed today

(2) the habit of drinking 1 or 2 glass of alcohol before dinner and sometimes lunch.

[cherryyharryy]

angst to fluff where y/n finds out she was originally just supposed to be a rebound type thing after he broke up with someone like idk something like he broke up with someone on the european leg of tour and she was supposed just be with him until he went on another leg but then he started to love her and brings her on the rest of tour with him and she finds out abt the rebound thing after the last show of tour where everyones drunk and celebrating and one person lets it slip

I tweaked it just a bit...hope that's ok:)

WC: 3.5K

****

“You look beautiful.”

I skim my nose across Harry’s cheek, his chin resting on my shoulder, and hum against stubble that wasn’t there this morning. “You’ve said that five times tonight.”

“And?” He slips around to face me.

His suit is a deep maroon, probably black if you’re far away, probably purple if you’ve had too much champagne. His chest expands when I slide my hand down.

“Love this dress.” He takes my hand off and pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my head.

“You two forget where you’re at?” Another foreign voice surrounds us, well, foreign to me.

“Fucker,” Harry says to the man. They pat each other’s backs as the guy walks away. “Tyler Johnson.”

“Oh.”

“He worked with me on the last album.”

“Okay.”

It’s like the fifteenth person that I’ve been introduced to tonight, all of whom pass by with quick hellos, inside jokes with Harry, and little interest in me. The fast paced world of the rich and famous doesn’t slow down, even for charity.

“Harry, so glad you could make it.” Another voice, another man. This one lingers, long enough to receive my name, and offer a cliche compliment about my patience to put up with this beautiful bastard on my arm.

I thank him with the smile I’ve learned to speak through. These celebrities never stop smiling. Never stop posing. Never stop.

Then he’s gone too, and Harry’s whispering yet another name in my ear, of which I’ll forget seconds later because these people ultimately mean nothing to me. They all seem to pass through each other’s lives whenever convenience allows, playing house and acting like grown ups who get the privilege of not truly growing up.

I feel like the Gucci dress Harry had tailored to my body doesn’t fit. My posture sucks. I’m too scared to eat any of the finger foods being carried on silver platters through the hall. I haven’t learned how to smile through food I don’t like or not make a mess or take small enough bites. I swear, not one glass of champagne has any lipstick on it. They’re like magic.

I look at Harry. He’s stepped away to converse with a face that I do know. He and Jeff speak animatedly, Harry’s arms gesturing to whatever story he’s telling. I step over to one of the dressed tables and place what little weight I can onto the chair, needing to cling to something. When I look back up I smile, the two of them now laughing, and probably a little too loud for this charity auction.

“Y/n...right?”

I whip around, a man I’ve seen in pictures on Harry’s phone holds out his hand.

I straighten my back and accept his greeting. “Yes.”

“Finally we meet!” He catches my confusion and chuckles. “I produced Harry’s last album.”

Something clicks in my head, and he’s suddenly more familiar. “Oh! I knew that.”

Tom Hull...Kid Harpoon I process just as he introduces his name.

“I—”

An arm slipping around my waist stunts my question, Harry tipping back a red drink with his free hand while the other squeezes my hip. “Just tell this one to leave you alone,” he jabs.

Tom rolls his eyes, patting the breast of his green suit to look for something, only to show off his middle finger.

“Can’t believe the two of you haven’t met,” Harry says.

“I know, I guess we just missed each other.” Tom nods to me. “Heard you went to quite a few shows.”

“As many as I could.”

An uneasy sting travels down my spine. I did go to many shows, practically following Harry around his entire tour...all on his dime. Lord knows the man can afford it, but I still felt weird about him dishing out thousands of dollars to add me to each plane ride.

“Well I’m happy to see you two kids together,” Tom jokes, patting Harry on his back. “I’ve told him he needs to date women who will fuck him up. That’s where the songs are.”

He saunters off like he did not just say that. No. Absolutely not.

My face burns and it hurts to turn my head, but I still manage to narrow my eyes at Harry.

“Do you want another drink?”

I wait. I give him more than enough seconds to explain what the hell that was. But he’s clueless—ignorant.

“No. I do not.”

***

I do not bother taking my heels off in the car. My plan is to storm into our hotel room the second we park. Possibly locking Harry out...haven’t decided on that part yet.

The vague chit chat he makes with the driver stirs my nerves. It shouldn’t make me angry, and it’s not so much the act as it is his demeanor. He’s too cheery right now and it’s pissing me off.

“Okay,” he grabs my attention from Los Angeles flying past my window, the partition rolling up to leave us completely alone in the back seat. “What’s wrong?”

I bite my tongue, literally. “Nothing.”

“You seemed...irritated.”

“Did I?”

“Y/n.”

I turn to face him, inhaling sharply to calm my coming words. “Why are you with me?”

His face pales, and not a muscle moves. He just stares at me until he finally blinks and starts jerking his jaw around. “What are you talkin’ about?”

I roll my eyes. “The fact that you don’t know, bothers me even more.” I sigh, fighting back tears because I am determined not to cry in front of him. “Tom said that you should date people that fuck you up.”

“O—oh. That’s all?”

I squint, curling my lip. “What do you mean, that’s all? Is that not enough for you? Because that was a lot for me to hear tonight.”

“Baby, he was just messing around.”

I don’t budge.

“Really, it’s nothin’ to think about.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, trailing his hand down to cup my jaw. “Promise. It’s just like when people told you that you could do better than me, or insult me to compliment you.” He shrugs. “It’s just party talk.”

I process his words, supposing he’s not wrong. He did receive quite a few insults in lieu of my praise tonight. Maybe I was just on edge because of the setting; being surrounded by the rich and famous while I struggle to pay my rent each month isn’t exactly grounds for positive thinking.

“Okay, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” He leans over to kiss me, stroking my face as his lips skim over mine. “Did I tell you how stunning you look tonight?”

***

It’s funny how your brain works. How emotions swoop in and corral your thoughts, like a salesman who pretends to care about you so they can get what they want. My mind was desperate for relief, from hearing Tom’s nervy comment, and I naively allowed Harry to take what he needed in that moment.

Something’s not quite right. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.

I’ve been mulling over Harry’s words in my head all weekend, playing them on repeat, hoping they’ll start to make sense, but if anything their value keeps dropping. What worries me the most, is that I don’t know whether he’s trying to protect me or himself. I don’t know if one is any better than the other.

It’s golden hour when we pull up to the beach. I can hear the music before I even open the car door; a volleyball shoots up over the rows of bushes hiding the party, disappearing and popping back up a moment later.

I don’t really want to be here, but I also don’t want to be the girlfriend who won’t support their boyfriend.

“Ready?” Harry asks, and I nod.

The closer we walk, the clearer the music becomes. Harry’s voice takes over the private beach, and I wonder if they’re playing his entire album or just Golden on repeat.

A good bit of the people drinking and chatting I recognize form the event the other night, but there are still plenty of new faces. I take some fruity drink that was offered to me and down half of it before my feet hit sand.

And so the routine continues. I’m introduced to someone, they compliment me, laugh with Harry, congratulate him on pretty much everything he’s ever done, and then repeat with a new face. I do manage to find Sarah at one point after I’ve detached myself from Harry, and the two of us head for the water.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sarah asks once our toes are wet.

I hold my breath and count to five, finishing whatever the hell I’m drinking before I can answer her. “I’m great.”

“Harry said you weren’t doing too well after the auction?”

“Yes, Harry does a lot of talking with people when I’m not around.”

“Alright, spill it,” Sarah says.

I trace the rim of my glass, flicking my eyes over my shoulder to make sure we’re far away from the party. “It’s stupid, really, I’m just a little...I don’t know...Tom said something the other night that rubbed me the wrong way. And Harry doesn’t seem to care.”

“What did he say?”

“Just something about how Harry needs to have relationships with people who will fuck him up.”

“Ooh,” she nods, seemingly well versed in the statement. “Yeah that’s an Iggy Pop quote. Tom mentioned it in Rolling Stone when he was interviewed.” She sips her drink, eyes growing small over the rim. “It was just a cheap line of advice he gave Harry after he was torn up after his last breakup.”

“Wait, so he actually did say that before? Like before the other night?”

Sarah drifts her eyes up in thought, nodding. “Um hm. After him and Camille broke things off.” She shrugs, and gestures to the party exploding on the beach behind us. “Fine Line.”

I have no idea what I’m feeling. No clue what is coursing through my veins, but it’s not blood anymore. The corners of my jaw tingle until my face starts going numb, my breathing shallow and chest tight.

“You okay?”

“I uh, I gotta go.”

Sarah calls after me but I let my name die in the breeze as I march back to the crowd. It’s nearly dark now, and finding Harry among all his people will take forever. I try to look for him, but I’m so distraught I can’t concentrate long enough to make out faces. I give up and head back to his car, only to find it’s locked. The asphalt is warm on my legs as I lower down to the ground, careless to the dirt I’m getting on my clothes and the scratches on my skin.

I’m not in this position for long. Not long enough, at least. Harry rounds the corner of the bushes, speeding up when he sees me.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He moves to sit down beside me, but I jump up before he can.

“You’re a fucking liar.”

“Whoa! What!? What’s gotten into you lately?”

“I told you! What Tom said the other night!” I’m yelling, too loud for public, I know. But a small part of me wants someone to hear. I want to disrupt the bubble Harry lives in.

“And I told you that it was just nonsense.”

“And that’s why you’re a liar! Sarah just told me, that he said that to you after you and Camille broke up.”

“Okay...and?”

I inhale as deep as I can. It makes me dizzy, adds to my headache. “And, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? With the knowledge that the only reason you’re even with me, is because I’m gonna fuck you up so bad you’ll get songs out of it?

“Y/n,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “you’re taking this waaay too literally. Trust me.”

“You’re not in a position right now where I even want to trust you.”

“This has gotten completely out of control. I cannot believe you’re this upset over something so stupid.”

“Right there, Harry!” I point at him. “You keep dismissing how I feel! You don’t even care that this upsets me! That I feel like I need to reevaluate our entire relationship!”

“What is there to evaluate!? I haven’t even done anything! You’re blowing up about something that someone else said!”

“But you listened to him!”

“What,” he shrugs, “what do you want?”

“I don’t know what I want, Harry. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?” He pauses, swallowing. “Us?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, us. I can’t be with you if—if you’re just waiting around for me to ruin you emotionally.”

“You’re seriously gonna let someone else’s words do this to us? You’d break up with me because of something another person said?”

“Harry, if I break up with you it’s gonna be because of what you’ve done. I don’t care that he said it, I care that you agree to it. And quite frankly, it’s pretty insulting to Camille. You spent a part of your life with that girl, and you just capitalize off of it. I’m not gonna let you do that to me.”

“I’m not capitalizing off of anyone! What the hell am I supposed to write my songs about? I’m just supposed to not date then?”

“It’s the fact that you sought out a relationship in order to fuel your writing.”

“No, y/n, that’s not what I did.” He narrows his eyes at me, and even in the dark I can see his anger. “I sought you out because I was devastated after me and her broke up. You were only supposed to be a rebound.”

I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me. The music overhead blurs into noise scraping my eardrum, my vision grows weak and foggy. He wanted to hurt me, and he did.

“I expect a thank you when you release your next album.” I spin on my heel and head towards the main road, yanking my phone from my pocket to call an uber. For the second time tonight, my name trails behind me in the wind. I can hear Harry’s steps pick up, and as fast as I walk, he still catches me.

“Y/n, please, let’s go back to the hotel. You can hate me and not talk to me, but please don’t leave.”

I ignore him, trying to set up my ride. “Where the hell are we?”

He glances at my phone, and I can tell he considers keeping the answer to himself, so he can keep me to himself. He drops his voice, much weaker than before. “Carbon Beach. Canyon road.”

Ten minutes.

“Y/n—”

“I am not interested in discussing this with you.”

“I’m so sorry. I—I was mad and was just trying to win the argument. Whichever way I could.”

“Congratulations on your win.”

“Y/n, please, honey. I don’t want to lose you.” He drags his hands down his face, keeping his palms dug into his eyes. When he lets them drop, there are tears spilling down his cheeks. “I can’t lie and say you weren’t, but yes you were a rebound for me, but that went away. Literally weeks after we started dating. I care about you so much. I wouldn’t drag you to every show and event I have if I didn’t. I’m so proud to call you mine. The last thing you are to me is—is just grounds for my writing.”

I stare out across the road. A jeep speeds by and the gush of wind it brings sends chills down my arms.

“Harry, I just...it’s a lot. You’re a lot. Your life is a lot.” I sigh and slowly turn to face him. “It feels like the significance of us being in each other’s lives are so different.”

He kicks a rock across the road, dust flying up around us. “Fuck. Y/n I’m begging—”

“They’re here.” I nod to the headlights approaching us.

“Baby, please.”

“I think I need to be alone right now.” I get in the backseat. “Enjoy your party.”

***

I text him when I’m back at the hotel, having nowhere else to go. I didn’t think my plan of leaving through, because he’ll come back here before the night’s over. But I’m hoping he’ll stay away for a bit, long enough for me to process everything at least.

Deep down I know there’s not as much to the comment as I thought. And Harry’s not that type of guy. But the lack of concern over my feelings...the fact that I was just used as a warm body while he got over Camille...that’s what hurts the most.

There’s a fine line between being sorry because you’ve been called out, and truly being sorry. How sorry can he be when he got what he wanted? Even if I’m not what he envisioned past a few quick fucks, he still comes out on top happy.

I feel like the lifestyle these people live is embedded with secret codes, all of which I’m not wired to pick up on. The money, the mistakes, the adoration... Everything is a lot, and playing catch up is nearly impossible.

I don’t get the alone time I’d wished for. There are curses and clicks of the doorknob right before Harry comes in. He stands at the entrance, staring at me on the lounge chair like he’s unsure if I’m real.

“Wasn’t sure you’d come back here.”

“Where else can I go?” I nod to his phone in his hand. “I texted you.”

“I was driving.”

I sigh, flinching when he turns the lights on. “I know you wanna talk, but I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, dropping his keys on a table to come sit beside me. “I’ll talk though.” He inhales, holding his breath for a second before forcing the air out. “I know that me saying I’m sorry means shit to you right now. And to be honest, it probably is coming from me...in a way. You’re right about everything. And whatever you’re feeling, once you figure that out, you’re valid about that too.”

“How would you feel if you were only meant to be temporary in my life? You never mentioned why you were interested in me in the beginning. And no, I never would have gone out with you had I known. I would never want to be someone’s rebound. There’s just something sneaky about that.”

His head drops into his hands, and his shoulders shake right before I hear him cry. “I know, I—I get so caught up in myself sometimes. I’m such a fucking prick.” When he looks up, his eyes are burnt red, glassy and defeated. “I don’t deserve you, and I really don’t deserve anyone.”

“Harry,” I chastise, not expecting the downward spiral he’s ventured onto.

“I swear I care about you. I want you to be happy, and I want to make you happy. I don’t want to be the one to treat you this way. Ever.”

I inhale as deep as I can, holding my breath until it hurts. “I know.” I take his hand in mine. “And I know your heart, and I know you care about me. I—” I sigh, “I’m not comfortable with...just forgetting all of this though. I can forgive you, but I think we need to take a couple steps back. I’ve gotten so swept up in your life and your world, I’m losing my own.”

He nods slowly, accepting my words with a pained face.

“I care about you too.”

He looks up for the first time, catching the last few tears with the back of his hand. “I know you do.”

I offer a small smile and lean in to kiss his cheek. His eyes fall closed, and blindly he turns to press his lips to mine. Our kiss is salty and urgent.

“What did you say to everyone when you left?”

He frowns in thought, like the memory is too far away. “Nothing. Jumped in my car and prayed this is where you’d be.”

I take his hand and pull us both to our feet. “We should go to bed. It’s been a long night. Too long.”

We’re quiet and slow as we shed our clothes and brush our teeth, slipping into bed around two a.m.. Harry doesn’t waste a second in pulling me into his warm chest, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug that has me burying my face into his neck.

We lay there, silent, but when I know I don’t have much longer before sleep overcomes me, I kiss his shoulder, whispering how much I love him before I close my eyes.

[heyyyharry]

Deep End - Chapter 1: Daughter of the Sea

…in which a surfing trip goes wrong, famous singer/songwriter Harry finds himself in a sticky situation.

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

All chapters / Synopsis / Moodboard / Playlist

Wattpad link

A/N: Hi guys, this is the first chapter of my new fic. I hope you’ll like it. Please let me know what you think.

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The ocean. Deep, dark and scary. Humans could brag about their conquers, wars and invasions on their precious land, but they would forever be afraid of the ocean. They were not designed to live underwater. Most often, even a few inches of deep water was enough to drown and kill even a healthy adult human being. Despite how superior or civilised humans prided themselves on being, the ocean would still be their greatest mystery, with death traps and blood-thirsty creatures hidden in the drowning deep.

Ezili had been spying on this ship for days. She had memorised the faces of all the sailors, their routines, the sounds of their footsteps and voices. Today would be a great day, she believed. Dark clouds had gathered over the ship, lighting striking here and there. The water was rough and black, slapping more aggressively against the side of the ship as the wind grew more violent and spiteful. One man on the deck shouted to the other something Ezili could not hear. Ever since humans stopped travelling to sea on wooden ships, the job had become more challenging for her kind. These white ships wouldn’t sink. So she’d have to lure them in.

“Have you seen my camera?” asked one man to the other. “I swear to fucking god if you’ve lost it–”

“I already gave it back to you, Nick.”

“No, dickhead. You didn’t.”

The men stood on the deck, their loose shirts and hair being blown by the strong salty wind. They were easy targets. To be fair, they were all easy targets. It was so fascinating to Ezili that these creatures had the intelligence to build strong ships and tall glass castles, and yet they lacked the wits to survive on their own against mother nature.

Weak. Pathetic.

Ezili swept her long black hair over her shoulders as she slipped off the rock into the water without making a sound. She swam closer to the ship. The men’s voices became more audible. They were leaning over the edge of the ship and taking turns looking through the tiny box that they called ‘ka-meer-ra’. Ezili had tried to steal the thing this morning when someone left it on the deck, but her arm wasn’t long enough to reach for it, and she didn’t want to risk being seen. Her sister Koa had called it a ‘mermaid’ behaviour. It was an insult for a siren to be compared to a mermaid. Mermaids were more fish than flesh, both fish and human without the beauty of neither. Their deep-blue flesh was dotted with fins that spread up their arms and spines, and their mouth was so wide they could swallow a shark. Despite their deadly looks, they were relatively harmless. Unlike sirens, they were fascinated by humans, and often steal things from drowned humans and sunk ships for their collections that they called ‘treasures’. Ezili hated how humans would keep mistaken those creatures for sirens. She’d heard a mother on the beach tell the story of ‘a little mermaid’ to her child. It was sad, really. The way these small-minded creatures portrayed the ocean and twisted the truth.

A splash of water made Ezili flinch and turn around to see a silver tail disappearing into a wave.

“Did you hear that?” asked one of the two men. The other one had disappeared inside the ship.

Heart thundering inside her chest, Ezili opened her mouth and started singing. She was going to wait, but she could not risk getting caught.

The man turned slowly and stared straight at Ezili as she glared up from under the water and continued singing. The wind grew stronger. The ocean started raging. Then a bolt of lightning struck across the black sky, illuminating the man’s pale, wide-eyed face for just one second. Ezili continued singing and the man started walking toward the edge of the ship. He leaned over it, looking straight at her unblinkingly. The little box fell out of his hand and into the black water. Ezili swam closer, seeing the reflection of her gleaming sapphire eyes inside his darkened ones. She reached up, hands on his cheeks. She stroked his cold skin tenderly and brought her mouth to his. She kissed him on the lips, then pulled him under.

The kiss broke when they were down deep. The man was drowning. Water was filling his lungs and his mouth opened in a helpless gasp. Ezili gripped the man’s shoulder and sank her long fingernails into his chest. She ripped out his heart. Useless little thing. Still felt warm inside her palm. Blood darkened the water around them. She could taste it on her tongue. She was hungry. She let go of the heart and let it sink into the nothingness beneath them, and just as she bared her sharp fangs to take a bite out of the victim’s neck, a set of claws wrenched her apart from him.

Her sister Koa hovered in front of her, red hair fanning around her round face. Her small blue eyes sharpened at Ezili as she took hold of the dead human. Before Ezili could speak, Koa smacked Ezili with her silver tail, sending Ezili flying out a few feet.

“You have no claim on him, Koa. Get your own,” Ezili told her sister in Séren.

Koa shook her head. Her long floating red hair made her skull look like it was on fire. She gave a mischievous grin and cocked her head, long slender fingers still tightened around the human’s throat. “You have to get him then,” she hissed.

Ezili breathed out angrily. Her sister always did this. “This is not a game. I’ve been spying on him for days.”

“Then you should have no problem getting him back,” Koa challenged, stroking the human’s pale skin.

Ezili’s tiny bit of patience had just dissipated with her sister’s trigger words. “That’s my human!” she screamed and dived toward Koa. Koa screeched when their bodies collided. Ezili snatched her sister’s hair and pulled, bearing her nails into Koa’s shoulders. Koa sank her teeth into Ezili’s arm and tried to tear off flesh. Despite the brain-numbing pain, Ezili managed to clasp Koa’s head and smashed it against her own. Koa fell back, floated for a moment, dazed, and then let out a high shriek and came for Ezili again.

The dead man was sinking like a stone into the blackness below as the sirens fought. Ezili shoved Koa off and dived under to get the body. Once again, she was yanked back. She whirled around, angry, about to fight off Koa again when she saw her mother hovering above her, red eyes shiny and fiery, the trident in her hand sparkling gold. Ezili’s mother’s scales were deep auburn, and her white hair barely reached her breasts, a great contrast to the almost blackness surrounding them.

“Mother, I can explain.”

“Idiots!” Ezili’s mother bellowed.

Koa was floating beside Ezili, her eyebrows knitted in anger and possible embarrassment, but seemingly too afraid to make a sound. Their mother was Queen Asherah, ruler of the Seven Seas. From the furious look on her face, it seemed like the Queen had witnessed the previous chaotic scene and was greatly disappointed by her two only daughters.

“Could you explain to me why you two were fighting like savages?” the Queen’s booming voice made Ezili and Koa flinch.

Ezili exchanged looks with her sister, who unfortunately looked like she wasn’t going to break the silence. Ezili’s worried eyes shifted back to her mother’s ruby red ones. “Koa tried to take my human,” she said. “I’d been spying on him for days. He was mine.”

“Days?” her mother mused. “Days and only one human? Shame on you. You couldn’t even fight off your own sister to get the prey.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” Ezili said. She was staring at her tail to avoid eye contact, but she could feel Koa doing the same thing while muttering an inaudible apology, which seemed to be good enough for their mother.

“Koa, go get the human.”

“But that’s my human,” Ezili protested.

With a stern look on her elegant face, the Queen said, “No, you come with me. I need to speak to you in private.”

Koa gave Ezili a condescending smirk, bowed to their mother, and quickly dove after the human. Queen Asherah nodded her head to Ezili and gestured with the trident for her to follow.

The Ginevra palace lay within the centre of the sea and had always been home to royalty. In the past, humans had kings and queens in every region of the earth, but the ocean had only one ruler. One queen. It would be Ezili one day. One day being soon.

Sirens lived for a hundred years and never aged past a few decades, and soon daughters looked like mothers, and it became hard to tell how old anybody truly was. So usually, the Queen herself would decide when it was time to pass down her trident. Ezili was turning twenty next month, and her mother had been crowned at twenty, and so she believed this was definitely the talk.

Sitting on her throne made of whale bones, the Queen looked down at Ezili. Her fiery scales sparkled like rubies in the lights from the anglerfishes on either side of her thrones. Queen Asherah’s hair looked like white seaweeds snaking down to her shoulders, fanning out, and covering parts of the throne. The Queen leaned back as she eyed Ezili up and down. Ezili knew that look. Her mother was never subtle about it. She was making judgements inside her head.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the Queen asked.

Ezili swallowed and shook her head. When she realised she’d been unconsciously fidgeting with her own fingers, she immediately hid them behind her back. Her mother didn’t like it when she got nervous, for queens should never show their emotions so easily.

“Ezili, you’re turning twenty next month,” Queen Asherah said.

“Yes, Mother, I am.”

“How old was I when I became Queen of the Seven Seas?”

“Twenty, Mother.”

A pause.

“Do you think you’re ready, Daughter?” Ezili opened her mouth to answer, but her mother wouldn’t let her speak. “Because I don’t think you do.”

“Mother–”

“How many humans have you killed this month?”

Reluctantly, Ezili bowed her head. “One, Mother.”

“And where was he?”

Ezili bit her bottom lip. “Koa got him.”

The Siren Queen eyed Ezili with an eyebrow arched high, her stare vicious like a stab in the heart with her gold trident. Ezili had seen her mother kill many sirens and mermaids and other sea creatures like that. It hadn’t been a pretty sight.

“Your sister is two years younger, and yet she’s shown more progress in a year than you ever have.”

Ezili hated to admit that it was true. Her sister was brutal and reckless. Koa had always been troublesome, but their mother probably preferred her because of that. She was never afraid to play dirty to get what she wanted. Ezili was too safe; she followed rules, listened to her mother. She’d thought it’d help her get on her mother’s good side, but it seemed like it wasn’t what a queen should be. Queens didn’t follow. They led.

“I’m thinking of making Koa the heir to the throne.”

Queen Asherah’s words froze Ezili to the spot. Ezili felt her fins stiffened as she gazed wide-eyed at her mother upon the throne. “But...I’m your first born.”

“You’re not acting like one, Ezili. You’re not vicious enough, and you spend so much time around humans and yet, I can count all the lives you’ve taken on one hand.”

“I need to be around them to learn their behaviours so it’s easier to kill.”

“Really?” Her mother scoffed. “Or are you becoming them, Ezili? You want to be like those mermaids who worship humans?”

“No!” Ezili’s mouth clamped shut as she regretted her impulsive response. Her mother said nothing, and she wasn’t sure if it was a good sign. She hung her head, frowning. “I still have a month.”

“How can you prove to me within a month when I’ve watched you grow in the last twenty years?” her mother calmly said. It always amazed her how mean her mother could be without trying.

Ezili clenched her fists. The buzzing in her ears made her heart race as a thousand thoughts started shifting through her mind. The words slipped out of her mouth so fast she couldn’t stop them. “I can bring you the heart of a human who loves me.”

The moment she locked eyes with the Queen, she knew she’d messed up. There was a glimpse of shock in her mother’s seemingly calm expression. Yes, the human heart was useless to sirens. Sirens would eat their flesh and drink their blood, but they would discard the hearts for it didn’t taste good at all. The human’s soul was trapped inside the heart, and most adult souls had been blackened over the course of their lives.

However, the heart of the human in love with a siren was different. It was believed to hold the greatest power of all Seven Seas. There was a tale of the fifth Siren Queen, Queen Darya, who had fallen in love with a human man. She had hoped that their love could unite humans and sirens and both species could live in harmony. Sadly, Queen Darya had been brutally murdered by her lover. As revenge, her sister, Queen Mira had charmed the same man, drowned him and ate his heart. The legend had been written in stone, and ever since then, any siren who could make a human fall in love with her and consume his heart would be crowned Queen of the Seven Seas.

No one had succeeded in the past two hundred years. Humans were more cautious now. The way they fell in love had changed, so it was harder to charm them than kill them. That was why Queen Asherah was so in shock with Ezili’s request. She didn’t believe her daughter could make history.

“Just give me a year, Mother,” Ezili pleaded as she clasped both hands in front of her chest. “I’ll steal a human’s heart and prove my ability as a great ruler.”

“Do you know what this would mean for you?” her mother said with a scornful smile, her fingers drumming on the armrests of the throne. “If you fail your mission and return to Ginevra, you’ll be a humiliation.”

Ezili swallowed hard. She knew her kind would never accept a princess who failed her mission. And so she’d be cast away, forced to live at the bottom of the sea, alone, exposed to all threats and sea monsters without her kind’s protection. This might not be worth the risk. But there was still that little voice inside her head that said, what if she made it? Hadn’t it always been her dream to finally put her hand on her mother’s trident and sat on that glorious throne?

“I know, Mother,” Ezili said, her jaw clenched as tight as her fists. “I’ll accept the consequences if I fail.”

Queen Asherah cocked her head to the side, her lips curled. “Very well,” she said at last. “You may begin tomorrow. Do whatever it takes. You have another year and should have the heart before your twenty-first birthday.”

Ezili frowned. Her anxiety was kicking in. A year sounded like a long time, but it could just be a blink of an eye. Still, she nodded her head. “Yes, Mother.”

“Good,” Queen Asherah said patiently and flicked her fingers at the door. “Koa, come in.”

Ezili turned as her sister swam into the throne room. There was blood on the corner of Koa’s heart-shaped lips. Could be her own, could be the man Ezili had drowned’s. No one truly knew when it came to Koa. Judging from the look she was giving Ezili, Ezili guessed her sister had heard the conversation. Just like their mother, Koa believed Ezili would fail, and the day she got to witness it would probably be the happiest day of her life.

“Mother, I’d like to have a word with you,” Koa said as she swam past Ezili, acting as if Ezili wasn’t there. “It’s about the mermaids. They’re causing trouble at those fringing reefs again.”

“It’s always those dirty little creatures,” Queen Asherah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Go, Ezili. You’re not needed here anymore.”

“Wait,” Ezili spoke, her heart hammering against her ribcage. “I-I would need your permission to travel on land.”

“Why?” Koa immediately asked, her eyes bulging with shock and rage. The latter more. She whipped her head back to their mother, probably expecting the Queen to deny Ezili’s request.

However, the Queen gave a nod. “Permission granted.”

“Mother!” gasped Koa. “No siren had travelled on land for decades!”

“No one has eaten their human lover’s heart in decades, either,” the Queen said, but the look she was giving Ezili said, “I’d love to see this one fail.”

As Koa let out a not so subtle laugh, Ezili didn’t react. She bowed to the Queen and quietly swam out of the room. Daughter of the sea she was, but she wasn’t cold enough for the ocean that raised her.

.

.

.

“Fuck,” the word escaped from Harry’s lips in a sharp breath as he buckled his hips, a hand roughly guiding the girl’s head as she worked her skilful mouth on his cock. She gripped his buttocks with both hands. Tears were running down her flushed cheeks and yet she kept taking his thrusts, encouraging him with her muffled cries.

He threw his head back against the shower’s tiled wall, his eyes pinched shut in overwhelming pleasure. From the bathroom, he could still hear the waves crashing onto the shore and was reminded that he was right by the beach. He’d worked nonstop for the last couple of months, so this vacation seemed almost surreal. He was having the best time of his life here in his new beach house. He’d just met this pretty lady last night at the bar, and now she was giving him the best head he’d ever received.

“Yes, baby, I love your mouth. Fuck me,” Harry grunted, stroking the woman’s cheek as he thrust his hips slowly in and out of her hot mouth. He was going to come. Almost–

The sound of his ringtone snapped him out of his orgasmic fantasy. He knew that ringtone and felt himself free falling from his peak. He had been ignoring his mother’s calls for a week now. So she might be calling to tell him his name had been crossed from the will.

The girl moaned in protest when he pulled his dick out of her mouth and patted her awkwardly on the head. “Sorry, baby, I gotta take this,” he said, pulling her up and kissing her on the lips.

She gave him a look of disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Wait in the bedroom. I’ll be right out there with you.”

The girl said nothing, rolled her eyes and walked with wobbly legs out of the bathroom. Harry smirked as he knew he’d fucked her good, but it probably wasn’t a good image to have in his head when he was about to take his mother’s call.

“Hello?”

“Oh, there’s my least favourite child,” his mother said. Sometimes he wondered if she meant it. Probably did.

He let out a sigh and grabbed a towel to clean himself. “How are you, Mum?”

“Not dead, unfortunately.”

“Are you calling to say you’ve crossed my name off the will?”

“I’m considering it. But no. Just want to say happy birthday to my son. Is it too much?”

Harry wiped his palm over the fogged up mirror and stared at his own reflection. “No, Mum, but this isn’t a good time.”

“It’s always a good time for your mother, Harry. Anyway, are you going to the dinner party this weekend?”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, I sent you an invitation last week.”

Harry groaned as he gripped the edge of the sink. “But it said a plus one was a must.”

“Yes, I know. I put it there myself.”

“Mum, I don’t have a plus one. You won’t let me bring Niall.”

“I love Niall, but I need you to bring a real date.”

“I don’t have one,” he repeated as if he hadn’t emphasised this for the hundredth time.

Still, it was never good enough for his mum to leave him alone. “Get one,” she said.

“Jesus,” he muttered, tossing his head back.

“It’s time you start taking all this dating thing seriously. You’re already twenty-four. When will you settle down?”

“Uh...not at twenty-four?”

There was a pause, and he honestly thought his mother would hang up. To his disappointment, she didn’t. “Come home this weekend. With a date.”

“Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll bring someone. If it makes you happy and keep my name on the will.”

“Good.” He could feel her smile in that one word that sounded more like a threat. Then, she said she loved him and hung up the phone.

When Harry returned to the bedroom, he was thinking about asking the girl if she wanted to be his plus one to his family’s event. But then he found her masturbating on his bed and moaning his name, and it hit him that she might not be what his mother wanted. And so they fucked and came two more times before they said goodbye. She told him to call her sometimes when he returned to London. He promised her he would, but didn’t save her number.

In the afternoon, he decided to go surfing on his private beach. Having spent most of his life in gloomy London, he wasn’t the best at surfing, but he’d travelled enough to be decent at it. It was sunny today, and the wind was just right, so he wanted to put some of his old skills to use.

He stood watching the swells and rhythm of the waves, waiting for the big one to come. The adrenaline rush as he stood on the board and rode the wave as it curled above his head sent him to heaven. The roar of the waves sent his spirit soaring. He savoured the salty air and kept getting back on the board every time he was knocked over.

But happiness didn’t last for too long.

Suddenly, the sky grew dark. It had been sunny a moment earlier, and now the dark clouds had gathered the vast sky above him. He lay on the board and tried to swim back to the shore, but the waves were too rough and unexpected. Water kept slapping against his face, shoving him away from the beach. He struggled against the currents as if there was a force that kept pulling him into the water. The more he fought, the stronger it got. He tried to scream for help when he realised nobody would hear him. The next thing he knew, he lost grip on his surfboard, and the violent water quickly consumed him.

.

.

.

He was an easy target.

The ones on the ships were always together, and it would be suspicious if she stole one of them. But this one was just floating alone by himself on the surface. She had seen humans ride waves before, and as much as she hated to admit, it was impressive. This one, however, was bad at it. He kept falling off the board and happily got back up as if it wasn’t embarrassing to watch him from a distance. He was probably the lesser intelligent of their kind. He was perfect for Ezili’s mission.

So she’d called the wind and tide to knock him unconscious. The moment he sank into the deep end, she hauled him back to the surface and took him to a cave where no one could find him.  She pushed his limp body onto the sand-covered rocks. Half her body still in the water, she arched up, reached under his shirt and pressed a hand against his chest. His heart thumped desperately beneath her palm. She leaned her head against it and listened to the drumming with a smile. She found herself fantasising about ripping that little thing out of his chest once she’d made him fall madly in love with her. She’d eat it in front of her entire kingdom. Her mother would be so proud, and Koa would be miserable. The thought made her happy. She lifted her head from his chest and hovered her hand over his heart. Her nails clutched his skin, and she imagined plunging her fist deeper. Her head snapped up when he started coughing. His head lolled in the sand and then his gaze focused. On her.

.

.

.

“Who are you?!” Harry jolted up and immediately backed away on his elbows. The girl in the water looked horrified. Where was he? Why was he in a cave? Where was his surfboard? And wait. Was this girl naked?!

“I saved you,” she said calmly, her eyebrows pinched together. “Why are you yelling?”

“Where the hell am I?” he continued to yell as he whipped his head from side to side. “And why are you naked?”

The girl innocently parted her long black hair and gazed down at her exposed chest. Harry knew he was fucked in the head when he got turned on by her perky breasts. He didn’t know this girl. She might be a crazy fan, and he might have been violated.

He immediately put his arms around his naked torso. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Calm. Down.” She ground her teeth, her sapphire eyes focused on him. There was something about the look that calmed and terrified him at the same time. Like the ocean. “You’re safe, human. You had an accident, and I saved you.”

“Human?” Harry scoffed. This girl sounded crazy, but he couldn’t tell her that because she might also be dangerous. He tried to keep his composure and talked to her in a calm tone, “There’s no way you saved me. You’re just...a young girl.”

The girl tilted her head, looking amused by his remark. “I’m a siren.”

Harry blinked. “A what?”

“A siren.”

“For real?”

“Yes. I came from the ocean.”

It took Harry a moment to realise she wasn’t going to laugh because it might not be a joke. He immediately pushed himself to his feet, still a bit dizzy from the accident. He stood and stared at her for a moment, thinking.

“Niall hired you, didn’t he?”

The girl’s blue eyes narrowed. “What?”

Harry spread his arms and did a spin as he shouted into the air, “Okay, where’s the hidden camera?” He waited for his friends to jump out and scream, “Surprise, motherfucker!”, but all he got was the awkward echoes of his own voice inside the cave.

The girl in the water stared up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Who are you talking to?”

He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. “How much did Niall pay you?”

“Who’s Niall?”

Harry laughed dryly as he tapped a finger at the girl. “You’re a very good actress, but you cannot fool me. It’s my birthday so I know my friends hired you to pull a prank on me.”

The girl’s expression turned from confusion to disgust. “That’s how humans celebrate their birthdays?”

“Stop referring to us as humans!” Harry almost shouted as he gripped the air dramatically. “You’re not a fucking mermaid. How old do you think I am? I’m not gonna fall for that shit.”

“I’m not a mermaid.” She smiled at him like he was the idiot. “I’m a siren. Mermaids are our inferiors.”

“What’s the difference?” He couldn’t believe he’d just asked that.

She schooled her face, and he had a feeling that he was going to receive a lecture about mythical creatures. This girl either took her job too seriously, or she was just fucking crazy.

“Mermaids don’t look like us. They’re horrible looking creatures living at the bottom of the ocean. They do nothing but gossip and cause drama. Sirens are highborn. We’re kings, and queens, and warriors. We’re trained to fight and kill for our kingdoms.”

Harry groaned into his palms. It was like having a conversation with his nephew, who had just learned the difference between a horse and a cow. He threw his hand in the air. “Show me your tail then.”

The girl gave a shrug. Then, from beneath the water surface, a glowing fishtail emerged, the scales reflecting the sunlight and sparkling like little green and purple and blue gemstones. How much had Niall paid for this costume? All this for a stupid birthday prank?

Harry got down on his hands and knees beside the water edge, coming face to face with the girl. She smoothed her damp hair backwards and smiled proudly at his astonishment.

“It looks so fucking real. Holy shit.”

“Because it is,” the girl said.

Harry swallowed hard as he reached out his hand. Before he could even blink, the girl’s eyes turned white as she bared two pointed fangs and hissed. Harry jolted backwards, landing on his butt. The fake tail slammed onto the water surface and splashed cold seawater all over him. Harry was catching his breath as he wiped the burning sensation of salt off his eyes. His vision cleared again, and he watched with horror as the girl's fangs shrank, and the white things in her eyes that resembled egg membranes slid upward to reveal her irises. Harry could feel every muscle in his body shaking.

Face screwed up, she snarled at him, “Don’t ever touch my tail without my permission, you filthy creature!”

Harry worked his jaw, still trembling. “T-That’s a real tail?”

“Yes.” The girl eyed condescendingly at his crotch. “As I could see, human tails aren’t so impressive.”

“Wha—“ When he understood what she meant, his cheeks grew hot, and he cupped his manhood over his swimming trunks. “Hey, you—What the fuck? That’s so rude!”

She looked genuinely surprised at his reaction. “Well, you saw my tail.”

“This isn’t—”

“What? Humans are so ashamed of their tiny tails that they have to hide them?”

Harry cleared his throat, lowkey triggered by the adjective. “Okay, first of all, mine is definitely not tiny. Second of all, what the fuck are you?”

“A siren.”

Harry repeated the word, mumbling it over and over, yet it didn’t feel like a real word. Nothing felt real anymore. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he was stuck in this weird kinky dream because he'd been watching too much porn. But he didn’t feel sexually attracted to this...creature, well, not anymore, so this was definitely not a wet dream. But Niall hadn’t jumped out to tell him it was only a prank.

Just a few hours ago, he had been on the beach, drinking cocktails, and now, he was in a cave somewhere talking to a half-human half-fish.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. What was happening?

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Laid out cold, now we're both alone (part 2)

A/N: Hello, this fic is very important to me because I tried my best to give justice to such a cool idea and I hope I did a good job. Plus I don't do multichapter ofter, so this was a challenge. 

I wanna thank the lovely @livdonna for proofreading my work, you're literally the best <3. 

P.S. If you want to get tagged in the next chapters, let me know.

Summary: Nikki visits Mick to give him a very important task.

Warnings: Major Character Death,Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug Use, Angst, Overdose.

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Chapter 1

Taglist: @slashscowboyboots @witchytombstonesmile @arnold-layne @emometalhead​ @i-dont-like-rice​ @nikki-sexx​ @smokeandmirrorz​

Mick was supposed to not give a shit about Nikki. He and the stupid drummer had tormented him and his wife for months on ends, making the whole tour a living hell and he didn’t need to have even more things to worry about. So what if his bassist decided to get addicted to heroin? He was a fucking dumbass but it wasn’t his problem.  He would end up killing himself and it wasn’t like Mick could have done something, not when his whole body was torturing him.

The only problem was that he cared, deep down. He cared about the fucker and hearing the news that he was gone forever hit him.  He lost one of his friends and the band all together in a day, what would have happened? He hated to admit he was scared about the future, it was hard to imagine Motley Crue without Nikki.

He sighed, turning off yet another discussion about his death. They didn’t call him yet but something was telling him that they had to release a statement soon.  Doc was probably freaking out somewhere crying for all his millions of dollars lost.

“Fucking Nikki, you had to die at the worst moment, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… sorry about that, man” A voice incredibly similar to Nikki said, making Mick jump up.

Nikki didn’t feel anything, one moment they were in the ambulance and the other they were on the beach.  He was confused for a moment before he remembered that Mick had a beach house, and stared at it for a bit. He didn’t know much about the guitarist, maybe almost nothing but he respected him so much.  He was one of the strongest dudes he had ever met.

The weirdest thing about all of this was probably how he was only able to feel certain things, no cravings or sand under his feet as he was walking, yet he would still feel guilt, fear, love, worry… it didn’t make sense but he wasn’t in the mood to question the universe’s rules.

People can’t see you until you decide to show yourself. You have to remember or otherwise they can’t hear or see you.

The voice still freaked him out, but at the same time he was grateful for it to be there… it made him feel less alone, which was great considering how he felt lonely for his entire life.

“You’re not alone Nikki, I’ll always be there with you, through highs and lows”

“God it sounds like a marriage vow, T-Bone”

“Well if I could I’d marry now…”

He shook his head, trying to get the memory out.  It wasn’t the time to be sentimental and risk fucking everything up, so he walked ( more like flew) through the front door and found Mick sitting on the couch.

“Fucking Nikki, you had to die at the worst moment, didn’t you?”

“Yeah… sorry about that, man”. The bassist hoped that he was heard, otherwise it would have been pretty embarrassing.

Mick visibly jumped at hearing Nikki’s voice and quickly turned around to look at him.  From his widened eyes and confused expression, he knew he probably looked fucking transparent.

“Okay first of all why the hell are you here talking to me if you’re dead? Then why the fuck can I see myself through you ?”

The black haired man just realized that he had no idea how to explain everything and be believed, he just went along with whatever the voice in his head was saying, but now it was different. He fumbled with his hand and realized he couldn’t feel them, while he tried to come up with the best way to explain to his friend how he was a ghost and why he was there.

“I died… I have no idea how I came back but I have unfinished business and I need to talk to you!”

The guitarist looked at him up and down, clearly skeptical.  However, there wasn’t much arguing… Nikki’s ghost was literally standing in front of him.

“Okay I have no idea if this is a dream, I’m dead or in a coma, or simply I drank too much but now I’ll grab some vodka and you’ll spill your little secrets as you like”.

Nikki smiled a bit… He honestly felt normal for the first time since he was brought back.  Having Mick joking was so familiar, usually Tommy was the aim of his jokes and they all laughed because they were all so unexpected…

Tommy. Thinking about him still hurt, again he wondered if he was okay and how much he missed him… but it wasn’t his time now.  He had other things to talk about as Mick came back into the living room with his glass.

“Mick… you gotta promise me that you won’t let Motley Crue die, that you will fight to keep the band’s legacy.”

The older man looked at him surprised, rolling his eyes.

“Well that’s a bit hard when our bassist and songwriter died!”

Rage and resentment were heavy in his voice but there was more : fear and sadness. Nikki felt guilty and he fucking hated it, it was so unlike him but he couldn’t help it… Mick cared about the band as much as he did.  He always said the band was his life, before heroin came into the picture, but it was also Mick’s and he probably destroyed everything.

“You will find another one, another bassist who is also a songwriter…” The words felt so foreign coming from his mouth.  They even hurt a bit but they were necessary.

“I know you care about this band as much as I do, Mick. I know how much you’ve worked your ass off in shitty bands, trying to find the one that was going to break… I might be dead but Crue can’t have the same fate”.

Mick scoffed, taking a long sip of his vodka.

“It’s not easy, it’s not like we can find the perfect match like we did. Plus, everyone will probably hate him for replacing you!”

The frustration was almost tangible, but there was something else… Mick was scared, he knew everything was about to fade away because of Nikki’s actions, he was already looking at the boat sinking. Nikki started to panic because his band had to live, even in his death! It was pointless and selfish but that was the only thing people could remind him of.

“If you give up, then Vince and Tommy will do the same! I know that you think no one will take you, but the truth is they will. Crue is what it is because of our vision, you are part of it and I’m asking you to keep it going. Think of this as my dying man’s wish… even if I’m already dead”

The older man’s grip on his glass got tighter, his eyes lost in thought as he was pondering Nikki’s words. It was hard to take in, hell that was an understatement, it was fucking insane and probably wouldn’t work but the bassist needed to have this false hope.

“It’s so fucking weird, you know? To realize you’re fucking dead yet here talking to me.”

He was deflecting, Nikki knew it, but didn’t want to push it too far. He learned to know Mick, he kept his promises and he was a hard worker and with a good dose of luck and jokes, you got him to your side.

“Yeah, do you remember how I said you weren’t going to make it in that interview? Well, karma hits like a bitch!”

“Mick might not make it , he drinks a little too much and it looks rough” Mick quoted, trying to imitate Nikki’s voice.

“Yeah and then you said something like I heard what you said and you’re dead, fuck I guess you were right” He laughed but Mick didn’t.

Oh c’mon so what if he was joking about his death? It’s not like anyone really cared about him.  They just saw him as a burden, which he was. Not his mom, nor his band or his Tommy would have really missed him… they would eventually move on.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” He said annoyed but his lips formed a small smile.

“I know, I know. Mick… please promise me that. If Crue is going to end, then my whole life didn’t mean anything! Ple…” He stopped himself, he was so fucking close to begging but he couldn’t. Nikki Sixx didn’t fucking beg, not in life or death.

“I’m thinking about it!”

He really meant the first part. He spent all his teenage and adult years creating the band of his dreams and making sure they conquered the world.  This band was his escape; his attempt at redemption after his shitty childhood. Nobody loved Frank Feranna but he didn’t care, he would become Nikki Sixx and be super fucking famous!

He didn’t need anyone’s love, except that he did.

“ I love you, Nikki.”

“ No you don’t, nobody does, T-Bone”

“Well I fucking do. You gotta pass on my dead body before you’ll hear me not saying it over and over”

His heart might have stopped, but he still felt the big wave of nostalgia hitting him. He couldn’t do it, he would have never been ready to see him again.

“Okay, I will. But listen to me, it won’t be easy and I’m an old man with a fucked up back, so don’t send demons against me if I fail!” The little spark of determination in his eyes relaxed Nikki, he was on board.

“I fucking knew you were the best, Mars! If I wasn’t dead I’d probably tattoo your face on me as a thank you!”

“Oh gross, never say that again!” He pretended to be disgusted but his eyes betrayed him, the small softness in them told Nikki he felt touched.

“Who knows, maybe in hell they have tattoos for the ghosts. God we used to hate each other and now we are two peas in a pod.”

“I still hate you.”

“Ugh, you crushed my heart Mick”

The guitarist flipped him off, rolling his eyes. Nikki desperately wanted to keep talking, if he did then he could have pretended nothing changed, right? He didn’t have to face Vince and Tommy and go through the light… everything would have stayed the same or he could fool himself that it would.

I think it’s time to go to the next person.

The voice was demanding yet still calm. Nikki knew that he couldn’t stay forever, they had to prevent spirits from just lingering into the real world like that, it made him a bit angry but he understood it. It wasn’t like he could have done much anyway…He was just a shell of what he used to be.

“I gotta go Mick…” He wanted to punch himself because he sounded so fucking pathetic, but the other man gave him a compassionate smile.

What he fuck are you, a little small puppy? Oh look Frankie is scared to leave his illusion of a family.

Mick walked him to the other without saying anything, but before turning the handle, which was pointless because Nikki could have just passed through the door, he broke the silence.

“Try to give us some signs, okay? Show us that you’re there… but don’t you fucking dare spill my vodka or I’ll make you two times dead!”

“Oh that’s exactly what I’ll do, thanks for the suggestion!”

He stepped outside and looked at Mick one last time.

“You promised, alien. You gotta do it!”

“Yeah yeah, you better repay me when I come to join you there…” And with one last look, Mick closed the door.

Nikki felt all of the weight crushing down on his body, even if it was made of air. He simply stood still, his mind racing like a freight train, trying to take everything in but also getting ready for his next move… being overwhelmed was an understatement, he felt peeled down like an orange and this was only the beginning. He felt like a fucking coward but he just wanted to get over it, was it that bad to accept his fate and disappear without facing anyone?

You are going to abandon him again? You know why you need to talk to Vince, and you know this will be your last chance to see him, asshole!

He went to kick the sand, but he couldn’t touch it. God, how frustrating was that!

So where are we going next?

Nikki would have wanted to scream at him, give him the middle finger and just run away but it wouldn’t have been helpful, would it? So he forced himself to be as neutral as possible.

“Vince Neil. Take me to his house.”

[luvinseokjinnie]

Jeon Jungkook Fic Recs

☾ -ANGST || ❅- SMUT || ✼ -CRACK/HUMOR || ❀ -FLUFF || ♛ - ACTION/SUSPENSE || ♪ - SUPERNATURAL/SCI-FI

-Fic Recs Main List-  

-Navigation-

One shots

If I told you ☾❀|| jjk x reader || college au || @gukyi || [personal fav]

Sypnosis: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

Melomaniac ☾❀|| jjk x reader || punk/rockstar au || @jeonscript  ||

Sypnosis: you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because he’s supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he’s in love with you too.

What are best friends for? ❀☾|| Jjk x reader|| college au|| @lovelyyyoongi || [personal fav]

Sypnosis: What begins as harmless matchmaking, ends up in a jumbled mess of emotions for both you and your best friend, Jungkook.

Chocolate milk ❀☾|| jjk x reader ||childhood friend au ||  @vantaenims  ||

Sypnosis: You never planned to catch some feelings for Jungkook but you didn’t know that he’s the mastermind of all these fickle thoughts. It’s all thanks to Psychology and Human Behavior.

Unaware ☾ || jjk x reader ||  @kookscrescent  ||

Sypnosis: “He knows the day will never come. She has already got her heart set on somebody else. But deep in his heart, despite all the broken pieces, he knows that she will never find someone that will love her more than he does.”

Crosshairs ☾♛❅|| jjk x reader ||secret agent au|| @junghelioseok ||

Sypnosis: he’s never letting you out of his line of sight again.

Inkling ☾❅|| tatoo artist!jjk x reader || @gguksgalaxy || (vv smutty sgvd im sorry)

Sypnosis: Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

Icing ❀❅ || jjk x reader || @yolokoo ||

Sypnosis:  Baking with your boyfriend sounds like a good idea until he makes a mess and then gets a boner. You know where it goes from there.  

Year after year (after tear after tear) ☾ || jjk x reader || college au || @ubemango ||

Sypnosis: Taehyung just wants you to have a good birthday.

Something new ❀❅ || jjk x reader || college au || @minlucent ||

sypnosis: jungkook has a thing for virgins. you just happen to be the one he has his eye on.

of memes and mood swings ❀☾✼ || jjk x reader || parents au || @koosgrl  ||

sypnosis: ❝ babies are born weighing 30kg, right? ❞ + turns out that 2017 wasn’t just a meme on twitter, especially a particular number of months made the year more eventful than you’d thought it’d be after your boyfriend promises you that he would pull out. or to make a long fucking story short: the wild ride that is your pregnancy.

chewie & choco boy  ❀☾ || jjk x reader || best friends au || @rookiegukie​ ||

sypnosis: all your life, jeongguk has always been and only been your best friend. no matter the countless misunderstandings and the never ending teasing when it came to the true nature of your relationship, you two remained firm about it—saying that you were really just really good friends and nothing more. though lately, that doesn’t seem to be right anymore, especially as the both of you begin getting confused yourselves.

Loveship  ❀☾ || jjk x reader || sequel to chewie & choco boy || @rookiegukie​ ||

sypnosis: all your life, jeongguk has always been and only been your best friend. though that is until you started dating him and things just can’t be better than it is. but shifting from being just friends and being a couple isn’t as easy as it seems, especially when a certain ex just keeps on reminding you your insecurities about finally being jeongguk’s girlfriend.

Tiger Flower  ☾ || jjk x reader || hanahaki au || @euphoria-vmin7​ ||

sypnosis: tiger flower. it’s his birth flower. it’s the flower that you can’t have.

Lost Stars  ❀☾✼|| jjk x reader || Heavy angst || @staerrylights​ ||

Sypnosis: Your life was made up of failed relationships, an unhappy marriage, and a terrible job but things weren’t always that way. When a meteor shower occurs on the night of your twenty fifth birthday, you get a chance to relive the past ten years of agony and love you thought would last forever, would you hold onto those memories or let them fade into the distance?

Series

Learn to love ☾❀|| jjk!teacher x reader!singleparent || @knjoodles ||

Sypnosis: raising your daughter alone while simultaneously watching your ex-husband live the life of his dreams away from the two of you hurts. badly. it hurts a little less, though, when you find an unlikely friend while looking for help.

You belong with me ☾❀|| jjk x reader || high school au || @joonscroll ||

Sypnosis: you’ve loved jungkook since you could count. he's always seen you as a friend. watching him date other girls and having to pretend you’re not in love with him is killing you.

Bullseye ♛☾❅|| jjk x reader || Bottoms up Series by @gguksgalaxy ||

Sypnosis: A summer weekend isn’t complete without Jungkook coming to seek you out at your job at the beach club to bless you wish his smile. A smile that quickly fades to anger one night, when he catches your ex trying to get your attention.

Louder than Bombs ❅|| vampire!jjk x reader || Map of the soul 7 project by @chimkookie ||  

Sypnosis:  Where humans and mythical beings try to live together in harmony, but different worldly disasters and rivalries cause a stir within both of the races as they fight for dominance, power and money. With Peru being the victim of the war between humans and mythics - specifically vampires - many have gone into hiding. You are one of those people. When your home is invaded by the enemy, they imprison you and force you to serve them. However, one of them seems to take pity on you, or so you thought.

Social media

Fate’s Games ✼❀ || jjkxreader || youtuber/gamer au ||  @jjk-biased || !MUST READ! [personal fav]

Sypnosis: Faith might’ve had a lot more in store when broke college kid Y/N unknowingly roasts famous youtuber Jeon Jungkook’s Overwatch skills in front of a live audience.

Let’s get it ❀✼ || jjk x reader || youtuber au || @diorjeons ||

Sypnosis: You and Jungkook are vloggers on Youtube, being rivals since you both gained a following. Everyone thinks you hate each other because of the constant shade. The funny thing is, is that you both run a fan account for the other and no one knows.

Only for love ☾❀✼|| single dad!jjk x reader || @lysjeon ||

Sypnosis: for almost four years it had been just him and sarang, and he had no plans on changing the life they had become accustomed to any time soon, but of course y/n has to come and shake his world.

[theyearsiturnedintoaghost]

Hello, Is This Thing On?

Hi! (as mentioned above). Do people still use this thing? I have no idea. Years ago, and I do mean YEARS ago, I had one of these. I didn’t use it for much, just reposting things, following humans I’d met in online communities, a ‘celebrity’ here or there, sometimes screaming about shit I couldn’t control into the void that is the endless scrolling interweb, and being pointless in wasting my time between classes, work, and twenty-something. Regardless, my previous tumblr had minimal followers, made minimal impact, and that was okay. It was honestly just a nice place to sort of hide in plain sight. Still be part of a social world without actually having to do much. This was also pre a billion other apps and social media outlets to express yourself or scroll mindlessly at a million other pointless things that people were posting to make you giggle or even just stop for a second and think.  

Clearly, the point of this, back then, felt like something I would use to help propel my writing career. Turns out, it did not. I did not write much, if at all. And most of the time I think it was because I was scared nothing was as good as any of the other stuff I was reading from people I liked, and thought were so much cooler and smarter than me; I still feel this way all of the time, but I do realize this was me being nervous, small minded about myself, and completely unconfident.  

Unfortunately, I am still most of these things a lot of the time, but recently, after getting fired from a job, having my heart broken by pretty much everyone on the planet, especially a few specific people, cancelled by all of my friends (?) - this is a thing btw. (It’s not as awful as being cancelled publicly, but it does still ruin your life, mindset, confidence, and overall physical and mental wellbeing) Getting a new job, hating it and feeling like I was going no where, and missing out on living a life I felt proud of and that I was actively participating in, I decided maybe I should just try to write it all out and see what happens. 

To be frank, I expect nothing of this. I can’t fathom a world where anything I have to say truly matters to people because lets be real - everyone has this own shit and everyone is going through so much all of the time.  And we all think we have something new, quirky, interesting, and important to say.  And in a world that constantly shoves perfection down our throats and works so hard to make each of us feel completely inadequate to every Kardashian, Beyonce, Grande, etc., it’s hard to really think that anything I have to say will matter to anyone; at all. 

(I also hate that all of my ‘perfectionist’ people were female, but maybe it’s harder to compare to Golden Boys when you are a female. Either way, there are many boys/men/theys/thems that are put on a pedestal and made out to be perfect out there, as well, and they deserve that notation as well. I just have no points of reference off the top of my head, so please forgive me; I am trying to do this in a stream of consciousness type thing.)

I mean, the truth is, I’m a fucking mess. I’m 33, single, living at home, afraid of my own shadow most of the time, and spend about 98% of my time alone. I pay for a phone plan that I literally only use to send memes to my two sisters, and that’s about it. I rarely receive texts, invites out, or even calls to make plans for something.  And while a lot of this is my own doing - again, I did cut off most of the world after I realized I was sort of the joke to a lot of people - it’s still kind of pathetic, and entirely uncool.  I am not a socialite, or someone cool and trendy, and to be honest, I kind of never want to be.  

Which is a semi-false statement, because years ago, when I had one of these previously, I sort of hoped it would work out and that I could write and be ‘cool.’ Whatever the fuck that means.  But now, years later, I’m honestly beyond glad I am not cool; not in the slightest. Maybe that’s making it to your 30s? Maybe the trade for having to create a daily routine of lathering up my body with like 9 different versions of FDA-Approved-Vampire-Juice on my skin to prevent me from looking any older than I already do, you in turn get to have a brain that finally realizes... having a ‘normal’ life is honestly pretty cool? Normal is clearly subjective here as everyone is normal, famous, notoriety, or not; They’re all still humans and people with feelings, thoughts, and emotions. This is a hard thing to realize when you see stadiums full of people screaming at Harry Styles (Boom! found a male perfect in this scatterbrain) or hundreds of paparazzi lined up to take photos of every person on a red carpet wearing clothing that costs as much as my student loan debt (Which sidenote, is VERYYYYYY much). It’s hard to fully realize that maybe some of those people who became ‘icons’ never really knew what they were getting into when they signed that deal with the Devil to make them seemingly immortal; especially in a world with the internet where everything can exist forever (or until the world explodes, clearly).  But maybe getting into my 30s and removing myself from most social media outlets, even listening to the news, or caring about whatever fucking popular haircut was in this season (it’s always bangs, and I’ve already made that mistake. No thanks), that I learned to realize - the truly most important people in your life are the ones that stick with you when it’s tough. When getting out of bed is so hard your limbs ache and you cry every morning on your way to work, at your desk behind your computer screen hidden in a corner, or in a bathroom stall during your lunch break. The normalcy that comes with realizing your prayers to ‘just make it to five o’clock,’ are heard and that you are just so thankful for that that you don’t even desire the innate feeling in most of our egos to stand out, be seen, ‘Make it’ in a way that lets people notice we ‘succeeded.’ Maybe this only comes with the realization of how nice it is to go to a grocery store braless and unnoticed. 

Maybe this is also something I, and so many of us in this point and shoot viral world, are trying to still learn. 

Sure, a lot of days I still crave being able to make a perfect Pintrest project, practice my Late Night interview with Letterman where I sound funny, charming, and likeable to all walks of life, or recreate a recipe from the New York Times website so great that The Barefoot Contessa finds out through word of mouth, and comes to my basement hide out, and offers to give me, a fellow barefoot loving bitch, her title and crown along with a glass of wine and a kiss from her husband, Jeffery. We’ll both laugh at how lovely it feels to be Barefoot ladies who understand that wanting ‘fame’ or ‘recognition’ in your twenties is only really a pathway to destruction by your 30s. 

And this is not exactly something that I learned easy.  In fact, I spent most of my twenties destroying my body with drugs - plenty of hard ones - and alcohol - various kinds of the same things - in order to numb my brain from the sadness that is just... being young, lonely, scared, unsure of yourself, and nervous that all of your hopes and expectations for yourself in your ‘dream life’ are too much for what you and your actual self will ever be capable of ever becoming. That I would never become the comedian I dreamed of being, or sing the perfect song in front of a crowd of admirers, or write that best selling book to tell everyone who thought I was nothing they could go fuck themselves. It’s something I still have to remind myself, and my brain and ego, that are most likely things I will never do because those are lottery dreams.  And people you know don’t actually win the lottery. And at the end of the day, I am people you know. And sometimes it breaks my own heart to realize I may never feel that rush of making a crowd laugh, or creating a piece of art that makes someone feel seen, but as Pam, from The Office said, and I am paraphrasing, ‘there is beauty in ordinary things.’ And I think reminding myself of that as I sat on the beach this summer and watched a dad teach his son to surf, and how happy they both were when he got up, gave me that brief feeling of... being okay. I won’t lie, I did cry a little at this realization at that moment, and I am slightly teary now as I write it, but I think I’m not ashamed of that because being normal means I get to feel things as I do, in that moment, and that is something I think I lacked in my desiring-bigger-flashier- twenties; actually being present in the world and your place in it. Even if that is just as small as being kind to a random person on the street.

I think that is why everything I felt I wanted to write never came out correct.  It never came out ‘Perfect.’ And that was my problem for most of my life, even up until today, I’m afraid that I am a perfectionist in the ways that are preventing me from becoming... me. I’m still fearful that I am too late in ever ‘accomplishing’ anything I ever dreamed. I doubt I will ever actually write a book. I’m unsure I’ll ever make a decent living. I am beyond doubtful I am ever going to be loveable to someone whom I also want to love back. And maybe I’m a little scared that I’ll never have a kid, or that if I do have a kid, I’ll never be a decent parent. And I’m still working on breaking the cycle of thinking something has to ‘sound’ or ‘be seen as important’ to be meaningful. There is beauty in the ordinary. I’ve started to make it my mantra. Spoken in my head every time I see a teenage couple holding hands walking in town, a father holding their baby close to his chest, a woman dressed in a power suit striding through an office building or city on their way to make their own careers or push equality further. I’ve started to dream of how actual normalcy makes the real changes. How every 4th grade teacher has a chance to change some kids life.

Clearly, a lot of these personal fears I have about myself not being ‘enough,’ or doing something good enough to become successful at it and build a life out of it, are monotonous fears and privileged middle-class complaints. I’m aware they may not resonate with anyone, anything, or mean much more than just being an online public diary entry to my own meandering thoughts, but, still - I finally felt like I had to try.  

So here it is, the whole truth on how I let myself become a ghost for years. 

I hope someone will stick around while I just... try to explain it all, figure it all out, and hopefully make sense out of even being whatever a human who is hoping to grow even means. Hopefully, something here will resonate with someone else and we can create our own little weirdo corner of the world where we’re not seeking more than just trying to be honest with ourselves and what it means to be human.  Even if that means just posting a recipe for banana bread (thank you Gwen Steffani for keeping me able to spell Banana), reposting random memes about how we all want to scream for 30 seconds and feel better, or sad-girl diary entry posts about how I ruined my own life a million times over.  Oh, and maybe I’ll give you tips on how to stain your wood deck, because I spent my day doing that yesterday and basically, Home Depot is calling me to be in their ADs. 

But at the core of it all, lets be very real, it’s hard to be human in so many ways. And I’m just hoping this connects with anyone. Especially any of us who wished we were different - in any way.

xoxo

-K

[mxrcayong]

let it unfold - chapter seven

chapter seven

day twenty-eight (still):

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dart so fast.” Katie hoped to lighten the mood as she came in to the flat, seeing Mark coddled surrounded by blankets on the couch; watching random, stupid television.

Mark sighed, “I’m sorry. I just thought about what you said you wanted to do the fir-.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry.” Katie said sympathetically as she dropped the groceries she bought on the counter of the kitchen, “Never be sorry with me. Especially for that. You don’t control that.”

He groaned, “But I do! I should’ve been more careful! I didn’t want you to get hurt.” Katie looked into his eyes from across the room; Mark looked broken, and it didn’t help he was presumably fresh out the shower and looked so small on the couch, drenched in large blankets. “I shouldn’t have forgotten who I was.”

“Mark, no.” She quickly interjected, her voice becoming serious. He only ever hear her use this voice once before and that was when her boss called her about something to do with a kids behavior. “You are Mark Lee. You are a human like every one of us. Paparazzi here, yeah – they’re shittier than the ones in Korea, but you do not control them. None of this was your fault.” As she was saying this, she approached him so that she was now sitting in front of him. “You are Mark Lee. The Canadian-Korean boy who knows just how to make his friends burst out laughing,” make my heart race, she thought, “and who just so happens to be fucking talented at dancing and singing and rapping” and incredibly good looking, she thought to herself once more.

Mark didn’t know how to respond; he knew if he didn’t say anything and if the two remained in this position, he might do something he’ll regret and kiss her. “What did you buy?” He asked, his voice small and fragile.

“I bought dough, Soju, beer, cheese, tomato sauce, noodles, chicken broth, ramen, and so much more so we can get your mind off of this and we can cook your favorite foods and some pizza for a movie night.” She smiled, “And then we should probably go to the gym tomorrow but we can make even more food tomorrow.”

day twenty-nine

Mark wanted to get used to waking up with Katie in his arms. He practically begged her to stay the night prior but seeing her in the morning; with her hair in literal knots and her face showing all of her perfect imperfections – made his heart swell and reminded him this was a good decision.

He woke up earlier than he has been this trip; and spent most of that time thinking about the girl in his arms. He has felt how he’s been feeling around her before; but never this intense. He guesses its because romantic relationships has never been a priority with him – just performing was. But now, as it’s the forefront; all he wants to do is kiss her. He has the urge to be able to call her his. He sees her and sees something that he thinks is too good, too pure to be on this world – and she’s in his arms. He wants her to be there forever.

“Stop staring, you creep.” She mumbled, adjusting in her sleep. “Go back to sleep.” He chuckled at her sleep-heavy voice.

“I will,” He sighed, “in a bit.” He reached out and felt for his phone and immediately was greeted by an influx of messages from the NCT boys – the only people from SM he didn’t currently block.

Jaehyun: I think you’d want to know…dispatch and the news outlets here found the photos of you two

It was when he logged onto the NCT twitter he saw that #MarkLeeGirlfriend was trending. Fuck.

day thirty

Mark couldn’t feel luckier that the person he was with right now was Katie; who already knew he wanted to lay low and just stay in the AirBnB until it all blows over, even if it means spending their last days – originally planned to visit the valley and the bridge again – holed up inside.

“So, Netflix and food or food and Netflix?” Katie asked, holding up the delivery they just ordered.

“How about comida y Netflix?” Mark said, trying to come up with another combination.

“You dork.” She busted out in laughter, a smile painting her face. Mark felt accomplished seeing the smile on her face.

“But I’m your dork.” Mark didn’t fail to see her hesitation in her next response.

“I guess so.”

day thirty-one

Mark woke up surprisingly early for once; the first thing he planned on doing was getting ready and taking extra precautions with hiding his identity. Today was their last full day in his home and he feels like he needs more time here. Particularly, he feels like he needs more time with Katie to deal with his complicated feelings before having to be devoured by work.

He smiled at the sight of Katie at the kitchen; her hair was wet and cascading down her back in clusters of hair, wearing one oversized hoodie she’s stolen over their two years of friendship. He thinks it’s Johnny’s or Jaehyun’s hoodie. He wishes it was his.

An overpowering smell of bacon filled his nose. “Oh my God,” Mark exclaimed, “That smells amazing.”

Katie jumped at the sound of his voice, making him chuckle as he approached her. “You absolute dickhead! You scared me.” He chuckled, now standing beside her. “I’m making sure our last day here starts out right with…” As Katie put the spatula down, she reached down the cupboards. “Pizza bagels and bacon!”

“Oh my God,” Usually he’d respond with a simple phrase consisting of three words; those were the three words at the tip of his tongue, but saying it would only make his feelings known – especially now that they have a different meaning. “You’re amazing, you know that?” He substituted, making Katie chuckle and playfully flip her hair over her shoulder.

“I know.”

It felt like all the tension from the previous days have disappeared; the two were only consumed with the reminder that today was the last day they have with only each other for a while. “So, the plan of the day is…” Mark sat down at the marble counter that acted as a dining table, using it as a drum sets as he pulled out the plans the two had set prior. “We go on a bike ride around the city, meet up with friends at the market for a meal, walk down the beach, come home, and then binge movies with food that we make to use up all the ingredients you bought prior because my God girl, you bought a lot!” He exaggerated, making Katie roll her eyes as she put the bacon on the two plates.

“Now tell me those aren’t the work of a master-chef.”

“They aren’t.” Mark gave her a straight look, before bursting out laughing at her jokingly-shocked reaction. “No, they are, they are.”

Katie still faked offence, “Say that to your world-famous eggs.”

~~~~~~~

Mark knew he had to tell her tonight or not at all. It didn’t help that, knowing tonight is the night, she looked even more intimidatingly gorgeous. She just took a shower so any make up from the day was gone; she looked tired, but she looked freshly tired. Her hair was blow-dryed and looking soft and shiny in her messy bun. She was wearing an oversized shirt and a pair of spandex and Mark was enamored. He was speechless by her; she’s so effortlessly beautiful and he knew she had his heart.

He wasn’t confused about his feelings anymore; he wasn’t confused as they cuddled into their spare blankets on the floor of the sofa beds in the living room the two had set up to spend the last night together. He wasn’t confused as they shared a bowl of ramen and whatever food they could come up with the leftover ingredients. He wasn’t confused when they shared a bowl of ice cream.

“Okay, I’m saying we go for a horror movie next.” Katie proposed, peeling the blankets off of her and standing up. Mark readjusted, so he’s sitting with his legs crossed. His glasses made his eyes particularly doe-like. Katie found him magnetic to look at; from his hair being all fluffy, to his green hoodie making him look like a ‘small bean’ and just enough for her to embrace. All she wanted to do was kiss him.

Mark just nodded; speechless, as he has increasingly become more silent over the night. “Okay, you’re not the Mark I know –.” She retook her place, now sitting crisscrossed in front of him. She put their knees together and leaned forward, forcing Mark into eye contact. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He sighed, licking his lip before biting it. He held his finger out. “You know how you say people who break pinky promises are the biggest villains of them all?” Katie nodded suspiciously. “Well, can you pinky-promise when after I say this and it doesn’t work out as I hope, we’ll still be good?”

She linked her pinky in his, “What’s up bubs?”

“Katie, I think I’m falling for you.” He said quickly, but Katie was able to understand him. He was hesitant to use the L word.

“Haha, Mark, cut it.” Katie laughed instinctively. “You’re just being dumb.”

“No, Katie, I love you. I do; I love the way you smile and the way you care about me. I love how you stand on your tip toes when you order anything, or how you always hum when theres silence. I love how you make me feel. Most importantly, I love who you help me be. I love who I am with you.”

Katie felt speechless. “Mark, you swear you’re not saying this because you’re here? Because I’m here?” She’s hesitant, she’s worried. She dreamt of this, but she’s always scared of commitment. She didn’t want to lose him because he didn’t think this through. “Mark, you may say this now but I don’t want you to go back to Korea and realize you could have anyone better than me – maybe an idol – and then regret everything.”

Mark smiled softly, biting his lip. “There’s no one better than you for me, Katie.” He sighed, “I never noticed how being around you made me feel different than it was supposed to. I thought it was what its like to have a female best friend – but no, I felt butterflies. I felt the happiest around you. Katie, please say you feel the same.”

She didn’t respond with words; she just leaned in and pressed her lips against his. Within minutes, Mark had pushed her down on the sofa bed – hovering over her as they make out.

“Oh my god,” Katie said breathless, “This is so cliché” She said through heavy breaths between their kisses. They’re both breathless; lips practically bruised from the amount of times their lips met passionately. But their lips barely met the beginning of it; they have a whole month worth of making up to do.

day thirty-two

It felt like her lips lingered on his; the taste of her vanilla lip balm a reminder of what happened last night. That, and the way they slept more closely than they have before; their legs tangled together, both of them in their undergarments, and her arms thrown tightly around his chest. The smell of lavender from her shampoo wafted into his nose; and he immediately smiled waking up. Their clothes from their rather intense make out session were thrown onto the floor. Mark was glad Katie ended it there; he wanted to take things slow with her. He didn’t want to mess anything up, so once Katie had fallen asleep; he went to take a cold shower and immediately went back in her arms.

Now, as he rested with the girl of his dreams asleep in his arms, he was hit with a sudden realization; we’re going home. And he doesn’t know if they can stay like this.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

The Untimely Downfall of Strangers - Part XVI

The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

THEN - Day 1165

I stared across the room at him as Niall’s voice seemed to drown out my thoughts. I stifled a yawn and wondered when I’d get to march down the hall to my own hotel room, lock the door, take a bath, and get to sleep. 

It was their last album release week--maybe ever--and my job was to tag along to events. Look good. Smile wide. Say that I was excited.

I was feeling anything but.

The vacation that Harry and I had planned for after the album was quickly approaching--but the mere thought of it sent a wave of nausea through my stomach that I couldn’t quite ignore. 

Now, he was staring at his phone. His eyes fixated on whatever it was that he typed. A joke to his sister. A message to a friend. I didn’t really care. These days, it felt like his eyes were anywhere but on me. 

“So, everyone will be up at in the hallway for 7am tomorrow?” Their manager looked around the room, waiting for nods of confirmation from all of us--including me. 

Liam was next to me, his arm on the back of the couch as he let out a monotonous ‘yes,’ but then he looked over to me and raised his eyebrows. “A week right?”

“One week,” Harry replied for me, his tone much less enthusiastic than Liam’s. He brought his eyes to mine, offering what seemed to be a hopeful--yet timid--smile. 

But I didn’t know if I’d make it. 

I didn’t know how many more times I could wake up and wonder how to convince him that I was still here--I was still in it. I’d spent years acting on TV and now I didn’t have an ounce of pretending left in me. 

Which is why, later that night, I called Sinead and I called Cara and I told them that I couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t that I didn���t want to--it’s that I couldn’t.

Neither of them knew what to say. They wanted me to be happy, but they both felt that my happiness meant a life with Harry by my side. At this point, I disagreed.

NOW  - Day 1834

I sat across from Nick Grimshaw with a microphone in front of my face. It’d been a while. I only had one condition--which Grimmy was happy to hear: don’t ask about the guy from Tennessee. 

Claire and Nick had worked hard to make it blow over. A few photos of me out to dinner with famous friends created a decent buzz that seemed to lessen the blow of my biggest scandal to date. I mean, that’s if you don’t count me disappearing for a year and a half and breaking up with Harry.

But Grimmy was okay with it--such an off-limits question meant that he was free to ask what he wanted about Harry. But he also knew that it meant I was free to answer however I’d like. 

He asked about the album, my decision to drop it with minimal promotion, my time off, my writing process. But it didn’t take him long to get the to key points. 

“So, I mean, let’s face it. You’ve been spotted back with Harry Styles and now you’ve got this new album--with a lot to say on it,” he prompted. 

“Yeah,” I nodded--Sinead watched from her seat from behind a glass window. Nick was standing beside her and Hilary was in the back. 

Harry was a thirty minute drive away, still at home, likely in his pajamas and maybe drinking a cup of tea. I wondered if he was listening. 

He’d begged to tag along but I wasn’t up for dealing with the optics, as Hilary would say. I didn’t have the energy to deal with the questions and the photos and the rumors. There were enough already,

“So is it safe to assume that you and Harry are back together?”

Nick knew the answer--but his listeners didn’t. 

“You know--sometimes people need time apart,” I laughed. “And I think there are songs on this album that really explain where I’ve been and where I am now. So I’m happy to be spending time with Harry and to have had time to reflect on my job and my life.”

“A nice, vague answer from Miss Margot Jones, a classic Friday morning special we’ve got here, folks!”

Everyone in the room laughed, and when I rolled my eyes at Nick, he only egged me on more. “But seriously, we’re all excited that you two are back together--the fans are wild about you both. But this album must have been hard for him to hear.”

I didn’t quite know what to say. Yes. It was. He was mad at points and we talked a lot about it  and there were moments when I feared that it wouldn't work out this time, either. 

I opted for something more concise, a need to defend myself bubbling in my chest as my thoughts became words. “Well, you know, I wanted this album to be honest, if anything. I wanted to explain my side of things and, I mean, he got to tell his side, which wasn’t easy to hear either.”

“What’s that life like? Hearing your significant other’s album and then writing one in response?”

“Exhausting,” I laughed, setting us up for a commercial break. Nick took us out and smiled when he removed his headphones. 

“Can’t hide it for long, love.”

THEN - Day 1155

Harry wasn’t really one to get mad. He never raised his voice or called me names. Instead, he shut down. 

His assistant, Emma, stood by the door, her voice calm and steady as she read over his schedule. She knew that neither of us were listening. I’d asked a question about whether or not I really had to go to one of their events. Harry said yes, I said no. Emma stayed silent. 

Now, as her eyes scanned down her phone and Harry’s seemed to glaze over as he looked out the window, I wondered if now was my moment. 

Emma would leave the room, I could tell Harry that this wasn’t working. I could use this as an example. A simple question, a small disagreement, and we were staring in opposite directions as if our lives depended on it. 

I didn’t know how he expected us to have a whole week together, uninterrupted. Nothing but the beach and the sun to ease the tension. 

After a few more minutes of talking, Emma excused herself and told us she’d be back in 15. I wondered if that was her way of giving us a time limit to whatever was about to explode. 

“What’s wrong with you?” I finally asked--likely the most direct I’d been in months. 

“What’s wrong with me?” He turned around suddenly, his eyes wide with confusion--his phone limp in his hand when he abandoned whatever he’d been staring at. “I should ask you the same thing. You’re the one who’s been--I dunno--weird for months now.”

“I’m not being weird,” my voice was quieter now. I wasn’t any good at responding to remarks about my mood. I didn’t need him to remind me that something was seriously wrong. I had the aching in my chest to remind me every night. 

“Margot--what is going on between us?” He stood from his spot on the couch and made his way towards me, his pace slowing considerably when he got closer. He looked me up and down, almost as if he didn’t quite recognize me. 

“Nothing, I don’t know,” I lied. He knew it was a lie. 

He was quiet for a moment. 

His eyes were distant and he looked tired. Tired of traveling, of performing, of smiling, of singing, of me. He’d admit all of that. He was weeks away from the end of an era. His band was done. He didn’t know it yet, but we were, too. 

He kept his eyes on the ground, his hands clasped together as if he were about to suggest a company merger. 

“Margot, I love you, and I want to make things okay, but I can’t if you don’t let me.”

I thought on his words for a second. Where did I start? How did I tell him the secrets I’d been keeping for a year?

I’m tired. I’m upset. I’m angry. I’m bored. I’m scared. I’m anxious. I’m depressed. I wonder what it’d be like to quit and move to upstate New York and buy a small house with a field. I can’t handle the attention, I can’t handle the pretending. I can’t handle your fans who love me and hate me and want nothing to do with me but want to know every single piece of our lives. I hate your job. I hate my job. I don’t know what else I’d do. I don’t know if you’d love me if I wasn’t the girl in the poster. What if I’m broken? What if I’ll never be the 17-year-old in the driveway that you fell in love with? What if I’m washed-up? What happens when people stop buying my albums? What happens when you leave the band? What happens when I’m 30, 40, 50? How do you know that you’ll love me forever?

He let a gust of air escape his lips when I didn’t reply. He got up from the couch, headed for the door, and closed it behind him. That’s when I knew he needed space. 

THEN - Day 1155

Margot had a temper. That was never news to me. She was loud and energetic and she had no problem letting me know when I fucked up. 

Maybe that’s why things felt so out of whack. 

She wasn’t saying anything. She didn’t seem to have anything to say. 

Emma slipped out of the room and I counted the seconds it took one of us to say something. She spoke first. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

I turned my head at record speed, my eyes wide as they met hers. She had deep circles under her eyes--her skin was pale and she made minimal effort to smile these days. 

“What’s wrong with me?” I stared at the girl I once knew--the girl who had turned into a shell of herself before my own eyes. “I should ask you the same thing. You’re the one who’s been--I dunno--weird for months now.”

I didn’t know how to be more direct. I’d asked what was wrong. I asked how she felt. I asked if she was sick. I asked if she needed help. I asked if she wanted to hurt herself. 

I tried and tried and tried to figure out how to help the girl with a big smile and make her feel okay. I knew she knew how. I’d seen it. 

My question startled her. She did the thing where she tried to retreat into herself--if she were a turtle, she’d be gone inside her shell until she knew it was safe to reappear. 

“I’m not being weird,” her voice was quieter now, the usual tone of defense replaced with one of fear or uncertainty. 

“Margot--what is going on between us?” I stood from my spot on the couch and made my way towards her. She flinched a little at this, sinking deeper into the cushions in the hotel room that she refused to sleep in. 

There was once a time where we got one room. One bed. One bathroom. Just us. Now she seemed to bruise under my touch and watch me with eyes that were constantly teary. 

“Nothing, I don’t know,” she shrugged her shoulders, reaching for her phone as if the conversation was that simple--as if a quick redaction of her words would undo the last few months. 

The new year brought me a new Margot. One that was sad and cold and distant. It’d been eleven months with the new version of her, but I still couldn’t pick her out of a crowd. 

I didn’t know how much longer I could take it. I could ask as many questions as I wanted. I could try to have a conversation and offer support. If she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t take it. It was that simple. 

So I’d get mad. I’d get mad and drop it and pretend--just like she was--that everything was fine. Maybe that wasn’t the right choice. Maybe I didn’t care. Maybe I just didn’t know what to do or who to be or what to say or how to love her. 

She stared at me with cold eyes now--more angry that she’d been a few moments earlier.

I wanted to tell her I knew. I wanted to tell her that I knew how she felt even if she didn’t have the words.

This is hard and scary and miserable, at times. We’re up early and up late and we’re tired and sick of doing this but what else do we do? Who am I without the band--who are you without your music or the show? Who are we without each other? What comes next? What comes in 10 years? Where do we go from here?

I didn’t know how to say all of that to her, and I wasn’t about to lie. 

So I decided to go with the truth. “Margot, I love you, and I want to make things okay, but I can’t if you don’t let me.”

She dropped my gaze when I spoke. I gave her a minute. Sixty seconds of silence to see if she’d say something. 

She didn’t. 

So I left. 

NOW - Day 1840

Margot shifted on the cushion beside me, turning her head slightly to signify that she wanted me to answer the therapist’s question: when did you know the honeymoon was over?

I cleared my throat and shrugged my shoulders a bit. When did I know? Had it ever begun? I didn’t really know the answer, and even if I did, I’d be worried about saying it in front of Margot. 

But my skull must have been transparent, because Margot let out a laugh and shifted again beside me. “Just answer, Harry, it’s okay.”

I blushed at this--embarrassed that I was so predictable and embarrassed that she’d called me on it. “I mean--I know they don’t typically last two years, but, I guess in 2014. We had a great summer, but we were both on tour.”

She nodded and the therapist did, too. “That was your second summer together?”

“Yeah,” we both said at the same time. 

“Mine was seventy-something different cities from May to October. Yours was…” she trailed off when she looked towards me for my answer. 

“Sixty-something spread out from April to October.” 

“It was fine at first,” Margot said, she stared out the window in Hilary’s office and a small smile came over her face. “Busy and a lot of travel but I think we were both excited to be on the road and visiting each other and whatever. It was kind of a high point in both our careers, I think.”

“So what changed?” Hilary asked, her question was directed towards me since I was the one who’d pinpointed that summer. Margot brought her eyes to mine again and waited. 

“I mean, it just wasn’t as easy. The summer of 2013 we were both still so excited, I think. I was just in love with her and nothing could really bring me down.”

Margot’s eyes stayed on my face even though I didn’t look at her. Hilary nodded for me to continue. “But by the end of 2014 I think,” I paused, unsure how to label the look of defeat in Margot’s eyes that winter. “She was tired. Emotionally, physically, all of it.”

“And you didn’t know what to do,” Hilary spoke for me, her eyes curious as I tore mine away. 

Instead of looking at either of them, I stared at my hands. I twisted the metal on my fingers and shrugged my left shoulder. “Not a clue. And when 2015 came it just got worse I asked and I tried to understand but,” my voice was higher pitched now, a desperation present that I hadn’t quite expected. 

It caught Margot off guard as well, she’d turned her whole body towards me on the couch and waited for me to continue. I could feel the water blur my vision, but I wiped quickly at my eyes to dispose of the evidence. 

You’d think I’d be okay crying in therapy. Margot said she’d done plenty.

“She wouldn’t tell me, she didn’t want my help and she didn’t seem to care that seeing her crumble was breaking me, too.” 

I wasn’t sure if I’d said it so pointedly before. The air in the room didn’t seem to shift like I’d expected. Instead, I heard Margot draw in a deep breath and then exhale. Hilary, who sat in her brown armchair across from us, turned her attention to Margot. 

“What does that bring up in you, Margot, hearing that?”

She mirrored the gesture I’d made ten times already--a shrug of her shoulders and another deep breath. “Bad, shitty. I didn’t mean to be so--difficult. I didn’t know what to do either. I was losing my mind and had no clue if anyone around me could handle that.” 

Her voice became more emotional as she wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “I thought if I told him that I was depressed and anxious and having a mental break down that he’d just leave.”

“I wouldn’t have done that,” I said--the words had been said a thousand times before, but this time she nodded and looked up at me. 

The last time I said those words to her she got upset. After a glass of wine at her house I’d brought him up--the kid at the facility who touched her skin and knew how she tasted. I hated the thought of it, but then the guilt washed over me when I remembered that I’d taken things a step farther in Jamaica. 

She defended her secrecy regarding the incident and told me that she was afraid it’d do this: make me upset and create more space between us when we were just learning how to build a bridge. I told her over and over that I needed the truth from her, no matter how tough it would be. 

If we were going to do this, we needed to be honest. This time, she seemed to understand that more.

“I thought I was going to bring you down with me,” she said quietly. “I got it in my head that the only way to save you was to break up with you and spare you from my tragedy. But I just--I didn’t know how to communicate all of that.”

Margot didn’t know what to say or how to tell me she was miserable. I didn’t know how to tell her that I saw through her lies and that she needed help. We’d spent hours in studios writing lyrics, yet both of us had lost the ability to use our words when we really needed them.

I didn’t have to say this, though, because Hilary said it for me. 

She adjusted in her chair and offered a sympathetic smile. “Sounds like you both didn’t know what to do. And that you both wanted to help the other but wires got crossed.”

THEN - Day 2

I walked onto set the next morning and didn’t know what to expect. A part of me felt like I needed to apologize for how obnoxious my family had been. 

Sorry that Pete makes dad jokes. Sorry that Maya is so excitable. 

Maybe I needed to apologize for even thinking they’d want to eat dinner with my family and be entertained by pick-up games of driveway basketball. They were in a band. They had all the girls they wanted. They probably would have preferred a club downtown and hot models. 

So when Harry showed up in my dressing room as I on the couch with the script in my lap, I offered him an apologetic glance. 

“Came to say thanks for last night,” he smiled a bit, an air of nervousness seemed to come from his figure in the doorway. 

I closed the book and squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment. “Sorry it was so lame--I hope you didn’t feel pressured, I know Maya was super excited--it was probably sort of be like hanging out with a fan.”

“It wasn’t lame,” his eyebrows dropped as if he were confused. “I really do love a good burger and I got to watch Niall act like an idiot.”

I laughed at that, wondering about the space between us. There were probably ten steps between where he stood and where I was on the couch. I heard voices from the hallway as production assistants passed. There was enough buzz by the coffee table when I’d arrived that I’d headed straight for the safe reprieve of my dressing room. 

“So when does the sightseeing begin?” He asked casually, taking three steps forward and standing directly in the center of the room. The makeup counter behind him was a mess. I had books on the coffee table and an array of sweatshirts sat atop a chair in the other corner. My laptop was on the cushion beside me, haunting me with the leftover homework from my on-set tutoring. It felt, for a second, like he was in my bedroom. My work bedroom. 

I had an idea of where he was going with it, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. “What do you mean?”

“Your hidden gems. You’ve talked them up quite a bit.”

I tried to hide the smile on my face--he seemed intrigued and interested but casual and confident. Dating at my age was hard enough. Add my job and life on top of it and it felt next to impossible. 

I would look at someone on the street and then there’d be an article about our raging romance. A previous break up in the spring had left me reeling, and I decided that I wasn’t about to date another person of notoriety. Something about Harry felt different. 

He seemed normal. Nice and human and suddenly thrust into the world that I was trying to stay afloat in. I felt like he would get it. 

NOW - Day 1908

Making an appearance in public with Harry wasn’t a new thing. There’d been plenty of red carpets and award shows where we’d walk arm in arm. 

There were more pictures of us on the internet than I could count--and whether they were actual shots of us at events, paparazzi grabs, or leaked selfies, it didn’t seem to matter. The world wanted more of us and so did we. 

Except for now. 

The car was being pumped full of cool air--the winter day in LA was hotter than either of us expected, and the heightened heartbeat in my chest didn’t help. 

“You’re actually shaking,” he laughed a little, his voice loud enough that Sinead lifted her eyes to check on me. 

“I’m fine,” I told him, my knee bouncing up and down beneath the red fabric of my dress. 

I was fine. I was nervous, of course, to be making our first appearance at an event together since 2015. Being seen going in and out of a coffee shop is way different than posing on a carpet and walking by old friends and new friends and seeing all of the people with cameras elbowing each other beyond the metal barricade. 

The Jingle Ball was being hosted at The Forum. I was only glad that it was a familiar location. 

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Sinead said quietly, her eyes still on her phone as the car slowed in line behind other black SUVs. We were in the drop off line--only a few cars in front of us until we’d climb out and smile, a motion that still seemed so robotic. 

But I was excited. I was just nervous, too. 

“S’gonna be fine, really. It’s not like people don’t know we’re together.”

“I know,” I said quietly, my eyes flickering out the window as I saw event managers pass by our car. “Just hope people don’t ask shitty questions or make things more awkward than they need to be.”

“So we divert and give them a vague answer,” Harry shrugged, his hand coming to rest on my thigh, his fingers gave me a quick squeeze before Sinead spoke. 

“Or you tell them to fuck off,” she laughed.

“That too,” Harry looked down at me, fighting a toothy grin. He ran a hand through his short hair and seemed to break eye contact for a second before looking down at me again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I told him. 

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

Sinead buried her head in her phone, pretending to give us privacy. 

“For doing all of this. For coming back even though it was hard. For going to counseling, for working things out.”

I didn’t have snarky or sarcastic reply. I didn’t have a negative thing to say or a worry in my brain that he didn’t mean it. 

“Thank you,” I said quietly, leaning into him when he pressed his lips to my forehead. Our car had slowed to a stop now, a woman with a headset stood by Harry’s door as Sinead climbed out. When the door was shut behind her, a moment of comfortable silence passed between us.

“Niall will be inside,” Harry nodded his head in the direction of the venue. “Probably has a snack waiting for you.”

“Didn’t we eat those ridiculously good corndogs here a few years ago?”

“Yeah--they’re out of this world,” he nodded seriously. The woman with the headset knocked three times on the door, giving us a signal that she’d soon open it. 

“Hey,” I said, pulling on his arm to make him look back at me for a second. “I’m happy we’re doing this.”

“This?” He motioned out to the crowd again, but then motioned a hand between us. “Or this?”

“Both.”

NOW - Day 1963

January was mild in Malibu and the sun rose like pink flower petals across the sky. Harry’s tour was on pause for a bit--a deserved break from the madness that had consumed our fall. We’d decided, right after Christmas (with the help of Hilary), that it would be the perfect time for him to bring his things to my house in boxes, a certain sign that we were on the right track. 

Sinead stood in the foyer with a clipboard like she had the day I moved in. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was dressed casually: leggings, a t-shirt, Nikes. “Where are you putting that one?” She asked some of the movers who left dirty footprints on the marble floor. 

I wasn’t completely involved. Harry was in the driveway as the first check point. He asked what each box was labeled as, then told whoever was carrying it which room to put it in. 

Sinead was serving as back-up, which I think gave her more anxiety than anyone else. 

So I was in the kitchen, sat at the counter on my laptop going over possible wardrobe designs for an upcoming endeavor: a fifteen-date tour. 

It wasn’t really my idea. I mean, it was, and it wasn’t. Nick was patient and kind and told me that I didn’t have to do one at all for this album if I didn’t want to. And at first, I didn’t know if I would. I needed time to see how people would react. I needed to see if they’d be as patient and kind as everyone close to me was. 

The fall was busy and the holidays came and went with home-cooked meals and mulled wine at Anne’s house. We took a trip with Gemma and her boyfriend and even let Ben and Sara tag along. Maya was super jealous but claimed she’d get us back one day by going on a trip of her own without all of us. 

I think it was good for us to spend some time away from Malibu and Los Angeles altogether. Even though I’d been relatively inactive, I was still accessible just by being here. Even when I was quiet, my name was making headlines for just that: No news is bad news from Margot Jones?

So being in the UK was a nice break and spending time with our families felt safe and secure.

“Okay, we have one problem,” Harry appeared in the kitchen, his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the doorway. 

I looked up, raising my eyebrows as a non-verbal cue to go on. 

“I brought three acoustic guitars--you’ve got four up there as well as that electric that Nathan got you one year.”

I laughed, closing the colorful designs on my laptop and shutting the computer altogether. I let my elbows rest on the counter. 

Those weren’t even all of our instruments. The baby grand that slept in the music room took up most of the space--scattered guitar stands were likely the least of our concerns. “I can keep some at the studio, s’fine.”

I walked over to him and let him drape his arms around me, my head fitting against his chest with ease. He smelled like cardboard and laundry detergent--a fitting Saturday around the house mix. 

“Or, one day, we just buy a house big enough to keep all of our shit.”

My lips twitched up at that. He’d been using more future-focused language--a term that made us giggle every time Hilary used it. “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”

My house wasn’t big enough for us forever. It was fine for now, especially seeing as the next few months it’d still be just me. Harry would be on the road and then I’d head off on my own tour, flying home for low-key weekends and take-out on the couch. 

It made more sense though, for us to label the same spot as home, seeing as he’d already been sleeping here more than anywhere else in LA. 

So he went back to unpacking and I went back to wardrobe questions via email. I headed to my mom’s that afternoon for a while when I got sick of all the people in my house. Harry and Sinead could handle it, and I think the fact that I was willing to let them handle it was a sign of growth. I listened to Maya talk about her upcoming Spring semester and I laughed at obnoxious pictures from our trip that Sara had finally uploaded to her computer. 

When I came home that night and keyed into my front door, I was greeted with music floating in from the kitchen. Beside that was the smell of something delicious--lemon chicken? Maybe even veal? I could hear Harry humming along to the song, and when I dropped my keys on the counter and rounded the corner, he wiggled his hips next to the stove as he used a spatula to move things around inside the pan that he watched closely. 

The house was quiet--the dust settled after a busy day with a lot of commotion. In the corner of the living room, his favorite guitar sat on a stand near the window and the two books he most recently read were on the coffee table between the two couches. 

I didn’t know it yet, but his toothbrush was beside mine in the master bath upstairs and a framed picture of his family was on the nightstand by the bed. Our bed. And something about all of that felt right. 

NOW - Day 2049

New York was beautiful in the spring, the green leaves a sign of triumph. The scene of our wintry break up had blossomed into a colorful portrait of ings. Trying. Talking. Hoping. Working. Doing.

Harry and I couldn’t promise each other the moon or the stars or the sky. We couldn’t avoid fights or disagreements like we couldn’t avoid the puddles on the sidewalks on a rainy day. 

But we could promise the ings. Talking. Trying. Making it work even when it felt like things were broken. After all, that had been the entirety of 2017. 

So 2018 felt different. He was on tour and I was on tour and both of us knew that our living room on the cliffs in Malibu was a sanctuary we’d always return to--no matter how dark the night seemed. 

But this weekend, one that we both had off, was the perfect time for a trip back to the city we’d ended things in. The sidewalks were still stained and sirens still blared. Cars clogged the intersections and the skyline stretched up to the sun. Nothing had changed in New York, but everything in us was different. 

He didn’t tell me where we were having dinner. Instead, he told me to meet him after I got off my flight, the wings of the small plane dipping as we circled the busy island below. An address flashed on my screen when my phone reconnected to service--somewhere in the Village. 

So I sat in the backseat of a car excited to see him. I watched the scenery change from the suburbs of the airport to the crowded streets, and when I got to the address he’d sent, I recognized it. 

A small boutique hotel I’d mentioned three months earlier. Owned by a family that we knew. The elevator in the lobby brought me and the security detail trailing behind up to a rooftop garden. 

“I’m fine,” I told man in a dark grey suit, allowing him to hang back when I noticed the rest of the roof was empty. Just Harry, peonies, and a bartender behind mahogany counter. A table near the edge of the roof, his back was turned to me as he looked out over the city. 

“Very chic,” I said, slowing my pace a bit when he turned around. His lips faltered for a second, a smile overtaking the hesitation when he let his eyes meet mine. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, his hand finding the small of my back when he closed the distance between us, meeting me in the middle of the empty rooftop. 

“S’quiet up here,” I said, looking around at all of the colors. The blue and pink sunset, the different reds and oranges of flowers. Green leaves and shades of grey below. “Just us?”

“Just us,” he nodded. 

A waiter brought us champagne--two flutes with bubbles clinging to the sides. There was dinner and conversation and he told me about the past week. He told me about the ways he missed me and when we finished dessert, I pointed north and asked if he saw it. 

“See what?”

I pointed a finger and closed one eye, the shine from the windows in the distance blurring into an orb of light now that the sun had sunk below the horizon. “That’s The Langham.”

He leaned his head over to rest on mine, I wondered if he was thinking about the interior of the room. The words I said, the way he looked so distant, the sound in my voice when I told him to leave. 

If he was thinking about that he didn’t say it. Instead: “We’ve come a long way.”

I nodded, thankful for the separation from the city below. Twenty-two floors stood between us and the rest of the world--like the rooftop was a private space where we were untouchable. At least I could pretend that we were momentarily. 

“Marg,” he said suddenly, pulling away from me slightly. He shoved a hand in his pocket and fished out a black velvet box. 

“I, uh,” he lifted the box and set it down twice, a thumping in my stomach had me hanging on his words. “I have this.”

I looked down at it, his left hand reached up to open it, a small light inside reflected off of the stone, my eyes flew up to his for an explanation. 

He sunk to one knee, the way you do when you tie a shoe or pick something up from the ground. He told me he loved me, his voice soft enough for only me to hear, and he asked me to do this forever, as messy or as hard as it might be. 

I muttered out some type of yes of course oh my god are you serious I had no idea I’m so excited I love you so much yes. 

He hugged me and brought his forehead to mine and we swayed like that in the dark--I wondered where the rest of the people were, inevitably watching but pretending they weren’t. Two more bubbly flutes, phone calls to important people, then more staring at the skyline that blinked and buzzed--but this time, in a hopeful way.

It wasn’t about the ring. It wasn’t about the people on sidewalks below who’d soon know. It wasn’t about the champagne or the rooftop or our tours or the hotel that was fifteen blocks away where I’d watched him walk away. 

In fact, it wasn’t about the past at all. 

It was about now. Forward motion like the changing tide in Malibu that rocked me to sleep when I was alone. Like the sunrise I’d watch on the deck while I wondered where he was. 

The best part of now was that I didn’t have to wonder: he was right beside me.

AN: this story took a year to write and will always be one of my favorites. sorry it took so long for this last chapter, but I’m glad to finally have it finished. Margot and Harry will always have a place in my heart :’) 

[awesome-cookies-and-cream]

To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes.

Shakespeare.

If there was anything the ethereal and occult have in common, it was the uniqueness of every entity’s eyes. That would make sense, they were all of the same stock after all, nearly the same design and all that. Demons were once angels, only fallen.

The eyes, despite both contain their supernatural essence, always reveal the true nature of a person. In this case, not person.

Hastur’s were dark inky dots that was just slightly disturbing to look at for too long, oily slick beads. Ligur’s eyes were bright like hellfire. They don’t feel good when they are glaring at you, which knowing Ligur’s personality, was often. Beelzebub had the eyes of a fly, which was unsettling when they directed their gaze at you. Like a million watchful eyes, tearing you apart piece by piece, always suspicious of all your actions. All of them were terrible.

You might say that’s because they’re demons, so they all ought to be terrible. Crowley would’ve agreed, after all his own eyes were that of a snake, and they’ve definitely caused discomfort throughout millennia to the humans of earth. But the thing was, the angels’ weren’t really any better, only that they were better at hiding it than the demons.

Gabriel had fucking purple eyes for Satan’s sake, which, in Crowley’s honest opinion, would’ve still been terrible if they weren’t purple. Those orbs look more twisted the more you stare at his blank and depth-less eyes. They look as if they’d swallow you whole. Michael’s own pair were crystal and quicksilver, always scheming and calculative, sharper than Gabriel’s vacuum. Though they might’ve donned a more corporate and modern attire nowadays, you can still see traces of the ancient warrior underneath that fought the Morningstar in the Holy War.

Uriel’s were amber and golden, but not at any way kind. It was hardest to read their eyes. You never really seem to know what they were thinking. It feels sinister. Sandalphon’s were grey like ash, crackling with lightning beneath the glassy surface. This one was ready to smite anyone who displeases them, paired with his annoying smirk, Crowley would definitely hate seeing those eyes.

One commonality these eyes had were that they were all cold and unforgiving.

Now the angel’s eyes may not be as revolting as those from hell, but they weren’t any form free from the distrustful and unnerving impressions they give like that of demons’. In short, from these enough, you’d be able to discern that neither of heaven or hell was, by any case to be trusted.

However, there is a loophole to that statement, as was most statements and rules (Crowley was good at finding and exploiting those loopholes, which was how he was good at his job.). There was a pair of eyes that Crowley actually enjoyed seeing occasionally. (Though who was he kidding? He wanted to see them more than occasionally.)

Unlike Crowley who hides his eyes behind dark glasses as a form of protection from privy noses, Aziraphale bares it for everyone to see. Even then, compared to Crowley’s eyes which were rather obvious when uncovered from the tinted glass, Aziraphale’s were nearly impossible to read had Crowley not study it for nearly 6000 years.

Interesting enough, his Angel’s eyes were neither cold, nor unforgiving. Curiously, Aziraphale’s eyes had always been peculiar, even in heaven and hell’s standards. Idiosyncratic, in a way that does not fit in the whole celestial spectrum. Crowley has never seen anything like it, and frankly he’d really prefer not to.

Aziraphale’s eyes did not have a particular color. They were iridescent, ever changing, ever different.

Most of the time they were crystal blue, at least until you stare at it longer. (Thankfully, no human ever manages to meet his eyes for too long. Must be part of the mortality thing. An angel’s stare ought to be unfathomable for a human, and so they always find themselves looking away.) Crowley, being of the same stock as Aziraphale, manages to stare just long enough to catch them change color from time to time at different angles of light.

Sometimes, they were greenish blue, like seaweed washed ashore by the waves. And when this happen, Crowley remembers the smell of the ocean, of the beach, of oysters shared by a Roman restaurant from a thousand years ago. Other times, they were blue with golden flecks dotted on them, like an ornate jewelry crafted with much masterful skills. And Crowley’s mind would then slip under the folds of a theater with different ladies and lords watching the famous plays of one William Shakespeare, an Angel smiling bright, an Arrangement comfortably established.

Aziraphale’s eyes could also turn bluish grey. And Crowley would recall stormy clouds from the horizon, rain threatening to fall, an upset downturn of an Angel’s lips, crowds gathering up by the ark. On dark, nearly black eyes Crowley immerses himself on a night of bombs and burning churches, of nearly burnt books and little demonic miracle. A sudden paradigm shift in the air. There’s dark eyes, shifting in different directions, only this time lit with blues and reds and purples. There’s You go to fast for me Crowley. And oh his heart would be in his mouth again, struggling to break free from his lips.

And of course, there’s hazel, where beginnings were started and endings were made. Always in a garden, though in a more different context, in a different setting, in a different possibility that balances precariously between certainty and ineffability.

These were only the physical qualities of his Angel’s eyes. He hasn’t even started talking about how they would crinkle when he smiled, how they sparkle in delight, how they’d dim out when downtrodden, how they twinkle with mischief. They’d start blazing when furious, not a Holier-than-thou smiting blaze, just a warm fire that was neither heavenly nor hellish in origin, but just as deadly when provoked.

Aziraphale's peculiarity did not only limit to that. Unlike all of heaven and hell, his eyes were always warm.

More than anything, Crowley supposed, Aziraphale’s eyes would be the first to greet his own in the morning, glasses perched on his nose as he’s been reading through the night, not really needing sleep but simply humoring Crowley’s request to lay next to him at night, and whatever color they might be in, Crowley couldn’t care less, because there’ll always be a “Good morning my dear, did you sleep well?” in the mornings, with a really bright smile on his Angel’s lips.

Crowley would groan, but secretly pleased with all this.  

After all, more than anything, he’ll have his Angel’s eyes forever with him.

-

an ode to Michael Sheen's eyes of which I have no means of understanding it's color.

read it in ao3

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Your Clothes Say Different (Ben Hardy x Reader) (One-Shot)

Summary: You and Ben have called it quits, but old habits die hard.  

Inspiration: Bedroom Floor by Liam Payne. 

Warnings: Language, smutty, 18+.

Link to all my writing HERE.

The knock at the door is so loud that the glass flies out of your fingertips, exploding across the floor, ruby wine flowing like blood over the hardwood. “Oh, great,” you sigh, stepping over the mess. You throw down a dish towel and haphazardly whip it around with your toes. You’ll have to clean up the rest later. You hurry to unlock the door.

You really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway. You were already tipsy when the Uber dropped you off at home thirty minutes ago. Ben’s text had come in at 4pm, and Joe had taken you clubbing at 9. He knew you needed something to take the edge off, something fun and numbing. Now it was almost midnight. The world had a warm, rushing, off-balance sort of feeling.

“Do you want me to be there?” Joe had asked. “I’ll be there if you want me to be.” He was always such a good friend to you. Probably better than you deserved.

“No, I can do it,” you had replied. But could you really? Ben’s text said this: Hey, I’m in town. Can I swing by and get my stuff tonight? It’d have to be pretty late. Now it was pretty late. Now it was time.

Your hand flicks the deadbolt and turns the knob. The door opens, harsh yellow light from the apartment corridor falling into the living room. And there, in the doorway, is Ben. His eyebrows are raised, the edges of his full lips curled upwards, just barely. He doesn’t think he should smile, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He staggers, just a bit, and then you realize that he’s been drinking too. He’s holding a cardboard box. There’s a lit cigarette between the index and middle fingers of his right hand. He’s wearing dark jeans, a cerulean tank top, a slick black jacket thrown messily overtop. And if the phrase goes you look like a million bucks then he looks like Bill fucking Gates. 

The last six months come rushing back, hitting you like radiation, sinking into your bones layer by layer. It starts with a fortuitous meeting at a club your friends dragged you to; it starts with days spent in tangled bedsheets and covert dates to museums and beaches and middle-of-nowhere diners. He always makes sure you know how much he cares. He always calls you babe. It starts thrilling and fateful, feeling like it will last forever. It ends with Ben landing more roles, endless promotional events, salacious articles in gossip magazines about how close he’s gotten with his famous, otherworldly-gorgeous costars, blurry pictures of him grinning under exotic dancers. It ends with you breaking down under the pressure, like ancient remains compressed into oil, screaming as Joe snatches away your phone and drags you into his arms.

It’s been a month since the phone call. Ben’s been in the Mediterranean filming. He’s tan and glowing and perfect, like a British Adonis. It’s infuriating, actually. You don’t want to feel it, but you do: bitterness, rage, jealousy. Who’s going to be the next woman to run their hands over his pecs and shoulders and the back of his neck, to feel him moving inside her? Who has he replaced you with already? You’re still on the pill, like you have been for years. It suddenly feels like such a waste.

“So, uh,” Ben begins. His voice is deep and husky, even more beautiful than you remember. It stuns you, knocks you off your figurative feet. He looks around the room. He looks everywhere except at you. “How have you been?”

You cross your arms over your chest like armor. “You’re here for your things. That’s all, right? Don’t feel like you have to make conversation.”

“I...” Ben looks at his feet. He feels guilty. But that doesn’t mean he wants you, and you need to remember that. You steel yourself, picture metal architecture for inspiration, the Brooklyn Bridge and the Empire State Building and the Eiffel Tower. No, scratch that last one. The Eiffel Tower is no good. He was the one who took you there.

You step aside and gesture towards the bedroom. “Off you go.”

He sweeps quickly through the apartment, filling his cardboard box with the things he’d left with you: his books, his clothes, his sunglasses, his favorite pillow, the custom lighter that his father gave him with We’re so proud of you, Ben! etched into the side. You realize with stabbing clarity that soon they’ll really be gone, these remnants of the time you shared, the only proof that you and Ben ever existed as a couple at all.

When he’s finished, he stands by the front door with the overflowing box at his feet. His hands are in the pockets of his jacket. He’s looking at you now. You feel overwhelmed with something more than just sorrow or nostalgia; you feel like you want him again. You’re trembling everywhere.

“I guess you should go now,” you tell him.

“Is that what you want?”

Hell yeah, I want you to go, you almost say. Get out. Don’t look back. I don’t want half of a life with you, or one-third or one-fourth, or whatever obscene fraction it works out to be when you’re the wife of an actor. I want to never see you again.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you say: “What do you want?”

He smiles. He was waiting for this. His eyes, jade-colored, burning, trace your body from your ankles to your lips. He whispers: “I want you, babe.”

That does it. Nothing about you is steel.

As you nod, struggling to catch your breath, he bolts for you. You crumble into his arms. Ben is kissing you deeply, urgently, his hands pulling your shirt over your head. Your lips are following his messily, frantically. You bit down on his tongue, like he likes you to. “Oh my god,” he moans.

He throws you down onto the couch. You tear off his jacket and tank top as he fumbles with his belt. You’re soaking wet, you know that already. You can see his erection through his jeans. He hikes up your skirt and slides your panties down your legs, where they catch around your ankles.

“You really want this, right?” Ben asks, breathless. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. I don’t want you to think I’m using you for anything. I’m not.”

“No, no,” you whisper, your lips against his neck. You bite him there, leaving violet shadows. “Fuck me, Ben. I want you to fuck me.”

He kisses you again, his lips smiling into yours. “I can handle that.” He yanks down his jeans and boxers, and suddenly his hips are locked with yours. He reaches down and thumbs your clit as he slides his cock inside you. “You like that, babe? Huh?”

“Yes,” you breathe, clutching him to you. You could never get close enough to him. You never want this to end.

Ben’s thick cock pumps in and out of you, slowly at first, then with arresting force. He cradles the back of your head with his left hand as you writhe against him. His right hand is working expertly against your clit. As he thrusts, he says: “God you feel so good, you feel amazing around my cock, I missed this so much.”

You’re shuddering, your mind is fantastically blank. Nothing lives there—no heartbreak, no fear, no guilt—nothing except ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” you whine. “Don’t stop, don’t stop...”

“I’m not stopping,” he pants into your ear. “Come for me, babe.”

You’re getting close. You turn your face into the couch cushions, gasping. Ben puts two fingers against your cheek and brings you back so you’re facing him. His eyes are piercing through you.

“Look at me, babe,” he says. “Look at me when you come. Come on, come for me.” He shakes his head, laughing. “You gotta come, I can’t wait, I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

His words register through the fog—haven’t been with anyone since you, since you, since you—and you plummet off the edge, the orgasm unraveling like a spilled secret. You scream as you come, grinding against him, your fingertips locked in his tousled blond hair. He thrusts once, twice more, and he finishes as well, collapsing onto your bare chest, sighing your name. You kiss his shoulders, his forehead. You glance over at your clothes, an interwoven mess on the living room floor.

I still love you, you think, helplessly. I fucking love you, Ben.

And you don’t need to say anything. Because he already knows. He knows.

And he feels it, too. 

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 1

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: There’s also Y/N’s best friend, who is a love interest for Roger Taylor; if there’s interest, I could write sections from her POV This will be an on-going fic. I’ll try to update weekly, if not more frequently. Message me with anything. Always willing to chat.

Warnings: swearing, drinking, self-esteem issues(?) fluff for days! Later, it will get steamy AF.

Abstract: Your best friend meets Roger Taylor at a club, and he invites her (and you) to a Queen party.

“You’ll never guess who I met!” Your best friend, Lydia, screeched. Running into your bedroom.

You sat at your piano. You had been under pressure to learn a rather difficult Liszt piece for your senior showcase. Your showcase, you knew, would be one of the most important days of your life; agents and scouts from symphonies, touring companies, theaters, clubs from all around Europe would be there seeking the next big star, the next virtuoso to join their ranks. You were humble, but very gifted in music. And you always had been. Music came as easily to you as dreaming did to others. Music was your life, and Lydia knew it was only a matter of time before you hit it big and became somebody.

You had been practicing like an obsessed shut-in for weeks. Lydia kept trying to pull you away from your “hermit cave,” as she had taken to calling it. She’d rush in and interrupt your work. You loved her and had been friends for years, but your lives were taking you in different directions and you hoped you’d both find a way to maintain your closeness even if you were separated by great distances. She’d erupt into your room, and you’d be absorbed in your music, the rhythms, the sounds; playing scores, you’d teleport to places you’d never been, times you’d never seen, you’d feel everything the musician had put into his or her works. You came alive, you became irresistible, incandescent. However, since you were so caught up in the moment when you played, this was never anything you knew, or experienced or saw for yourself. Your piano your solace away from the world.

“Hello!? Y/N, can you hear me?” Lydia waved a hand in front of your face.

“Sorry, yes. What did you say?” You sounded far away even to yourself. You saw a crease appear in Lydia's forehead, half-concern, half-irritation. You took a breath and painted a smile on your understatedly beautiful face. Taking your glasses off, you said, “I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied lately. I want to make it up to you.” You reached out and touched Lydia's shoulder to hammer the point home. The flowery, flowy shirt under your hands slipped out of your grasp as she took your hand in hers.

“I met someone tonight.” Lydia squeezed your hand to make sure you were really all there.

“Oh?” You had never seen Lydia like this before. Upon closer inspection, you noticed she was flushed, jittery, and unequivocally giddy. “What’s going on?”

“He’s a certain blond rock-god.”

“Get out of here!” You took your hand out of Lydia’s with a laugh, and turned back to your piano. Your friend had pulled this prank many times before. She was into Roger Taylor like most people were into skydiving; everything for her was an extreme sport, she never half-assed anything. It was one of the things you liked most about her; she was all passion and she had the confidence to be loud about it. You wished you had her effortless peacock-esque flare, her showy charm, and, god, she had the best hair of anyone you had ever met: wheat-colored, falling to her waist in easy beach waves. Your own hair was coarse, stubborn, thick and black like the music notes you scanned continuously.

“Y/N! I’m serious! I met Roger Taylor at a club tonight! Queen is back and he invited me to a party tomorrow night! You have to come with me! Please?”

You searched your friend’s face for a sign of duplicity, and to your surprise and delight, found none. “Okay...you’re telling me you ran into Roger Taylor at a club and he invited you to a party tomorrow night?”

“Yes!”

You knew you should stay home and practice this etude, but the allure of a celebrity party called you, and you knew you weren’t powerful enough to ignore the siren call of the most talented musicians rock ‘n roll had to offer.

“Roger. Taylor.” You smirked.

“Roger fucking Taylor.” Lydia grinned at you. You stared at each other, both starting to giggle at the absurdity of it all.

“I’ll go with you,” you smiled up at your friend, “though I have no idea how we are going to pick what to wear with only a day’s notice!”

“I know, right?!”

“What was he like? Roger?” You asked, making your way to the closet.

“Shameless flirt. Great style, though. He had this hat on, ugh I swear! the hat alone made me pregnant.” Lydia’s laugh gonged around the room.

“Was he alone?” You tried to sound as innocently nonchalant as possible, but Lydia knew you well enough to know what you were getting at; she never let you get away with anything. You saw the steely glint in her eyes and knew what was coming.

“Don’t you mean, ‘was a certain bassist there?’”

You instantly blushed a deep crimson, the same color as the t-shirt you were wearing. You hid your head in your hands and groaned loudly. Your head crashed onto the keys of the piano, and a clanging chord rang out sympathetically, as if your piano knew your embarrassment, too. You had a certain weak spot for John Deacon; Lydia always said the best friends had different tastes in potential partners. If you had different tastes, you’d never fight over who got someone, who saw whom first, who had a claim. In this respect, your friendship was sheer perfection.

“He wasn’t there, but Roger did say something like ‘If you come to this party, I’ll be able to show you off to the band--beauty like yours should be shared’ or something like that anyway.” She tried to sound casual.

“Roger Taylor said that to you?” You looked at Lydia, in a blouse and jeans, she was glistening. Not even a stitch of makeup on her face, and the most famous drummer in the world was smitten with her. What hope did you have of being noticed, you wondered? You frowned, looking down at the familiar keys.

Lydia read some of this in your face and sat next to you. “Y/N, you know you’re gorgeous. I know--before you start--I know you think I’m supposed to say that because I’m your friend. But you know I don’t just say things to please anyone. I’m just not made that way, I’m too honest. You’re beautiful. I know you don’t always believe it. I hope you do someday. Or at the very least, that you’d trust your best friend wouldn’t lie to you. We’ve known each other forever. You’re the most talented person I know; you never had to work hard at school, you’ve always been able to do whatever you put your mind to, you can play any instrument you pick up. You are so worth knowing and loving. That, and you’re the sneakiest person I know, with the most uncanny wit.”

“So, I have a great personality? I’m the great personality girl?” You asked, with a sarcastic smile.

“You know what I mean! I’m just a pretty face,” Lydia said, “and that’s all I’ll ever be; you have a pretty face and a brain; you’re lucky.”

This is why you kept Lydia around; she was selflessly loyal, and always knew what to say to trick you out of an emotional black hole. She didn’t think much of her mind, but only someone truly keen could weave together words into self-confidence. “Come on, let’s pick out options for tomorrow night.” You hugged her tight, and you knew she was satisfied.

***

You settled, with help, on an olive-green dress, the same color as your eyes. It wrapped around your body, highlighting your waist, and your hourglass curves. You didn’t yet understand the kind of power your body had over people; you felt out of proportion constantly, too short to have your sweet ass and flashy chest. You’d have to buy shirts that were too large, pants that were too baggy, too long because they just didn’t make close for shorter people that weren’t shaped like teenage boys. And a teenage boy, you weren’t! You had the body to prove it. You always looked a little under-tailored because of it, a little accidentally shabby. This dress, however, was a rare exception in your closet. It created a great V-neck to expose just a pleasant hint of your breasts, and did little to obscure the geography of your round ass. Your arms, you were secure with more than any other part of your body; from hours at the piano, holding your arms up, they were toned and tattooed. The sleeves of the wrap-dress covered the colorful art and words you had painstakingly chosen for yourself. You felt incognito when you hid the tattoos, like you always had a secret up your sleeve, an extra card to play, a slight mystique to add to the atmosphere most people never expected to come from a self-confessed nerd like you. You adjusted your large glasses, and reapplied your lip-gloss. Looking in the mirror you adjusted your bangs, squeezing clumps of your hair to make the natural ringlets sing. You had added to the outfit, at your instance, black spangled tights, and black heeled oxfords. Maybe a little dated, but they made you feel good, and that’s what mattered most. You checked your light makeup, glitter-blush and thin foundation was all you felt inclined to do. Lydia said she’d help you do more, but you refused; if you had to change who you were to impress someone, they weren’t worth it.

Lydia came around the corner and poked her head in the doorway, “You ready?” She was wearing a dark red dress that kissed her body to the floor. She was fully clothed but looked naked at the same time; she was a true diva and you had no idea how she did it. All silk and lush hues, she was ready to stop anyone and everyone dead in their tracks. Her hair was half up on her head in a way that looked planed and like a happy accident simultaneously. Her lips, full of daring, were lacquered cherry-red. She had a gold chain around her neck, dropping to her navel; she could have been a movie star.

You looked at yourself in the mirror again, your dress seemed demure by comparison now, and you were second-guessing everything. Was a high-low wrap dress the way to go to a Queen party? Was the color terrible? Was going at all a mistake? You twisted the large statement ring on your finger.

“Y/N?! You look stunning! Perfectly engineered to destroy any room you step into.”

You sighed, “Okay, you’re right; Let’s do this, or I never will.”

Lydia waved down a taxi. She told the driver the address Roger had given her, and off you went. The taxi sped along the night, and you wished the anticipation of arriving could last forever. The going to a party was almost as exciting as the arriving at the party itself. The feeling of possibility, of not knowing what was to come, and yet knowing anything could happen was intoxicating. You felt a shiver run up your spine. You were happy to be here with your best friend on the edge of limitless opportunities. Eventually, the taxi stopped and you paid the fee.

You and Lydia left the taxi and approached the door, and a man stood outside; he had the unmistakable air of security. He scrutinized you and Lydia. “Names?” He asked, lazily. You noticed he had list with him, and suddenly worried if you’d be allowed in or not.

“Lydia Taylor,” your friend said, not missing a beat.

The guard laughed to himself.

“Hey, wishful thinking pays off, mister.” Lydia flipped her hair, and you knew the guard was under her spell, too. “Lydia Wesmor, and I brought my friend with me. Y/N L/N,” she hooked elbows with you.

“Well, Lydia Taylor and Y/N, enjoy yourselves.” He gave you a slight smile and stepped aside.

As you and Lydia entered the vast townhouse, you saw glimpses of room after room decorated in splendor and--well, if classy ostentation exists, it somehow does in this space. High ceilings, rich window hangings, art adorned the walls, and sculptures, too many to count, and probably priceless in worth, decorated the rooms in view. Balloons and streamers cascaded floor to ceiling over a large, full bar, manned by a pleasant-looking man with a safe-looking disposition and mustache. One wall had a largest in-home aquarium you’d ever seen. One room, had large bookshelves with black and white photos on the walls. Every room you peaked snippets of had healthy plants, clearly lovingly cared for by the owner. And those were only the rooms you could see from the main one you entered into. More rooms were blocked by people, costumed and coiffed to perfection. You felt like you had stepped into a dream, and you never wanted it to end. For a brief moment you had to remind yourself this was real, and happening to you.

One room had a fantastic grand piano, and you felt your heart being pulled towards it, but you didn’t want to lose sight of Lydia, who was heading for the bar. So, you turned, and followed her, pushing past people lightly to keep pace.

“Lydia, have you ever seen a place like this? It’s like Valhalla!”

The man at the bar smiled.

“Can you speak English please, Y/N?” Lydia laughed with you; she wasn’t as well-read as you, but there was just no other way to describe this wonderful party unfolding before your eyes.

“It’s magical. Truly majestic.”

“Now, that I’ll agree to.” Lydia smiled at the man at the bar. “Could we have two appletinis and one Roger Taylor?” She added a wink.

“If I were straight, I wouldn’t even let him near you; I’d whisk you away myself.” The man said matter-of-factly.

“Ooh, you’re definitely a catch! I’m Lydia--the soon-to-be wife of Roger Taylor.”

“Does he know yet?” the man asked, mixing your drinks.

“No, but he will.”

“I’m Jim,” he grinned at Lydia, laughing at her tenacity, and then he looked at you. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Jim.”

“You’re right about the house.” He said, “We will have to give you the full tour later, as host--well, one of the hosts--it’s my duty to make sure someone as appreciative and scrumptious as you gets the full experience.” He passed you your drinks. Normally, this kind of attention made you nervous, but from Jim, it was so well-meaning, so genuine, you found yourself thinking whoever had partnered with him could only be the luckiest man on earth.

“That’d be great!” You liked Jim instantly; he was easy to talk to, kind-eyed, and, after a sip of your drink, knew he could make a killer cocktail.

“So, divide and conquer?” Lydia asked.

You felt comfortable with Jim, and knew if you wanted to pass the entire party here, chatting with him, you’d have an enjoyable time; you nodded at Lydia, “Yeah, you go on; I’ll be fine here, and I’m sure I’ll get braver with this,” you waved your cocktail in your hand like a conductor, “I’ll get brave enough to explore and mingle.”

“Okay; be safe.” Lydia pressed her hand to yours briefly, and slinked away, a woman on a mission.

You watched her go, and before you could turn back to Jim, across the room, you saw him. John Deacon.

You locked eyes with him, and just like that, you forgot how to breathe.

What you didn’t know, was that he forgot how to breathe, too.

[makochosena]

Writing Chicago

okay, so i saw this reference post a long time ago that was all about new york city to help people who write about it but don’t really know about it. and i haven’t seen one about chicago, my home city, so i thought i’d make one!!

you are allowed to like this, reblog this, etc. this is for everyone to use as a reference!! i might add more information if i missed something!! if you think something is wrong or should be changed, please let me know!! this is just some general knowledge you should have about chicago from a native that you can’t really get from wikipedia. i hope you find this useful!

Linguistics

No, we do not talk like Mike Ditka. At all.

Soda is called pop.

People say “you guys.” “Y’all” is used more in southern Illinois.

Chicagoland area = Chicago + the surrounding suburbs + Northwest Indiana

The Lake Effect: a term often used, especially on the weather report. This term describes the effects the lake, Lake Michigan, have on the weather. Basically, it keeps it cool during the summer and warmer during the winter. But it’s not like you notice it in the winter because temperatures easily remain under 20 degrees from November to April.

Chicagoans will always and forever call the Willis Tower the Sears Tower. If you hear somebody say that, they either work there or they’re not from around there. And if you say it to somebody from Chicago, you’re going to get a funny look.

“The Lake” = Lake Michigan. Referenced often.

While this may not come up in writing, we say caramel like “car-mel” not “car-a-mel.”

When people say “the city,” they mean Chicago. You often hear this in the suburbs.

CTA = Chicago Transit Authority. It is comprised of train lines and bus lines.

Transportation

Sometimes you might hear something called the “skyway.” It’s Interstate 90 and it connects Chicago to Indiana. What’s noticeable about it is that it’s this giant, tollway on a giant bridge over the Calumet River. And there’s a McDonald’s right smack dab in the middle of it.

O’Hare is one of the biggest airports in the country and pretty much the primary airport of Chicago. However, there is also Chicago Midway International Airport (just called Midway). O’Hare is in northwest Chicago and Midway is closer to the Loop and Chicago’s south side.

Chicago does not have a “subway system.” Like, trains that run underground. Instead, Chicago’s subway is above ground and goes above traffic. It’s called the “L” which is short for elevated. There are 8 lines, each one named by color (red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, brown, and pink). The Red Line is the longest one, going from north to south. And it is the only one that does actually go underground in downtown Chicago. Nobody uses the Yellow Line because it only goes from Northern Chicago to Skokie, one of the northwest suburbs of Chicago. People who use the Yellow Line are commuters between Chicago and Skokie. The only other Line that goes outside of Chicago is the Purple Line, which goes to Wilmett and Evanston, two suburbs literally right outside of Chicago.

The Loop is Chicago’s downtown. It’s called the loop because majority of the CTA lines have stations that circle around the downtown. So it’s called the loop because of it. People say “the Loop” when they’re talking about downtown or taking the CTA. Some lines of the CTA only circle the loop.

Metra vs. Amtrak. The Metra is a train that connects Chicago to the suburbs. The L is more like a subway that arrives at every station in ten-minute intervals. The Metra is more like a train with more scheduled times. The L takes you around Chicago. The Metra takes you out of it. The Amtrak takes you out of Chicago to the rest of the country. Some stops are in the suburbs. But if you’re taking the Amtrak to the suburbs, chances are, Chicago was not your starting point. You’d be coming from another city, such as Springfield, and stopping in Chicago before going out to the suburbs. The Metra is for commuters.There are two stations for the Metra and Amtrak, Union Station and Ogilvie Transportation Center (OTC), both located a block apart from each other, both in downtown. 

You don’t drive in the city. It’s a nightmare. Road rage is everywhere. Most people take the L, the bus, cabs, or Uber. People only drive in the city if they’re coming from outside or going outside of the city. 

Here is the CTA map just for shits and giggles. 

Weather

It’s so unpredictable. It will be 50 degrees in the morning and snow by 3 pm.

Also, 50 degrees is considered warm in Chicago. People are wearing shorts even at 40 degrees tbh. Also, it is always colder in Chicago than in the suburbs. And the suburbs are colder than central Illinois. You can tell the difference when you are traveling. 

Chicago is a very windy city. And there is a big difference in temperature with the wind chill. 

Schools will not close, even if there is a foot of snow on the ground and/or it is below zero degrees.

Likewise, it can be extremely hot in Chicago. Like, summers are usually well over 80 degrees. There just is no in-between. 

Natural disasters? Uncommon. There are occasional earthquakes that happen like once every other year and they’re usually so little that people just sleep right through them. Tornadoes are the most common, but even those are infrequent and only really occur in rural Illinois. 

Attractions

Some popular sites in Chicago, even for natives, are Navy Pier, Millennium Park, Shedd Aquarium, Adler Planetarium, Brookfield Zoo, Sears Tower, Museum of Science and Industry, Field Museum, The Art Institute, Lake Michigan, the Chicago River, and Wrigley Field.

Millennium Park is extremely popular. It’s located inside the loop and every year, there’s a special Christmas tree lighting. People ice skate there all the time in the winter and there’s the Bean. The Bean is officially called the “Cloud Gate” but everybody calls it “the Bean.” It’s this giant, stainless steel sculpture that’s like looking into a mirror. This is prime selfie spot here.

The Field Museum is home of Sue, the most complete T-Rex skeleton in the world. She’s pretty cool. People love swimming in Lake Michigan or going to the beaches, even if it is 50 degrees out. The Polar Plunge is popular. Wrigley Field is kind of a major attraction because of the Cubs but also because it is the second oldest baseball park in America. Except for the giant screens and a brand new bullpen, the field pretty much is the same as when it opened in 1912. You can go to the top of the Sears Tower, to the 110th floor, and go on the “Sky Deck.” There are glass boxes attached to the outside of the building where you can walk on and view the city. It’s the best view in the whole city. 

You can also get the world’s largest ice cream sundae at Margie’s Candies, or so they say. I’ve had it, it is absolutely enormous, and it tastes incredible.

Lollapalooza. This is the biggest event in Chicago every single year. It is this giant music festival. It is filled with young adults, drugs, cops, and booze. It’s the Coachella of Chicago. Tickets sell out within hours of going on sale. When I was in high school, people honestly skipped school so they can stay home and buy their Lolla tickets. People do not fuck around when it comes to this.

Population

Very Polish. You see it in the street names.

Very democratic. Illinois is a democratic state because of Chicago’s population. Rural Illinois is way more Republican.

The main ethnic groups of Chicago are Irish, German, Latinx (especially Mexican), Assyrian, Arab, Jewish, English, Black, Korean, Chinese, Filipino, Puerto Rican, Indian, Italian, Cuban, and Polish. The suburbs tend to have a higher population of white people with low populations of people of color.

Sports

It’s a major thing in Chicago. Home of the Bulls (basketball), Bears (football), Blackhawks (hockey), Cubs (baseball), and White Sox (baseball).

The Bulls and the Blackhawks are Chicago’s most successful teams and the most popular.

Everyone is a Bears fan and everyone hates the Bears. They have been extremely unsuccessful the past like 7 seasons. People care a lot about the Bears. Most Bears fans really hate the Green Bay Packers.

The north side of Chicago belongs to the Cubs. The south side belongs to the White Sox. The city is very divided on this one and fans of either team don’t really get along with fans from the other team. However, everyone can agree that the Cubs winning the World Series was amazing. The Cubs have an intense rivalry with the St. Louis Cardinals, and the fans hate the Cardinals like the Bears hate the Packers. 

Food

So you’ll mostly find your average food chains around Chicago. McDonald’s, Starbucks, etc. However, Chicago is also known for its Chicago-style hot dogs, Maxwell Street Polishes, and the deep dish pizza. Chicagoans will always tell you that their pizza is better than New York’s.

However, the most popular food chains are local ones: Portillo’s, Giordano’s, Oberweis, Steak ‘n Shake. Portillo’s is famous for their beef (hot dogs, Italian beef, burgers) and their chocolate cake shakes. Portillo’s is Chicago’s In-N-Out Burger. If you are looking for the most Chicago pizza ever, Giordano’s is the place to go. Oberweis sells ice cream, milkshakes, and milk. And Steak ‘n Shake is crazy popular because of their steakburgers, shakes, and for their ridiculously low prices.

Other Notes

Illinois south of Bloomington is like a whole different state. Northern Illinois is dominated by Chicago. Outside of the Chicagoland area, it’s more rural--save for smaller cities like Freeport, Rockford, Springfield, Bloomington, Peoria, Urbana-Champaign--and extremely different. People even talk differently in some places!

The Chicago River is dyed green every St. Patrick’s Day. Like, it is legit green. St. Patrick’s Day is one of the biggest celebrations in Chicago, even if you aren’t Irish. There’s the huge parade and people just like to see a bright green river. People get so lit for this. 

Ferris Bueller’s Day off was known as “John Hughes’ love letter to Chicago.” Regardless of your opinions on the plot, characters, actors, director, etc., this film really is all about Chicago and will give you great insight on what it’s like. 

Ever since, like 2014-2015ish, Chicago has banned plastic bags. So if you go to the grocery store, chances are, you’ll be charged to use plastic bags or you wil have to bring your own or you will use paper. Depends on the store, really. Here’s a useful wesbite on the ban that tells you what you need to know. 

If you have any questions, comments, concerns, feel free to ask me!! Happy writing!!! 

[smellycinnamonthundahfudge]

tumblr burned everything down. you know the greatest films of all time were never made. i lost the answer to this that i'd been writing for a couple hours now hahah. just have this playlist i made to prep for midnights heheh :') :) TOT </3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3wgrYus5iPTqF7v2VlrMIH?si=1510b5e4c702457d

happy time is near to midnights still tho!!!! TTTTTTTOOOTTTTT <33333

and gah fine technically my answer to this one is just that it's dealing with a theme of missing your loved one and being lonely that's been in folklore up to red tv

she mentions it in lpss, about mirrorball

"And this was one of those cases where I just saw, you know, lonely disco ball, twinkly lights, neon signs, people drinking beer by the bar, um, a couple of stragglers on the dance floor. Just sort of a sad, moonlit (moonstone blue, anyone?), lonely experience in the middle of a town that you've never been."

and in her evermore album intro

I also know this holiday season will be a lonely one for most of us and if there are any of you out there who turn to music to cope with missing loved ones the way I do, this is for you.

the songs she mentions it in are: timt, betty, willow, coney island, cblm, lss, evermore, that's when, miab, forever winter, the very first night (i fucking called this bs btw-ish hahhahah TOT)

the songs that literally mention a phone are the ones bolded ^

now i'm waiting by the phone like i'm sitting in an airport bar

and through the phone came all your tears

i call just checking up on him, he's up 3 am pacing

i'm the one on the phone as you whisper, "do you know how much i miss you?"

and the thing about that's when and tvfn is that they actually dealt with what tay said about snow on the beach. the whole, falling in love with someone at the same time as they're falling in love with you.

and i said, "when can i come back?" and you said, "that's when..." and you said, "honestly, when you were gone, did you ever think of me?" and i said, "that's when..."

no one knows how much i miss you i'm the one on the phone as you whisper, "do you know how much i miss you?"

they both thought of each other in all that time. they both missed each other.

and honestly, tay being the same as her lover is also alluded to in mirrorball (you are not like the regulars), the lakes (i don't belong and my beloved, neither do you), cowboy like me (takes one to know one), and renegade (you wouldn't be the first renegade to need somebody).

and honestly doesn't anti-hero and vigilante shit just seem to fit in so well with that?

and the thing with mirrorball is, did you ever wonder why midnights is released on october 21?

10/21 12:01

that's also i think why the whole upside down phone thing. (which huh iirc, isn't it -also- anti-hero and vigilante shit???)

and speaking of mirrorball and cowboy like me & that's when,

we all know atw is tay's magnum opus. probs her best song and favorite and most famous, etc, point is atw is SO important, right?

if something references it, it must be DEEPLY SIGNIFICANT TO TAYLOR, wouldn't it?

the midnights spotify canvases that play a midnight lyric in her past songs, one of them is ofc "cause there we are again in the middle of the night"

guess which songs have that atw midnight lyric?

cowboy like me and that's when.

and god yes finally, lastly. why lanterns?

i think it's cause of the fire imagery (peace, willow, ivy, long story short)

and how taylor is both a mirrorball, hanging up on a fishbowl glass cage pedestal. and have you noticed how in the midnights photoshoot and taylor's videos, they all happen in such tight enclosed indoor spaces with no windows, curtains closed dark walls? i think that's what tay does with her beloved, to keep their love secret and protect it. she hides it, inside a glass cage. both a mirrorball and glass caged secret.

want to find out what the implications of the red phone are?

yes please

[sun-avenue]

shot.tales.//0.1.

                                                  2019. NAZ. 

“Seven years after everything that happened between us, the only thing I still expected from you was closure. Not an apology, not even a drunk text message at 2AM saying how much I was missed; just an ending. Unfortunately, for both of us, there wasn’t even a proper beginning to start with – so I think asking for a proper ending would be asking for too much. Didn’t make me want it any less, though.

 If stares could kill, you would be dead by now. I glued my eyes on the back of your head, completely unaware of the real world around me. Your dark locks were up in meticulously arranged in a bun, tied up together with a fancy hair clip, allowing your bare shoulders to make a rare appearance in a dress that fitted you too well. Strong shoulders, the ones that you used to hate as a consequence of years of swimming. Shoulders I used to love to cry on. Do you still not like them? Would I still feel safe with my head against them? I haven’t wondered about all that for awhile now, but seeing you in front of me, so close, yet so far, brought it all back - like a cold wave on a late-night walk on the beach.

 People around us were still making small talk. Cheers were beginning to sound way too loud for a classy event like that. But I wasn’t hearing a thing. After all this time, that girl three tables away still had the power to invade my memories and make me remember everything I had been trying to forget. It also made me regret all my decisions in the past years. That was the type of vulnerability I didn’t want to deal with – not here, not right now. It wasn’t enough to make me look away. God, it wasn’t even enough to make me feel sorry about myself and just get out of there before you could actually see me. I wondered what would take for me to actually give up and just forget.

You still look the same. Of course I would notice that, even though the back of your head was all that I could see from that far. I knew that head - and all the rest of the body that sustained it - all too well. Honestly, I think I will never be able to forget one single detail, doesn’t matter how much I try. I also notice the way your bright yellow dress hugs your curves just right, like a modern live-action version of Belle before dancing with the Beast. I wished I could tell you that the shining color of your dress matches your personality. I still can’t see your face, but I bet all my money that your big  brown-greenish eyes are sparkling with glitter, and your full, drawn-by-hand lips are painted in a pastel shade of pink. Maybe you were too predictable. But maybe I just knew everything about you that was possible to be known.”

 People started to clap again and I was forced back to the real world - a world that didn’t look real at all. Two seconds ago it was just me and her all over again, but now old men were dressed in Armani suits and rich ladies walking around with giant diamonds around their necks like it wasn’t no big deal. The few I had on my own wrist sparkling brighter than the limelight on the stage in front of me made sure to let me know that maybe it really wasn’t. 

I looked up for the firme time in what felt like forever. 

“Are you even trying to be lowkey?” the blonde woman right beside me asked.

I happened to call the said blonde as best friend, but her name was Bela. Also known was my personal assistant, which was a win-win situation for me & me again, cause I had the chance to pay my best friend to approve my whole life before I even had the chance and that was fine for both of us. Tabloids loved to make us look like a good-looking young couple - couple as in lovers and completely not platonic -, which got worse with the open letter I put out there for the whole world to read about my sexuality. It wasn’t anyone’s business, but God, if felt good to scream it to everyone. Disclaimer: no, we weren’t together and never have been. As Bela makes sure to mention every once in awhile, “you’re cute and everything, but we’re not even each others’ type”.  Nevertheless, Bela was a leo (and also an astrology slut, her words, not mine), meaning she absolutely loved the spotlight and paparazzis screaming her name in red carpets. Bonus points if they were able to capture her good angle, which was the left side of her roundish pretty face. 

“I am not. But thanks for asking.” I replied in a low voice, careful not to bring attention to us. We were, after all, seated in a table filled with a lot of famous, important people. And I trusted none of them.

“Aw, babe.” Bela linked our hands and gave me a sweet smile. She was way more comfortable with displays of affection than I was, but I kept my fingers enlaced in hers either way. After years spinning around in our own little dance, we knew how to work around each other. As the blonde liked to say, “we knew how to tango”. “It’s a charity dinner. Stop pining over your ex-girlfriend and start suffering for poor, starving children. You know, just for a change.”

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. Yes, I was definitely pinning. No, I was not about to confess that. “I do feel for the starving children, that’s why I’ve donated a good amount of money and helped organizing the event. And she’s not my ex-girlfriend.”

“Well, she’s your ex-something.” Bela said, putting my red bangs behind my left ear. It wasn’t even part of the job - she just liked taking care of me like I was a doll. It felt a little patronizing sometimes but it was nice being taken care of by someone, so I just probably give her a raise instead.

I did not give her an answer; both of us knew she was right.

Only five seconds had passed when she tried again.

“Ok, now I’m serious. Are you alright? It’s been awhile. Since the last time, I mean.” I looked into her eyes, face-to-face with the friend that had my back so many times, and I could tell the loving but worrying look in her eyes was pretty genuine. Bela was a loud, ego-maniac, crazy latina woman – but her number one priority in this life was to make those she loved happy. Luckily, I was one of a few.

I breathed in deep enough to smell the chicken salad in my plate right in front of me.

“It’s fine. I mean, Hollywood is a small place. We just happened to choose the same event just this once. It’s a mistake that only happens once in a lifetime. She’s probably here because she didn’t know I was coming. It’s fine.” I rambled, as if the faster I talked higher the possibility of believing my own words. “She’s only here to help starving kids.”

Bela, as usual, was having none of it.

“Yeah. Maybe she is.” With one last meaningful stare, Bela backed off and grabbed her glass of champagne, having a sip. It was irritating how I just knew she was trying to replicate one of those obnoxious memes that she’d learned while stalking fan accounts on Twitter (“it’s a whole world, Naz, you should check it out!”). It was annoying because she had a fair point - and I knew that without having to ask. Not only I was the one who helped organizing the event, I was also its ambassador. Everyone knew I would be here. Every single guest in the room deliberately chose to be here with her.

I was just about to return to my meal with a awesome plan of ignoring a almost anxiety attack with food when I noticed someone three tables away was staring at me, too. 

For the fraction of a second that our eyes met, I was sure I was having a heart attack. Thank fuck I was an actress. A very-good-in-hiding-her-feelings one. So just like all those times before, I pretended to see nothing, notice nothing and feel nothing. Suddenly the salad chicken in my plate looked delicious.

                                                 2012. PIPA.

“No, wait – sorry. No. Stop.”

The pianist abruptly paused mid-song, leaving the chords to fade on their own. Two girls from the backing vocal group shared a meaningful, annoyed look; but just like the last three interruptions before this one, they chose to say nothing. 

I sighed. That morning was already longer than I expected it to be. My eyes burned, my back was sore from countless hours sitting in that ridiculous chair and, as the fat cherry on top of the cake, my head buzzed in pain just like a grenade about to explode. 

David looked at me, his green eyes darker in frustration. He said nothing, but I could hear him screaming “what now?” telepathically to me. I had lots of experience working with egocentric directors: they demanded 32 hours of your day out of the 24 God gave you, they yelled at your face in front of the actors and, as I recalled so well, they would even compare your work to the pizza from the day before now rotting in the trash can. David was a difficult human being to understand - always annoyed, always expecting perfection from things that simply were not supposed to be perfect -, but he wasn't like that at all. He wasn’t one of them. However, right at that moment, when I deliberately interrupted the performance one more time, David looked at me like he was dying to throw me and my stuff in the dumpster outside across the street. 

“It wasn’t right. I’m sorry, it just wasn’t.” I finally said. I could feel a defeated aura  expressed all over my body. 

David looked at me for a second but said nothing. With a wave of his hand, the stage manager understood that it was best for everyone to just take five. Mike, the bald guy responsible to keep everyone in sight (or, at this case, out of sight), worked fast to disappear with the backing vocal singers and the musicians. They all probably went outside to gossip about my instability, just like they had done since 8AM this morning. I pretended not to care. 

David was left alone with me for the first time since we arrived. “What is going on? Will you please let me finish my very much needed rehearsal before I turn 80?”

I crossed my arms against my body. 

“Oh, please. It’s hardly a rehearsal. We don’t even have proper actores yet.”

“We would have them by now if you did your damn job!”

Something about the way he raised his voice made my headache worse in mere seconds, but I could not be bothered to care. I was used to working for people who loved to yell at me for no reason.

I gave him a burning look in return, which he didn’t seem to care. My voice remained low as I finally confessed: “The song is terrible.”

He raised his eyebrows, confusion all over his face. “It’s your song.”

I rolled my eyes, suddenly remembering how uncomfortable that chair was. Rising up, I turned my back to him. It was humiliating telling your own boss that your job was absolutely crap.

“I know it’s my song. That’s how I know it’s shit.”

David sighed. Not in annoyance - it was something else. I turned to look at him. He seemed… worried. Understanding, even. 

“Pipa. I wouldn’t have contacted you for this job if I didn’t think you were capable of delivering what I want. Trust me, I am very picky. However, I picked you.” He paused for a moment to get closer. “The song is fine. Sure, it can be better, but you have time to get it right. So. Swallow this shitty imposter syndrome and let’s do this, together.” He focused in the last words while grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me ever so slightly. 

His words calmed me down a little, but I remained skeptical. 

“Well, if it’s not the song it’s definitely the singers. Nevertheless, it isn’t working the way it is right now. We need the real deal.” 

He let me go but stayed close to me.

“Casting takes time - you know how producers work. It’s Broadway, for Christ's sakes. They are still deliberating if they want a nobody or a Hollywood star. Why don’t you just get out of your head and trust me to choose someone… espectacular... to sing your lyrics? Huh?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He pouted. There was something funny about seeing a grown man pouting at you. Especially if he held a facade to everyone, pretending to be the biggest jerk of a boss ever, with no feelings whatsoever. It was interesting, to say the least, to realized he wasn’t like that at all. At least not with me. 

I laughed for the first time that morning, pushing my glasses up to my hair. 

“Alright.” As the crew entered the room again, ready to try the song just one more time, hoping and praying I would be satisfied this time, I came close to David’s ear to confide at him: “But if Vicky fuck up that note again I’m gonna kill her and then myself and then come back for you.”

David kept his eyes at me while going to the director’s chair to be seated again. He smiled silently when the pianist played the first note one more time and Vicky opened her mouth to sing the words I wrote.