#I love the “rediscovered notebook” style of writing

[redheadedgirl]

Someone on my dash mentioned the game Myst and it struck me that many people who didn’t (or did) grow up with this game series don’t know that there are BOOKS!

[soppingwetlegs]

Nothing

Pro!Bakugo (23) x Fem!Reader (23 plus sized, I can’t help it)

I recently rediscovered nothing by Bruno major and my brain went buurrrrrr so I had to write this fluffy bullshit I’m sorry I’m sorry.

warnings: slight body dysmorphia??? this is really just pure fluff and it’s honestly kinda trash but if I didn’t write it I was going to lose my natural alignment.

“Come on, babe we’re gonna be late!” Katsuki calls up the stairs of our shared home. It was just one of those days…one of those god awful days where I just feel…bad. None of my clothes are fitting how I want them to, no matter how I style my hair my face still looks too round in my opinion, just..everything was wrong; of course this had to happen on date night. I come downstairs still in my pajamas, Katsuki was already dressed, wearing a white button down with the sleeves half rolled, black dress pants and dress shoes, along with a look of pure confusion and slight anger. “You look so handsome, kats” I say sadly, trying to ignore his confused gaze. “Is there a reason you’re not dressed? I already pushed the reservation back twice…we’re gonna lose our table.” He says running a stressed hand through his mess of blond hair.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer, the tears fall before I can even process the fact that I’m crying. “I-I’m sorry, Katsuki…I j-just..” he rushes to my side, knowing what’s going on without the need for an explanation. “I see, you don’t need to explain anything to me, baby. I can tell what’s wrong…we’ll have a lazy night in then, huh? Sound good to you?” I nod happily, wiping my face clean of the tear trails. I take my place on the couch while Katsuki goes upstairs to change into comfortable clothes himself.

I make us some popcorn and gather as many snacks as I can find, chocolate, chips, the whole shebang, once I get back into the living room I see him man spreading on the couch, wearing grey sweats and a black tank top. “God damn…you’re so sexy, Kats” he lets out a low chuckle as his crimson eyes rake over my body. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, doll. We’re supposed to be being lazy and like…boring tonight, right?” I laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, a pink blush dusting my cheeks. “Sorry, sorry…I’ll behave.” I promise before happily sitting next to him on the couch, sprawling all the snacks on the table before pulling the blanket over us. He grabs the switch controllers and hands me one with a smirk. “Mario Kart?”

I take the controller from him and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as he starts the game up. He chooses bowser which is oh so fitting and I pick daisy of course, to which he snickers and mumbles something along the lines of “fuckin’ princess..” I roll my eyes but ultimately ignore him, as the first race begins. I anxiously chew on my bottom lip as I try my best, I can’t help but notice that he’s doing really badly and I let out a small laugh. “Babe are you even trying?” I look over to see him staring at me, his gaze is so soft and loving, yet intense. I feel my face heat up as I shrink away from his crimson stare. “Hellllooooo earth to Katsuki..” he just smiles and sets the controller down. “There aren’t many people I’d honestly say I don’t mind losing to…you just look so damn cute when you get all excited about winning.” I smile softly and shove his shoulder. “Cheese ball…when did you get so sappy?” He sucks his teeth and shrugs, leaning back against the couch. “Dunno, you bring out the bitch in me, babe.” I roll my eyes and get up from the couch, turning off the switch and putting Netflix on.

“Wanna watch a movie?” I say grabbing the remote and sitting back down next to him. “Yeah, I’m okay with that.” I scroll through the movies and smile at his annoyed groan when I pick “the notebook”. “Come onnn we’ve watched this stupid shit like 16 times!” I smirk and press play anyways. “Well, now it’s time to watch it for the 17th time!” I cuddle into his side and rest my head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as he draws gentle shapes with his fingers on my thigh. Nearing the iconic bittersweet ending of the movie I hear soft sniffles coming from Katsuki and I look up. “pussy.” He immediately wipes his face and shoots me a glare. “Shut up! It’s so goddamn sad!” I laugh loudly and poke his pouty bottom lip. “I’m jokin’ im jokin’. it’s cute how soft you get over this movie.” He lifts my chin and stares into my eyes, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. We’ve been together for 2 years and this man still manages to make me feel weak in the knees as if we just met.

The corners of his mouth turn up into the smallest smile before he leans in, capturing my lips in the sweetest kiss I’ve ever experienced from him. He’s never been a bad kisser by any means but this kiss feels different. It’s so soft, and gentle, it’s as if he’s afraid he’ll break me if he kisses me any harder. I feel his hands sneak down my sides and he pulls me into his lap causing me to gasp, he of course uses that opening to explore my mouth with his tongue. I run my fingers through his hair and tug slightly to deepen the kiss, feeling my body heat up. Before things can go any further he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against mine. “I know we’re not making out on a boat in the rain or uh, in a house I painted blue…” I smile softly, waiting for him to continue. “but?” He laughs at my impatience. “but there’s nothin’ like doin’ nothin’ with you.” I’m smiling like a damn fool at this point. I don’t know if he meant to rhyme but I don’t care. My heart is so full of love for this man that nothing else matters. “there’s nothing like doing nothing with you..”

this is actual garbage and I hate everything about it but I had to create it. I simply had to. nobody talk to me for several years. bye.

[moonshine-nightlight]

i don’t know if you’ve answered this before, but I absolutely love your writing style! how did you get into writing?

thank you!!

short version is i got really into reading cool books when i was a kid and then i wanted to read other cool books but they didn't exist so i started just imagining those books and eventually i started writing them down.

longer version below the cut, if ur interested

it's been awhile but pretty sure i got into writing because i got really into reading lol. 4th grade (10 yrs old) is when i started just consuming as many books as i could get (i think something put me off when i was even younger but then i rediscovered books i liked and nothing could stop me) and i always loved imagining cool books or stories in my head (wouldn't it be so cool if i could find a book about x or with a character like y or had z in it? etc).

8th grade (13 yrs old) i think is when i started writing my own stories in spiral ring notebooks, both original stories (something about finding a magical path in the forest that led to colorful dragons i think?) and fanfiction (both my own and with a group of friends--we'd pass around the notebook and each write different parts of the fic).

while i've always had files and scrawled notes of original stuff, aside from some "poetry" i submitted to my high school literary magazine, i mostly posted/finished fanfic because it was shorter, i could get less distracted by worldbuilding, and those got views/comments which was more motivational.

i had a brief writing drought after i graduated college and my Real Job started and i was just very very busy, but i finally started posting again, but still just fanfic. i had started developing more original ideas and trying to actually write and finish some of them during this time, but did not truly consider posting any of it nor was i really making a lot of progress anyway.

then through tumblr, i stumbled upon some of the monster romance original works (@snowkissedmonsters i think was the specific writer i can remember jump starting that) and it kinda kickstart-ed the part of my brain that comes up with story ideas. and with some time, encouragement, and being possessed by the idea for "Nothing's Wrong with Dale", i started posting original works and haven't really stopped since.

i've always been interested in fantasy, sci-fi, speculative fiction etc, but more of my older ideas were YA because i was a YA (my protagonists tend to age as i did lol) and less romance focused, although many had sort of, side character love interests. i had always struggled with writing shorter stories and so i was interested in trying to really write short things both as a challenge to myself but also so i could actually frickin' finish stories that weren't fanfic. that's worked pretty well, even if i'm still not able to write one-shot original stories like some others out there.

i think i've imporoved a lot over the years and am really grateful for all the practice writing via fanfic i was able to do and am continuing to do, jsut on my other tumblrs/AO3 accounts (because i dont think there's a lot of audience overlap with this writing)

that's probably a longer answer than u wanted, but i hope it wasn't to rambling!

thanks again for asking and the compliment on my writing :)

[mellancholy-morose]

For the writer truth or dare ask game!

🍓🛼🪐

:)

🍓how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

man how did I get into fanfiction originally? I used to write it when I was a teen and idr how I got into it, I think Naruto was probably the first fandom I read fanfic of, as it was huge at the time. I know the first stuff I actually posted was Joker fanfic but we don't talk about those days.

I can tell you more concretely how I got back into writing fanfic. I was brainstorming with a friend about an original story, trying to figure out a characters fighting style. After I was telling him what I was thinking, my buddy suggested looking at Soul Eater for reference. I rediscovered my teenage obsession laying dormant, started feeling like writing again and two of my friends were like 'Do it!' so I did, then found resbang after just starting to poke at my fic, and decided to participate and now we're here.

🛼 describe your latest wip with five emojis

I'll do two cause I've been writing a oneshot on the side of a longfic cause it's easier to feel like I'm progressing with a oneshot.

Longfic:

💅💃🔩😳😏

Oneshot:

🏠🏳️‍🌈👪📓💖

🪐name three good things going on in your life right now

This is the hardest question for me, I'm bad at this but my doggo Dip, he's a precious lovable boi and he decided to come cuddle with me this morning.

I'm slowly but surely coming outta burnout and it's getting easier to do the things I enjoy doing that became exhausting.

And... uh, oh I got into gouache awhile ago, but the first thing I used it on was a cover of a note book, that was kinda cardboardy, and I loved how it behaved. When I tried to go use it on the watercolor paper I had It didn't feel the same, but I finally found what kind of paper to use, and it feels like it did on that notebook cover (or at least very close) so I'm excited to finally use it more.

Thanks for the ask <3

[reidak-artcreature]

2023 recap!

Can't belive the year is over! Time to look back cause I sure don't remember half the stuff I've done

January

Birb got 10 notes and I couldn't believe how much people loved him.

I tried a crochet kit and was defeated. In my defense I have to say it was right after an exam and it was really cold.

I got a watercolor set and rediscovered my love for watercolor

February

Discovered Funguary, and made 4 charactes. It's a really fun challenge that I'm surely going to participate again.

I made quite a few watercolor pieces, I still like them all a lot

March

Don't know how, but I finished the 100 head challenge. There are some awful monstruosities, but I learned a lot. I'll probably do it again in the future, it's a pretty nice exercise.

I finally made a sona! And this one has stuck! I love my lil shadow creature.

April

Made what is probably the watercolor piece I love the most. And one the pieces I like the most overall.

I got FlipaClip and had a lot fun making some little animations. Someone even used one of the lil gifs! That made me pretty happy

I personalized a little notebook to carry around, and it was the best desition of my life. I love that thing. And it's amazing that I don't have to search for the pen, it's all together!

May

The coin pouch is also one of the best things I've made. The strings are a bit long and the embroidery is a bit loose, I'll fix those on the next one I make (looking at you, squid pouch)

The anual redraw of Coral and Sebastian couldn't be missing. The poor Sebastian finally got his (I hope) final design. I was in love with how it looks, but looking it now... What hapened to their faces?

Decided to redraw some old drawings I had on Ibis. The progress I've made since I drew the originals.

Mermay, of course! Somehow they turned into oficial ocs. I love the stupid trio.

June

Aaaaaaahhhhh!!!! It's almost July and I haven't updated my ArtFight references! "Chibi" versions it is. At least now a lot of them have colored full body references.

Painted a box! It's now buried under too many trinkets I have to clean up, but I still love how pretty it looks!

Started a new sketchbook and painted the cover. I love the mushroom lantern.

Made this year's Artfight gif, banner and artfighters. The silly gif brings me a smile every time I see it.

July

ArtFight! 42 attacks and 21 defenses. I have no idea how I managed to make so many. I did get burned out on the second half of the month tho. I absolutely love every single art I received, but this one with Coral and Sebastian has a special place.

What do you do when you are burned out? You make a new style, of course! I love the simple style that came out of that. Feels weird to see that is fairly recent, I feel like I've been using it for ages. It has evolved a bit since, those thin lines in the eyes look weird now.

August

Nuclear Waste was born. And people went crazy. The silly boy loves and appreciates all the affection you've showered him!

Smaugust is a thing? Dragons! I still need so much prectice with them and animals in general.

I made a comic! I love it, it's so silly. I had a great time with it.

September

Pirate shirt! It fits a bit weird, but I think I can fix it. It took soooo long to hand sew it

I got a drawing tablet! Took me a couple of weeks to get used to, but it was worth it. I love using it.

To practice I made every single prompt of CuteGirltober. The only reason I was able to finish is that most of them were left as sketches. Should have learned from ArtFight, I can't draw every day, that's too much.

November

I made a font! It works really well, and it's so fun to type something and see it look like you handwrote it.

Got to write a bit too. I need to do that more.

I also worked on some proyects I've been wanting to do but haven't touched in a long while.

Including bookbinding a little notebook! I filled it with headshots of my ocs.

December

ArticFight prompts and a secret santa were mostly the reasons I drew. I love this one with Alex and Layla.

I also made some free adoptables. There might be some left when this is posted.

And we are done with the year!

That was so much! Thank you everyone, hope you had a good year and an even better 2024!

[syneilesis]

So I've been organizing some stuff in preparation of my moving residence, and I've been known in my family to hoard notebooks and keep them, even if they're already filled out and used. Now I'd rediscovered my notebooks circa 2010-2011, and went through them. And hoo boy, I didn't realize how snappy my prose was back then? I wrote pretentious poetry lmao. I wrote from the perspective of a teenage boy in love. I wrote conceptually adventurous stuff. My style was youthful, lively. Where the hell did that go? (Killed by grad school lol 😂)

Anyway, I reread some stuff there that I might rework now. I particularly liked the vampire AU I wrote for my OCs haha. Maybe I could tweak it into a fic.

There's also that thing I kept doing before – drabbles and 1-sentence prompts. Maybe I could use that right now as a way to overcome my writer's block. Small, low-stakes tasks can always trick my brain into accomplishing them, so maybe it might work with writing. This way I can do my wip list? ¯\_(ヅ)_/¯

[linssikeittomies]

Memoir Of A Moment

AO3

I guess the good thing about being an idiot and DELETING ALL YOUR FILES is that you're forced to go through your handwritten notebooks and rediscovering stuff you never fleshed out on the computer. I love Mononoke, the art style is wonderful and the stories tickle me just right. I would've loved to write a casefic, but I just couldn't come up with a good mononoke, and also I'm terrible at writing action and mystique, so I never finished it - and now I think that even incomplete, it could work as a Missed Opportunity type of story. Just imagine the adventure Kayo could've had if she stayed!

--

Figured it would be raining on the one day she was able to check out Harajuku. She had been planning this trip for almost a year, and took it  well before rainy season for this exact reason! Now there were only a lousy few people on the streets, and barely any of them worth photographing! And with such shitty lighting the photos would’ve turned out terrible anyways. Why had she even bothered leaving home? She’d seen the forecast...

Well, at least the trip wasn’t a complete failure. Despite the bad weather, some scattered groups and inidividuals were still around, and let Kayo take pictures. The gothic lolitas had been largely unbothered by the rain under their black, lacy umbrellas and safe from the puddles with their high platform shoes. The small group of ganguros had tried not to look bothered, not very successfully though... With their shorts and miniskirts you could see the goosebumps from the cold right away. Kayo had even seen a few angura kei girls, smartly dressed in kimonos to shield them from the chill. The cafes also let her take photos inside, as long as she also bought something - she was starting to feel ill from all the tea she'd been forced to consume and the excorbitant prices those places charged for absolutely everything.

Who knew when she’d be able to make a more successful trip? With her financial situation, it had been hard enough to scrounge up the funds and free time even for this one-day trip. In the morning, it would be back to work, back to scrolling through fashion blogs and online stores. Never contributing to those blogs or buying anything from those stores.

-o-

As midnight approached, Kayo finally decided it wasn’t worth the effort to keep looking for more subjects - she only had a few hours before her early morning train back home, and she needed the sleep more than she wanted the photos. Sighing, she put away her camera - her most prized possession, a genuine professional-grade DSLR, bought used from a relative who ran a photography studio - and headed for the capsule hotel. Leaving behind the chic, neon-lit fashion highway felt like such an appropriate metaphor for Kayo’s life - ever the visitor in such splendid places, never allowed to stay for longer than a few hours. The dim side streets were much more her place, getting dingier and smellier the further she walked. Only some hundreds of meters from the hotel, Kayo stopped. Ahead of her stood someone with a large wooden backpack, and a colorful haori. Perhaps she had found another subject, after all!  Must’ve been making their way back home from Harajuku, like her, another sorely disappointed fashion fan. Not old-school, with such unorthodox patterns and garish color combos, but clearly taking inspiration from traditional garments. A paper umbrella and geta, paired with what might have been an exceptionally long heko obi, since the ends were long enough to dangle past the knees. Kayo didn’t know that much about obi knots, not being all that into kimono herself, but she knew the backpack had to digging the knot uncomfortably into the person’s back. The only style she ever wore was karuta musubi because it was so easy and flat.

Digging out her camera again, she took one candid photo - only one, that she would ask permission to keep - because the composition of the figure standing in the middle, faintly haloed by the rain and streetlights, the street stretching out behind him, well...  it was just too photogenic to pass up. The shot even turned out well despite the dismal lighting, and some color correction on photoshop would fix the values. She would send a printed copy to her subject, if they wanted.

“Excuse me!” she called out and started jogging up to her target. They must’ve been wearing earphones, not hearing her, since they didn’t turn around. Well, at least they stayed still - a man, it turned out, and a beautiful one at that. But not wearing earphones, and talking to himself silently - so, a weirdo. But definitely a beautiful weirdo. A cosplayer, surely, from the markings on his face and the pointed ears. Very good quality prosthetics, looked completely real. The blond wig was just as good, a naturally plucked hairline and very fine mesh to hide the edges perfectly. This person had a lot of time and made good money. Also pale, flawless skin, and long, elegant fingers, and mesmerizing blue eyes. They didn’t even look like colored contacts, the look in them wasn’t uncomfortably staring at you with pinprick pupils. It might have even been his natural eye color. Half Japanese? If that was the case, then the hair might have been real, as well. His nose also suggested non-asian heritage, as long and pointy as his ears.

It felt like Kayo had been taking in the stranger’s appearance for minutes, him never acknowledging her until he finished his silent monologue. Only his eyes turned to look at her, a small, knowing smile on his already makeup-smiling lips.

“Good evening.”

His voice was pleasingly low and steady, his speech calm and slow. He kept looking at Kayo from the corner of his eye. The markings under his eye and on his nose intrigued Kayo, what was the story behind the character’s design? And the lavender smile, not something Kayo remembered seeing on any other -

“Ah - good evening!”

How rude, she had just kept staring!  Even if he was dressed to be stared at! So embarrassing, getting caught up in her thoughts! Just because someone looked good and strange was no excuse for bad manners. Thankfully the man did not seem to mind, just kept smiling faintly, and slowly lowered his eyes to the camera Kayo was still holding tightly in her hands.

“You are a photographer now?” he asked, not really making it sound like a question, and the now part bothering Kayo. She didn’t think they had ever met before, she was sure she would remember eyes like his even if his appearance otherwise had changed completely.

“Well, yes, not professionally - I came to take photos, but the weather - could I take your picture? Fashion is a hobby of mine.”

 “That never changes.”

Kayo was almost regretting talking to the guy, he might have been high. He was acting weirdly enough, and his halting speech wasn’t exactly helping dispel the thought, either. It was oddly hypnotic though, with his quiet voice you had to stop and listen, and with the slow rhythm you had to keep listening, and with the weird pauses mixed in he sounded otherworldly.

“A photo in exchange for a favor, perhaps?”

He was still calm, the half-lidded gaze not threatening in the least, but no matter how unassuming a guy looked, Kayo was not stupid enough to agree without knowing the terms. She steeled her face, trying to appear as someone you couldn’t bend.

“Depends on the favor. I’m not desperate so don’t even dream of anything pervy!”

The man chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling in amusement. He finally turned to face Kayo directly.

“Some things do change”, he commented cryptically. Kayo decided not to question it, the guy was clearly either on drugs or having a psychosis. Why did he keep thinking he knew Kayo? Maybe she resembled someone he did know, or used to know?

He lifted a finger, pointing with it’s sharp claw to an alley. “Can you see anyone on that street?”

A quick look revealed the two of them were alone, everyone else having opted for the better-lit main streets, and Kayo was starting to feel more nervous. Not that the guy was looking or acting any more threatening, but being alone with a male junkie on a deserted street in the middle of the night  tends to make a girl jumpy.

“No, seems empty to me”, she said in a confident tone, like she wasn’t even thinking of the possibility of being assaulted. A strong girl like her? No one would attack her!

The stranger made a non-committal noise, and his eyes turned more serious. He looked at the alley thoughtfully. “A most troublesome form, indeed. I wonder, why do some see it while others don’t.”

“Was that the favor? Can I take that photo now?”

The amused smile came back.

“Take as many as you like. But I must keep working, do not disturb the scales.” And with a small gesture of his finger, a drawer in the backpack slid open and something flew out.

Okay, it was official - Kayo had gone nuts. First going on this trip even knowing it would fail, then talking to a total stranger in an empty street at night, then not walking away when it turned out the guy was on drugs. Now her madness had extended to seeing hallucinations.

At least the hallucination was polite - a metal thingamajig that looked like an art deco butterfly bowed to her before continuing on its way further down the abandoned alley. Its friends soon followed, a veritable swarm of metal butterflies - scales, the man had called them. Kayo couldn’t possibly say what they measured, or how. By the time she shook off her stupor, odd paper charms had also appeared on the walls out of nowhere. A staticky hum filled the hair, raising the hairs on Kayo. Some form of electricity, maybe.

“Kayo-san, is it? You came here to take photos, and your time is limited.”

A cold wave washed over Kayo. She knew for a fact they had never met in their lives, and there was no way he could know her name. They had come across each other by pure accident... It just wasn’t possible...

“Do you know me from somewhere?” she asked, stupefied, heart skipping beats here and there. This was so odd, scary, and yet she was not nearly as scared as she felt she should be.

“We know each other from several places, but we have never met before.”

“How does that even make sense! What the hell do you mean by that? Which one us has gone crazy here, I don’t understand anything anymore...”

But even so, she lifted her camera and started taking pictures. Of the man, of the scales, of the empty alley. She didn’t even care about angles, lighting, composition, she just pressed the shutter. She ended up with nearly a hundred photos, majority of them incomprehensible, before the man directed her to keep going on her way. She had obeyed without question - the atmosphere had gotten oppressive, the feeling of a storm encroaching.

-o-

All her life, Kayo often thought back to that night. It felt unreal, but the photos were undeniable evidence of the opposite. Sometimes she thought she really had experienced some sort of short-lived psychosis, but mostly she had no idea what to think of the event - of the one time something strange happened in her life, something intriguing. She only talked about it to someone twice on her life - once to her husband, and once to her daughter. She did eventually develop one of the photos into a print - the one she had taken first. The nameless man, standing alone on an empty street, rain streaking the lens. A beatiful picture, a strange memory, and a lifelong regret.

She should have stayed.

[nicostolemybones]

Please share some of your favorite head canons

This is a question I have been dying to be asked for so so long now! I don't always use every one of these headcanons in my fics, bc I like to explore different possibilities and ideas, but these are headcanons that I have anyways! Imma categorise them, this might get long:

Lgbtq+

Trans Will Clarisse and Annabeth

Bi Percy Annabeth Jason Clarisse and Will

Pansexual, genderqueer Piper

Oriented aroace lesbian Reyna

Lesbian Thalia

Oriented aroace gay Leo Valdez

Gay asexual Nico

Angst

Nico being triggered by pink triangles (like imagine him at some party and there's pink bunting and he just starts panicking and having flashbacks, or seeing them on a notebook pattern, and most people don't understand why he has such an 'obscure' trigger

Will who suffers from compassion fatigue and existential meltdowns and who believes he has blood on his hands

Leo with a lung disease from all the smoke and chemicals and dust he works with (I know a fair bit about lung issues due to family having them)

Nico's trauma actually having an impact on him in general (I refuse to believe his trauma stopped manifesting when he got a boyfriend), like the insomnia and flashbacks and fading and the whispering shadows and phobia of the dark

Will being an all year round camper because either his mom is homophobic or neglectful, or he doesn't feel safe in the area he grew up in

Jason who is constantly afraid of his own strength and of becoming a weapon, or worse, being just like his father

Reyna who worries that she's unapproachable and unloveable because she has so many barriers up

Percy who slowly becomes so scared of water and of drowning that he's afraid to use his powers in case he hurts someone, and who struggles to shower sometimes because some days he's too scared he'll drown

Piper who is so scared of losing who she is that she has to ask her friends to tell her things about herself sometimes. She writes it all down on post it notes so she doesn't forget who she is

Piper who, after her claiming, constantly feels like she's too curvy, too pretty, looks to grown up, who doesn't feel comfortable to wear certain clothes she likes in case their too tight, because she's absolutely terrified of being sexualised she's just a teen

Hazel who develops the Midas touch, perhaps a curse, who can't even hug her own brother lest he turn to gold. She's terrified that she'll wake up one day and she'll truly have a heart of gold

Frank who struggles with body dysmorphia. Frank who used to be perfectly okay with his chubbiness until his transformation, Frank who doesn't understand what was wrong with his body, Frank who sees himself as a muscled freak, Frank who, when he starts to gain weight again, is terrified that he won't be good enough for anyone else. Frank who shapeshifts because it's harder to feel bad about a body that isn't even human.

Annabeth who is so scared of losing her intelligence that she revises way past her limitations. Annabeth who gets addicted to energy drinks and studying because not only does sleep give her nightmares, but she's terrified of not waking up, or waking up and forgetting. Annabeth with superstitious rituals to stave off dementia. Annabeth who can recite the periodic table backwards and can multiply triple digit numbers in her head because she's overworking herself because she's scared that if she stops she will forget

Thaila who gets such bad nightmares she sleep floats and wakes up terrified because she's so high up so she bolts down all her windows out of the fear she'll fly away and fall to her death

Fluff and miscellany

Nico and Hazel swing dancing to records played on a gramophone

Will teaching Nico to read and sharing music with him

Nico playing clarinet or violin and drawing

Will cannot sing but he tries dammit

Percy who rescues baby seals and turtles and volunteers at the local conservation centre and adopts a tiny baby shark that turns out to be not so tiny that he puts in the lake

Annabeth who loves kids and becomes a teacher and a writer, writing dyslexia-friendly books

Will who teaches at camp but the learning style is completely individualised

There's a big box of stim toys in the infirmary

Jason who rediscovers how to have fun, who picks up so many hobbies and interests he can't count and damn it's fun to not be a soldier and just be a kid

Knitting club

Autistic Solangelo

Multilingual campers teaching each other their native languages

Workshops at camp to help campers reconnect with their culture (Piper's idea)

Reyna and Thalia being the lesbian aunts of camp, who everybody thinks are cool af. Thalia being an edgy butch punk and Reyna being a badass femme with a sword

Clarisse who goes to bars just to spot creeps and keep people safe (nobody argues with her)

Hazel and Nico playing mythomagic and being close siblings

Nico who slips into Italian when excited, who forgets words in English and just uses the Italian word, who sometimes gets the grammar wrong, and nobody makes him feel bad about it

Nico who can cook because his mama taught him, and Will who once managed to melt a plastic plate on the hob, tried to make toast and caused a fire, and once ate a tub of slime because he was hungry

Nico sewing

Will knitting

Piper running body confidence and fashion workshops, but rather than just instagram make up and branded clothes, she also encourages campers to wear whatever the hell they want. Jumper with 100 patches on it? Valid. Boys in skirts? Valid. Girls in suits? Valid. Enbies experimenting with gender presentation? Valid. Wanna look like a feral forest dwelling cryptid? Valid. Want to look like a princess at a ball? Valid.

Will and Piper and Clarisse as friends who run an adventurecore blog and go hiking and cause general chaos together

Nico and Leo being close friends who make edgy jokes and talk about their moms and talk to each other in a weird mix of Spanish and Italian from what they've taught each other.

Frank who runs self defence classes and offers to pretend to be people's boyfriend to help them escape creeps. He doesn't care if he has to pretend to be gay, or if he has to pretend to be a girl, he'll do anything to protect people from creeps.

Will has a pet chicken

Nico hisses at people

Everybody respects that Nico is touch averse

Clarisse and Drew, who used to be bullies, who have genuinely changed and genuinely do good. They help people to recognise patterns of bullying in both themselves and others, they talk to the bullies and help them to reform, they help people to realise that bullying can be traumatic and you don't have to forgive a bully. Clarisse and Drew who open a Safe Space corner

[astraphobe]

[ LAWRENCE “LARS” MALKIN. 40. CISMALE. HE/HIM ] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ 20 YEARS ] and are originally from [ OREGON ]. They are a [ MECHANIC ] and in their downtime love [ PLAYING HIS ELECTRIC GUITAR ] and [ WRITING MUSIC ]. They look a lot like [ CHRIS PRATT ] and live [ IN OASIS APTS ]. (ooc: otto, 19, he/him, cst)

hello !! i’m otto and this is my first muse here. he’s garbage but, like, good garbage ?? compost ?? idk. anyway. i hope you guys like your man-children middle aged and with two kids because if you expected anything else you’re gonna be dissapointed.

BASICS.

Name:  Lawrence Malkin. Nickname: Everyone calls him Lars, but his mom and dad used to call him Larry. He hated it. Gender: Cis-male. Sexuality: Gay (homosexual, homoromantic). Race: Caucasian. Age: 40 ( 01/10/1980 ). Zodiac: Capricorn. Hometown: Grants Pass, Oregon. Current residence: Oasis Apartments. Career: Mechanic.

Astra inclinant, sed non obligant !

this is the background bit. i didn’t want it to be long but it ended up being long, so if you don’t wanna read it you don’t have to. i did spend a lot of time on it, though. hopefully it isn’t shit. enjoy ( but only if you want ) !

world, meet lars. lars, meet world. he’s ... going through it right now. not a lot of things have gone right for him.

he’s the youngest of five in a strictly evangelical household. everything was about rules and if he didn’t abide by them, he’d be punished. he remembers getting hit with switches and belts and wires. he’d be locked in prayer closets and forced to confess his sinful thoughts. he recited every word of scripture, was slain in the spirit, proselytized to all of his friends, and he got nothing but fear and anger out of it --- it was all very ... carrie, but without the promises of superpowers.

when he started going to a secular public high school his entire viewpoint shifted. he made friends who snuck him into rated r movies to watch him squirm at things he’d never heard of before. he started smoking cigarettes, smoking grass, failing classes, and playing sinner’s music on his guitar. strict parents make sneaky kids, he used to be able to all of this in his church clothes.

after high school lars stopped talking to the rest of his family. he rented an apartment with his friends for a two year stint at community college ( he was an automotive specialist major ) and started a band with them in silver lake once he graduated. he never really wanted to talk about girls or stare at nudie magazines like the rest of them, no. he just wanted to make music. until he met margo and his life fell apart.

he only started to date her because it felt right and she promised to take care of him. no one else has ever made the effort to take care of him --- he’d been locked in closets and hit with willow tree branches for the duration of his adolescence. he just wanted comfort.

after he met her, she was the only thing on his mind outside of his band. it wasn’t love, though, even if that was what he thought it was. everything seemed perfect. it all seemed like a normal he could get used to. until she got pregnant and they weren’t ready. she was 24, he was 25, they were both fucked. this was the beginning of the end of them.

click ... click ... click ... boom ! shotgun wedding. as soon as he signed that paper he felt that straight man ball and chain around his ankle. he felt regret, he felt guilty, and, at first, an eighteen year weight stacked atop his shoulders. what more could he do other than ... grin and bear it.

he stopped talking to his friends, who were all busy having fun and playing music and doing everything he wanted to do and more. separating himself from the men he loved most, even if he didn’t want to say it, made him bitter. he stopped doing gigs to make more mechanic money. after the birth of his first daughter, yael, his life was boring and monotonous. five years down the line, margo threw out her birth control pills without letting him know. this was how his second kid, ruth, was brought into the world. it was also the straw that broke the camel's back.

the divorce was long and messy --- he’s glad his kids don’t really remember it too much. margo and lars ended up splitting custody with yael but because of the bullshit that came with ruth, she’s all his. he started meeting up with his friends for gigs again, rediscovering his passion for music. and also drugs. he’s reclaiming the youth he lost when he started dating margo, even though it’s a little weird. he’s happy but he’s not fulfilled, and his kids could see that, too.

the process ruined him financially, enough for the bank to foreclose his home only a few months after the split. he filed for bankruptcy, destroyed his credit score, and moved into a seedy two bedroom apartment ( which isn’t cheap in the city of angels ) that managed to be just a few blocks down from where one of his old friend lived. he came out while lars was married and he didn’t know until he saw the flag hanging in the window. he was curious about it, but we all know what that did to the cat.

lars doesn’t want to be gay, but everything he does makes him feel like he is. the way he talks, the way he sits, the way he cries while watching the notebook --- he knows these are all stereotypes now, but what would his younger self think ?? two kids, no money, AND he’s queer ?? he wants to push this all down, and he does, but he knows that it won’t do him any good either. he knows that everything will all implode, but that day isn’t today, and with any luck, it won’t be tomorrow. he’ll sit in his idea of normalcy until he can’t anymore.

Per angusta ad augusta !

bulletpoints and headcanons, baby !

lars loves his kids. like, a lot. when he was with margo he regretted them entirely but he doesn’t feel that way anymore. he wants what’s best for him, and he wants to give them everything his parents couldn’t give him. namely: love. he doesn’t want more kids, though. he’s saving up for a vasectomy.

he’s not a perfect parent, though. i wouldn’t even call him a great one because of how often he has to be away from them and how much he drinks his feelings. at least once a year he’ll go on a bender and he’ll have to pay a babysitter more than he can afford because of how long he’d be out for. now that his kids are old enough to pick up on these things, they’re becoming more and more concerned with his behavior. he can tell, it’s just another thing he’s trying to avoid bringing up. it’s just another thing that pushes him back to drink.

speaking of his kids. i love them. i love them just as much as i love lars. yael is fifteen and she’s a mini version of her father. when lars has the time, he teaches her to play the guitar on his old acoustic. she manages to make a’s and b’s and he could never be prouder, especially because he barely graduated high school himself. ruth, on the other hand, is an enigma and he doesn’t really understand her but he tries her best. she says a lot of things that ten year olds probably shouldn’t say, but he lets it slide because it’s funny. he’s had to raise her mostly by himself which has been a gigantic struggle for him, but it’s proving to be successful thus far. she really wants to be a teenager and she emulates teenagers to the best of her ability, but it’s what a ten year old thinks a teenager should act like, so it’s far from accurate. loves cleaning her room, though. it’s the most pristine part of their house and he has no clue why.

margo was jewish, so both of his kids are being raised jewish. he doesn’t really believe any of it himself, but his kids seem pretty happy. yael had a bat mitzvah and ruth is coming up on hers, but he has no idea how that’s going to work out because margo did 99% of the planning for yael and he doesn’t know how any of that shit works. ruth also decided that she wants to eat kosher now. she’s been like this for, like, a year and lars thought it would be a phase but at this point she’s in it for the long haul and there’s a pretty good chance she’s not going back on it.

when it comes to his sexuality ,,,, he has a lot of feelings. he acknowledges that being gay is a possibility but he’s definitely never thought enough about it to make a decision. at the same time, he’s hyper aware of anything that might make him seem gay so he dresses like a slightly grunge dad redneck and makes sure to never cross his legs when he sits down. despite all of this. he has had sex with men before. especially after margo. he fucked his gay friend, too. he doesn’t think they count because he was desperate. they count. don’t tell him.

he has five different guitars. the bulk of them sit in his closet, but he has names for all of them. they were his babies before his real babies. his first two were dr. jekyll and mr. hyde, an acoustic and an electric that took about six paychecks for him to finally buy. yael plays on dr. jekyll and he’s spent a lot of time thinking about how he wants to make it a family heirloom if she doesn’t smash it first. he got a white strat in college that he named angel because of how gorgeous she sounds. i'm gonna stop here because this bullet would be so fuckin long if i didn’t. i like guitars. he likes guitars. maybe i’m projecting. who knows ! not me.

it’s easy to assume that his band never really went anywhere. cause it didn’t. they play heavy, heavy, heavy rock and that’s incredibly out of the mainstream right now. their band, shit and sugar, did get a little bit of recognition in the local underground scene during the early 2000s. now they’re just older dudes that play in diy venues and bars sometimes. lars is pretty sure he’s been called a geezer a few times by teens yael’s age.

despite never really getting off of the ground in the music industry, he’s very good at what he does. there’s not a lot left for him to learn in terms of technique and his style of playing is very uniquely his. big inspirations for him include the likes of rivers cuomo, jimi hendrix, kirk hammett, and dimebag darrell.

all in all, he’s an extroverted ball of energy most of the time. he’s got a lot of ideas and he’s very goal oriented, even if he doesn’t end up achieving them. not the smartest tool in the shed, either. he’s childlike and playful in the best way possible. again, most of the time. this ends up biting him in the ass a lot. especially because of how impulsive he is.

Ars longa, vita brevis !

wanted connections ! i’m definitely going to put one or two up on the main but here are a few that i think would work nicely.

people he met through music ---- even though people don’t know about shit and sugar you’d definitely recognize him if your character frequents local bars and DIY venues in sketchy basements. from friends to enemies, i think this one has a lot of breathing room for ~ creativity ~ and all that.

neighbors ---- he’s a guitarist. it’s a loud hobby. he’s nice to everyone in the complex, but god, that’s gotta get annoying.

men he fucked that “don’t count” ---- some of these could’ve ended seamlessly. maybe they get beers now. maybe your character hates him. maybe your character pities him for being in so much denial about his own sexuality. maybe your character is trying to help him. this connection has, like, no limit and all of the plots can be different and unique i’m so excited for it. he’s a bottom, if anyone was curious.

unlikely pals ---- this character is probably the exact opposite of a fuckup. god knows why they even associate with lars. but they do, and they want the best for him. hey !! maybe lars can break them out of their shell a bit.

potential romance ??? owo ??? ---- i really want this to happen because i want lars to eventually come to terms with his sexuality. all he wants is mutual love and good sex. safety, stability, all that good stuff. shouldn’t come without hardship, though. if you have a good idea make sure to make it angsty because i live off of that shit.

someone he doesn’t like ---- i thought of this one because it’s incredibly hard for lars to not like someone. he finds amazing qualities in most people, but he’s prone to holding grudges. i want a character who he just can’t see any good in filling this connection. how fun would that be, right ??

a jewish friend that helps him out with his jewish kids ---- i’m the knowledgeable jewish friend in 99.9% of my friend groups. most people don’t have a knowledgeable jewish friend out of necessity, but he definitely needs one because he doesn’t know shit about some of the things his kids talk about. i swear, ruth mentioned how eggs are pareve and he short circuited please help this poor dude out.

ok that’s. that’s it. i’m done running my mouth on main, but if you wanna plot or just hear me run my mouth about dumb and unimportant shit hit me up here or on discord ( deus ex machina #2294 ) !!! i’m more active on discord because i don’t have this acc always up on my phone. i’m so excited to write with you all !!!!

[matchboxguns]

TW: eating disorders, bullying

Day #17: Bones, Young Guns (2012)

2015 for me started promising and ended with me crashing and burning. I think I'm still yet to experience something as bad and as life-changing as 2015.

2015 saw me ending my third year in law school. Some failing marks under my belt, developing some bad habits (skipping classes, crying in bathroom stalls, binge eating), but it wasn't all bad. Madonna released Rebel Heart in February. I rediscovered my love of reading, and by extension, my love for science fiction. I was friends with my roommates. I was losing weight.

One of my roommates then was a member of our campus paper, and he told stories about it all the time. Staff members for the paper were 90-95% undergrads/late teens. My roommate then was a senior studying Journalism. It wasn't all great (as I would find out myself), but to me the idea that I could spend time writing and being surrounded by writers thrilled me. I had notebooks with all the words I strung together. I was – and still am – have a healthy judgment over my ability (which is that I am not made of the right stuff to be a writer), but at that time it seemed a fun idea to do. My life was monotonous, if I could call it mine – I woke up at noon, tried to make sense of the law, felt devastated at each end of the day. I only ate when my knees start to tremble, and I had to get through three flights of stairs and two blocks to get my favorite snack (peanuts and chips, boba or fries when I feel like I deserve it). My life was monotonous, and I needed something to make my life worth staying.

I signed up to be a staff member for the paper, and boy did I prepare for it. Said roommate said the selection process was very intense: two rounds of writing exams, then an interview by a panel. Application only happens once a year, during the summer break. He had to apply three times.

I took nothing to chance. I checked out The Elements of Style from our library. I read one chapter, then wrote about any topic applying the lessons of that chapter. I remember listening to Unapologetic Bitch and Devil Pray while reading about the use of active voice, or about omitting needless words. I remember wrapping my writing notebook with a Barbie gift wrapper because I liked that shade of pink. I remember writing about how the music industry treated Madonna, and the literary merits of studying dystopias. I did not major in Journalism or in Communication Arts or in Literature or in English. And I was older than everyone else. I had a degree in politics but felt it no match against people whose careers rely on actually writing good work. I was a hateful, depressed grandpa, up against young writers with their bright futures ahead of them. I had to prove something.

We had to submit an application and everything, including our transcript. I was not ashamed of my grades. Quite the opposite really I would eventually become one of those pompous jerks who would say, “I earned my degree with Latin honors from a prestigious school when I was 18.” I submitted my application early. My tag was W5 – for “writer”, and probably because I was the fifth one to apply out of I think thirty people from the entire student body. I remember getting a text for the schedule for the first round. I was nervous, but I knew I had a good chance of making it.

And would you believe it, sweet one? I made it. I made it each round. The first one was to write any three articles on the spot, from a list of topics given to us. We were all in one room (I remember the room being warm, but not uncomfortably hot. It was summer.) What I wrote about on the first round I don’t remember now, but I recall feeling competent, and ready. I felt the same going to my Civil Procedure midterm: you could not tell me I was going to score below 90, much less flunk it. I got another text, saying I made it to the next round.

They called the next round specialized exams. We had to pick our specialties: whether we want to write news articles, or features, or sports news, or about culture, with corresponding writing prompts for each one. As I felt I was more suited to literary writing, that was what I chose. And I felt I had an interesting insight to contribute, too: speculative fiction was then thought of as separate, and therefore lowbrow, by the literati. One of the prompts was to write a book or story review. I wrote about Ray Bradbury’s The Million-Year Picnic and second chances. Another prompt was to write a poem. I wrote one (a very very bad one), mimicking instructions and procedures given to assembly line workers on how to build a human woman (the point was misogyny). There was another one, but I’m afraid it’s lost to time now.

I made it again. I had to face three people in the field: one was a lawyer, one was a celebrated icon in our country’s literature, one was a journalist (who now has a public following). I wore the best clothes I owned. I spent thirty minutes on my hair. They were intimidating, but they asked fair questions. I did not feel out of place, nor did they play to my insecurities. One of them even joked with me, that I was only applying to get close to one of our university’s campus reporters (a conventionally attractive lady). I shut that down immediately and outed myself. I realize looking back now that that was the first time I ever admitted to anyone that I was gay. Not to my family, not to my closest friends, not to a therapist. To a panel of interviewers for a writing gig I was holding on to. It’s funny, in a way. Not because I found more comfort in strangers than in friends, but only because I felt that the truth about myself needed to be told.

A couple of days someone from their staff (who would end up being our Editor-in-Chief). I officially made it. I get to write for the paper’s Literary section.

We had pitch meetings, where editors of every section brainstorm and the paper adviser (a professor) would say yes or scrap the idea. Turns out, pitch meetings were every Tuesday, and our literary editor (effectively my very first boss) had review classes and thus unavailable. I can’t say I was forced to do it, because they had two writers working for them at the literary section, but saying no could mean more negative marks against me, to be used as ammunition during a “staff retreat in December,” which to me sounded like (and was alluded to by everyone in the senior staff) hazing. So every Tuesday afternoon there I was and never complained about how I had a review class of my own (about labor laws which I looked forward to because the course was interesting and the professor had a laidback demeanor) and two more classes. I mean I complained about everything, but not about that one thing.

This was also where I came out to a bunch of people for the first time, and also where I had sex for the first time. I kept hearing reassurances that that was a queer-friendly space (and to an extent it was), although what was said about me when I was not in the room I have no idea. Although, there was this one person (not from the senior staff) who kept pushing stereotypes and kept calling me not gay enough. They bullied me constantly, called me pretentious, undermined my work ethic and poked fun at my overall existence. I felt powerless. I was made to feel less than. After all, they were the walking stereotype of a fem gay person who’s really, really funny and really, really outspoken and adored by everyone because they were really, really funny and really, really outspoken. And not for nothing they play volleyball too. It was a queer-friendly space, of course, in the sense that queer people are not discriminated against as a matter of principle. You just had to be the right kind of a queer person.

It was through this group that I also met a guy. He was a Journalism major. Although it felt like I was so much older than him (I was a senior in law school, then), he was only two years younger than I was. Long story short, we went out twice, and we had sex in my dorm room twice. I thought it was love, and having no one to turn to, I told everything about it to my bully and their friends among the staff. It’s stupid, right? How can I run to them after everything that happened. Turns out, if you have very few queer people in your life (much less friends of any sexuality), your bullies become allies. And that I overshare at the slightest prodding. Also said bully/ally ran they mouth and told everyone (us queers love gossip), including the guy.

With the emotional rollercoaster that was my first intimate queer interaction, and the fact that I was bullied because I wasn’t the right kind of gay (which the silence of the rest of the staff about it, after I repeatedly relayed my concerns to my editor, equating permission), I resigned in November of 2015. I tendered my very first resignation to a Journalism undergrad, who was our Managing Editor. She shed some tears although I did not know why. I only knew that I put in good work – I never had an article or a story or a poem scrapped by our adviser who had very high standards especially when it came to literary pieces – but I was not made of the right stuff. I burned bridges, because I saw no point in staying friendly or keeping in touch with them. I messaged with one other person until summer of 2016, but that ran its course as well. I think I met with and bumped to three or four people shortly after, and even talked to them at length. But there was no point. I was hollowed out.

The next year, after seven tortured semesters in law school, I finally quit. I lied to our faculty secretary, and told them I needed to work and earn money and don’t even think about it, Sir, I’ll be back when I have enough money because wouldn’t it be a waste, I’m only 30 credits away from a law degree and I’ll be a lawyer like you! I actually love property laws! It was Valentine’s Day of 2016.

When I left everything, I was so defeated. I quit everything that I knew then. Even if everything I knew, I knew in my heart was not only bad for me, but harmful to my being, it still stung. My failures felt final. With no job prospects and nothing to keep me busy, I retreated inwards. I stayed off socials and talked to no one, not that I was using it regularly to talk to people to begin with. What I went through, I brought all the way to June of 2016 when I had my first job. I manned our store for 12 hours, from six in the evening. I had time on my hands for The Cracked Podcast, and Stuff To Blow Your Mind, and Wisecrack, and The Atlantic, and The New Yorker. Hours stretched. I discovered Spotify, and Wolf 359. I stayed awake and ate my feelings. I watched Asia’s Next Top Model.

I got hired in June of 2016. My first real job involved mailing court documents for a family court, in a city three hours away from me. Even if I spent eight years commuting, this one was brutal. I woke up at 4AM, to be on time. We clocked out at 4:30 PM, but I get home at eight in the evening because of traffic jams and the sheer distance. I was bone-tired each day. I spoke to no one unless I was spoken to, although my colleagues found it funny when I laugh (I have a high-pitched laugh and I scare easily when startled). My replies to conversations were quick and hurried, compared against my wordy and convoluted stories when I was at our campus paper. I shared nothing about my life aside from the basics: parents, siblings, if any. Age. Single or dating. Where I lived. Where I studied. If I play a sport. If I had any plans. A workday would pass by, and no one would hear me say a word. No one knew how I washed my face in the men’s bathroom so it looked like I wasn’t crying because I could not stand insurance laws. No one was confused when I explained how the mazurka scene in Anna Karenina was a literary masterpiece, and that Kitty's love story is much better than Anna's, actually. No one knew I was gay. As with my life until now, I turned to songs and podcasts for company. When it got really bad I started gorging on potato chips and donuts and chocolate milk until it felt like I’m out camping with ten of my best friends.

I overheard one of my co-workers talking about me to our new colleague (I think they're friends in law school), I heard them say I was guarded. Which was true at that point. It was an overcorrection. I shared everything to a group of people, longing for acceptance. And I had dirt thrown in my face. I thought if I worked even harder it would change. It did not. I remained a straight-playing homo with an oversharing problem and who complains a lot.

I lost my confidence in 2015, which is something I’m still struggling with, seven years after the fact. It’s strange. Studies on smart kids would usually point to burnout and crumbling at the weight of expectations as one of the factors. My case is different. I know exactly where the moment I lost my idea of my own self. My interactions with my current colleagues never breach anything outside of surface pleasantries. And I’m good at faking it, so they think I’m a really nice person. Every time I hear news about law students passing the exams and becoming lawyers, I still feel envious and sad. It is true – and it will always remain true – that I don’t want to be lawyer (I never wanted to be), but I still see as not finishing law school as a humiliating failure. I feel unloveable, and undesirable. I feel other men only want me for sex. I still live with an eating disorder, which no one aside from an ex-boyfriend knows about (I present as a judgmental eccentric who is very picky about food). When my clothes don’t fit anymore I feel devastated, and then I turn to food.

I’m better. I’m rebuilding. I have a good life and a job that pays for everything I want. Sometimes, though, I remember 2015. It hurts less as I get older, but the hurt is still there. 2015 is a long time ago, my memory even agrees. But I remember everything that I felt. I remember everything.

Favorite Lyrics:

I'll never let go again

Watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qk3vjIDuy9w

Acoustic version here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEZ4CXVk8JA

[palaces-in-every-paragraph]

Dear Yuletide Writer 2020

Hello Yuletide Writer!

Thank you SO MUCH for writing something for me. I know I’m going to love whatever you come up with! I truly appreciate  the time and effort you are going to put into this. PLEASE do not stress over it; I am really very easy to please and just looking forward to seeing what you come up with. I’ve jotted down some basic prompts here, follow them or don’t–the choice is yours! It looks like my holidays are going to be very, very different and a bit lonely this year, so thank you for giving me a little shade of something to look forward to.

Style Stuff and Likes:

Competency is absolutely my greatest kink. I also have a decent-sized hair kink and love hair-touching/stroking/brushing, etc, as well as any kind of safe touch and praise. I like friendship in love, equal partnerships, ass-kicking females, friends to lovers, grudging respect that becomes not so grudging, fluff and cuteness, light angst (angst over the perfect gift, for example), caretaking, hairbrushing, cuddling and tender kissing, blanket/bed-sharing in a totally platonic way, all the non-sexual intimacy and tenderness, late-night talks, letters. Tenderly-described safe touch makes me squee. I don’t mind sex so long as it’s consensual between adults, well-written, driven by emotions, and true to character. My favorite AUs are coffee shop and library.

My A03 bookmarks are pretty heavy on MCU and Hamilton, my two latest obsessions, but they’ll give you a good feel for what I like, style-wise. I love mission fic/casefic, adventures, unwinding/caretaking after a mission, hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort, celebrations, and all the happy things.

I adore setting detail and good descriptive writing. Fall is absolutely my favorite season–so perfect for walks, crisp air, toasted marshmallows, apple orchard trips, cider and donuts, colorful leaves that crunch underfoot, hay rides, cozy sweaters, knitting, lazy weekends, bonfires (or fires in fireplaces) new pens and notebooks, etc. I also love holidays and celebrations–all of them equally, so whatever feels natural to you and the characters is great. Cultural descriptions and events are fabulous, as well as setting, time period, and seasonal details. I’ve been blessed to grow up and live my entire life in a place with four distinct seasons, and as long as I’m not driving in them, I actually adore blizzards and being snowed in. If you happen to live in a place where you don’t have seasons, I’m sorry! But pull up some Google images and describe away and I’ll love it.

Dislikes:

D/s relationships, PWP, A/B/O dynamics (I don’t understand how these work), dark/dystopian or supernatural AUs, kidfic.

Hard Squicks:

Please no rape/non- or dub-con, rough sex, underage, graphic violence, suicide or self-harm, depression, or non-canonical character death. All of the above are major triggers for me. Also, in general, I feel like the world needs to come together and celebrate love and inclusion without judgment. In other words, please use this exchange to make the world a softer place for everyone.

Specific Fandoms/Prompts:

Code Name Verity - Maddie, Julie

This is one of my absolute favorite books ever. WWII is one of my favorite periods to study/read about, so play up the setting and the war and the clothes and makeup and all of those details. I would love to see the early days of the war, how they became best friends and maybe something more. Show me each of them knowing more about the other’s job than they strictly should–Maddie showing Julie how to navigate/fly or fix an engine, Julie teaching Maddie how to communicate in code. Did they write each other letters in a code known only to the two of them? Give me their stolen moments of friendship or dates in the middle of mayhem, nights at the pub, bike rides, perfecting cover stories, meeting each other’s families, days when Julie doesn’t have an assignment and Maddie is grounded because of weather or the need for repairs, sharing newspapers and iced buns and making jokes out of their fears. Show me the cuddling and comforting that goes on after missions/interrogations, saving up ration coupons for special treats, or using up the saved-up rations for something like comfort food. Give me a missing scene from that time that they don’t see each other, during which Julie’s brother Jamie gets hurt. Do they have an umbrella that they pass between the two of them as a token, a reminder of their first meeting? I also love the dynamic between Maddie and Julie’s brother Jamie, so use that if you’re so inclined. Was the whole meeting between Maddie and Jamie a setup on Julie’s part, so that Maddie could be taken care of/stay in Julie’s family if something happened to Julie? Was Maddie’s relationship with Jamie originally meant to be a front for her and Julie’s relationship, which then became something entirely different that grew out of their shared grief over Julie? How does a lesbian couple manage to date in the middle of a war, and particularly World War II? How much pining goes on before it comes to fruition?

American Girls: Kit - Kit, Charlie, Ruthie 

My main ships in ths story are Ruthie/Charlie and Kit/Stirling. I know Stirling wasn’t nominated, but I love him, so please feel free to bring him in if you’d like. In my headcanon, Kit finishes school and becomes one of the first female war correspondents during WWII, perhaps doing time in London during or after the Blitz. I love her adventurous, can-do, change-the-world spirit and I also love Ruthie’s dreaminess and how they play off each other. I also like to think that Ruthie grew up, maybe lost a bit of her dreaminess (but not all of it!), and eventually got together with Charlie. And if you happen to be writing a WWII future Kit story for me and want to throw in some letters from characters to other characters, great! I am probably one of the last people alive that prefers to write letters on actual stationery, so play on that all you want! Wartime courtship is one of my favorite story tropes, too!

Sports Night - Casey, Dan, Dana

I just recently rediscovered this, which was my favorite show in its first run. I would love to see some pre-canon with these three together in j-school or some post-canon, like now. What would it look like with Sports Night covering the Winter Olympics? Were any of them in the “bubbles” of pandemic pro sports? Was there a political/ethical debate about pandemic college sports? Were Casey and Dan together in college or were they together off the air and closeted during the show? Was Dana a crack sportscaster who couldn’t get hired as an anchor or sideline reporter because of her sex? How did Dan and Casey try to make that better for her? Give me some backstage shenanigans here if you want, too.

Thanks again for writing for me! I know that whatever you create, I’ll love it. 

[1dffsummerexchange]

Writer in the Dark

Written For: @earthshake

Written By: @goldbravado

Pairing: Harry / OFC

Word Count: 13,064

Warnings: language, mild sexual content, alcohol consumption 

Summary:

they always say behind every great man is a great woman. sometimes, they say behind every great song, there’s a great, untold story

or, a story about sweet creature and the woman behind it

He was going to miss it. Jamaica had grown on him. He had been dreading the trip, for obvious reasons, but he ended up getting a lot of material to work with and put together for his first solo album. He’d come so far, yet it was only the beginning. And she’d been there for him ever since she’d entered his life. She knew him like no one else did, had put up with his bullshit like no one else had and was still there for him in the end, even after putting her through hell. It truly was hell when they fought. Still, he knew she’d be there when he’d get off his plane and show up at their doorsteps. He wasn’t even sure if he should head back to their house; it was that bad. He knew he wouldn’t want to see himself if he were her. But that was the reason why three quarters of the songs written down in his leather notebook with his messy handwriting were about her. He wasn’t planning on putting any of them on the album. He was very comfortable and capable of writing down his feelings in songs; he was better at that than communicating in person. What he wasn’t comfortable with was airing out his dirty laundry and feelings about the woman he loved for the whole world to see. They were only meant for them. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d ever show them to her.

Harry was sure he dreaded going back to London more than he had flying to Jamaica. His stomach was in knots the whole plane ride there. Despite his best attempts to occupy his mind with anything other than her, his thoughts kept drifting to one specific song he’d written about her. He was always so honest with his lyrics, always speaking his mind, completely putting himself out there. It was what made his songwriting so unique and real. He loved that about himself as much as his manager and his fans did.

But this one struck him to the core. He wasn’t sure how much he’d enjoy being tormented with every memory behind each line. Perhaps it was meant to be.

/ / / / / /

"we don’t know where we’re going but we know where we belong"

"You are a sight for sore eyes, my darling," was the first thing he said when he got back from his long trip from America. He’d clearly startled her as she dropped the pan she was holding on the kitchen counter and turned to face him with wide eyes.

Waking up to the sight of her green eyes was one of his favourite things in the world. He loved watching them fluttering open or staring right at him when he woke up. She looked so peaceful asleep, so different than her usual self. That’s how he found her most of the time when he came home from the studio, or a day booked with press conferences, interviews and all that jazz. He especially loved finding her all wrapped up in one of his sweaters, cuddled against his pillow on his side of the bed. It was small signs like these that reminded him that even with all their arguing, she missed him as much as he missed her.

"Harry," she breathed out, slowly grinning at him as she took his figure in with her eyes, clad in all black, leaning against the wall with his duffle bag in one hand.

"Hi." He smiled back at her, dropping his bag by his feet, and took a few steps towards her.

"Hi," she repeated as she removed her oven mitts, carelessly throwing them on the counter. The only thing she cared about was getting herself into his arms, and that’s exactly what she did. Rushing to him, she was engulfed by his smell, a mix of his cologne and the sterile odour of airplanes that had seeped into his clothes. Still, she wrapped her arms around him tightly and breathed in his smell, which was oddly comforting. "I didn’t hear you come in. You were supposed to land a few hours ago, but I didn’t hear anything from you."

Harry pulled his head back, looking into her wide green eyes. His hand reached for the side of her face, cradling her cheek as his thumb ran over her lips and jaw. "I know. My flight was delayed."

"You got me so worried. I tried calling you, multiple times. Kept being sent to voicemail."

"I know," he said again, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "I just wanted to surprise you."

"So you let me go to voicemail? I was freaking out! I was actually checking the news to see a headline like ‘Superstar Harry Styles dies alongside passengers in a plane—"

"Shut up," he said disbelievingly, interrupting her by pressing his lips against hers. Taken by surprise, it took Kass a split second to react and kiss him back, relishing in the familiarity of their position. He felt her entire body relax in his arms, making him tighten his grip around her waist and press her closer to himself.

Every time he kissed her, it felt better than the last. He never forgot what her lips felt like against his, but actually having them on him reminded him that no matter how amazingly he imagined the feeling in his head, it would always feel better in reality. It especially felt better knowing they were on good terms, and had been for a while now.

When the band had broken up, their relationship got better. With a lot more time falling into his hands and their schedules syncing up more easily, they were able to spend more time on them and work on what they’d tried so hard to keep together during his days in the band. That included more going out, more staying in and talking, rediscovering each other, basically falling in love with one another again. They’d been reminded of their early days when they’d met through a mutual friend of theirs, completely unaware of the differences between the worlds they each lived in. Being a uni student and being an international superstar did not exactly have many common notions, but love was common ground for everybody. Times had come when their relationship had been put to the test, but they survived, even if just barely.

So, things got good. They stopped having meaningless fights over jealousy, mainly since Harry’d escaped the public eye and facts weren’t twisted up in tabloid articles. Ever since their relationship had gotten a bit more serious, Kassia spent every day she could with Harry at his house in London, which was a lot more private and spacious than the flat she shared with three friends.

Harry loved that there was always one or two pairs of shoes half the size of his by the doormat or that there was always an extra blue toothbrush in his bathroom. She always left a few of her favourite pens at his place in case she ever brought her books and notes over to study, trying to get the best out of both worlds, those being the life of a uni student and that of a busy superstar’s girlfriend. It wasn’t because he was done touring and recording for the moment that he was always staying inside the country. Harry’s life never really seemed to hit pause, even if it seemed that way to the rest of the world. Even after filming Dunkirk, he was still constantly emailing, calling and staying in touch with important people that were required to help him start off his solo career, and part of that meant flying over to the States numerous times, trying to sort everything out and finding the right people to help him set the tone of his new start.

And this all made him appreciate coming home to his girl that much more.

They wound up with her back pressed against the kitchen counter and fully making out, completely lost in each other. But the oven’s timer went off and the pot on the stove started gurgling at the same moment that Harry’s stomach grumbled.

He pulled back, sighing. "We were having a moment," he said to the appliances.

"And we’ll have plenty of more moments later, but now, I gotta take care of this and you, mister, need to shower." He pouted, brushing his bottom lip against hers, trying to lock them back together. He missed her and he wanted to kiss her, make up for every time he had let her down and the time he spent away from her. She laughed as she pushed him back, sounding so beautiful to his ears. Her laugh was a sound that’d become very rare during a part of their relationship; Harry wasn’t going to take for granted another blissful moment ever again.

"All I want to do is hold you and love you. I missed you," he admitted, but it was probably no secret. He watched her face slowly morph from a small sheepish smile to a fake grimace.

"You smell like airplane," Kass pointed out.  

"Okay," he said at first, "but I wear it sexily. Plus, it didn’t really bother you two seconds ago."

"My mouth was a bit busy, couldn’t really call you out on it. Now please, go shower so we can eat."

He hid his face in the crook of her neck and tightened his grip around her waist despite her attempts to break free from his hold. "Will you at least join me?"

It was with great difficulty that Kass got him off of her and sent him towards their bedroom. When he got back, she’d set everything up in the living room and he caught her nursing a glass of wine, legs tucked under her as she sat on the couch and scrolled through her phone. They rarely ate on the dining table, which was mostly used when guests were over, and breakfast was almost always eaten on the kitchen counter. Whenever they dined together, it was by the fireplace and TV in the living room.

Kass caught him with her eyes and handed him his glass as he walked over to her. They ate in comfortable silence, save for the few small stories Harry recounted from his trip. Kassia mostly kept quiet; every time the subject of university was brought up, it usually led to a small argument. She thought she was being slick about it, that Harry wouldn’t notice how she avoided the matter completely, but he did.

After setting their plates aside on the coffee table, Harry leaned against the couch’s armrest and pulled Kassia with him, her back pressed against his chest.

"Thank you. This was nice, " Harry said and pressed a kiss at the top of her head. She gave him a look, urging him to go on. "Coming home to this. To you."

"I’m always here when you’re in London, at least as much as I can be. And I’m always feeding you."

"No, I know," he chuckled, "but this time, like, I don’t know. It was different, actually coming home to you." Harry felt Kassia’s body tense in his arms. "It’s just, you don’t understand how nice it is knowing that there’s someone waiting for you to come home."

"So you want me to wait around here while you go do your stuff all around the world?" she scoffed. "Well guess what; I’m always fucking waiting around for you, if you haven’t noticed."

Harry flinched at her swearing. He was used to it, but it didn’t help that her tone was growing more and more defensive and angry.

"Babe, it’s happened so many times that we didn’t see each other for almost a week after I’ve come back because you have—"

"I have what?" she snapped, interrupting him as she leaned forward and turned to face him. Her eyebrows were raised and her lips pouted, an expression Harry’d become quite familiar with and one that he didn’t really enjoy seeing. He could only imagine what he looked like, and as much as he tried to keep his cool, Kassia had proved more than once how difficult she could be. "School? Exams? A life that doesn’t revolve around you? You’re being a serious asshole and it’s getting on my nerves."

"I’m not trying to be." Harry sighed and watched her get up, pile up the plates and walk to the kitchen. "I’m just trying to talk about something important, and you snapping at me every time I say something isn’t helping."

"Then stop saying stupid things that are bound to make me snap back at you!" she yelled from the kitchen. Harry got up and followed her, grabbing the glasses and the bottle of wine they’d shared over dinner.

"Literally everything makes you snap at me when you’re the least bit pissed," he exclaimed, which probably wasn’t the smartest thing he could say, considering the glare Kass shot him. He seriously thought she might throw the plate at his head.

"You’ve got a special way of getting me really pissed."

"I was just trying to say something nice—"

"Okay," she cut him off. "Say it, and please, for the love of God, don’t say anything stupid."

"Move in with me," Harry fired back without missing a beat, taking her by complete surprise.

Kass’ eyes widened, mouth opening and shutting at a complete loss of words. "What?"

"I want you to move in with me," he repeated a bit slower, taking small steps towards Kassia. He took her folded arms, bringing them to her side, and took her hands in his.

"What part of that doesn’t fall under something stupid?"

Harry sighed dramatically, pursing his lips. "Why are you being so difficult?"

"Just because things aren’t going your way doesn’t mean I’m being difficult," she scoffed, causing him to look away, biting his lip.

"Okay, okay," he agreed. "Why is it so unfathomable to even consider moving in with me?"

His voice broke, despite his attempts to maintain his hard façade. Desperation and defeat were audible in his voice, something he was sure wouldn’t go unnoticed by Kass. She shut her eyes for a second, trying to calm herself, before looking at him with soft eyes. Her hands crept up his arms and rested on his chest, rubbing it over his sweater.

"I don’t think it’s unfathomable to move in with you, Harry. I love you. I would move in with you right now if I thought it would do us any good," she admitted. "We’ve got so much going on in our own lives; there’s nothing we can give up."

"I don’t want you to give up anything for me, not your student life, not your university, nothing. You know that’s not what I meant. I want you to keep doing your thing; we can change one of the spare rooms into an office for you, where you can keep feeding that beautiful brain of yours crazy shit that’ll make you the best fucking interior designer this city’s ever seen. I’ll change the colour of my bedroom because I know how much you hate it; I’ll let you redesign the entire house if you want to. Hell, you can take all of it down and build it back up however you want."

"The city wouldn’t be too happy with that," she sheepishly contradicted him, because she was Kass.

"I don’t care," he laughed. It was true. They fought like hell for a better part of their relationship, but he’d do absolutely anything for her. "I just want to make you happy, Kass."

"I don’t need this house to be happy, Harry." Her voice dripped with conviction and sincerity. "You make me happy. I just need you. I don’t need this gigantic house that’s gonna be empty half the year."

"We talked about this, babe," Harry reached for her face, pushing back a strand of her hair. "Things are going to be different. I’m gonna have a lot more control over the scheduling now; we can even discuss it together, see how things would work out best for the both of us."

"Then can we talk about this when that time comes? Because that’s exactly what we’ve been thinking for several years now. First there was the band, and when that ended, it was good. Until Dunkirk came around, and everything nearly went to shit again. And now, it’s gonna be the recording, promoting and then touring. And it’s not only you. I love everything you do and I love your passion for your job, but there’s gonna be my job too. First my classes, exams and then an internship and then my actual job, and--" She was rambling, but she paused, catching her breath.

Harry was staring at her wide eyes, slowly shaking his head at her and holding her face with both hands. Her eyes were about to start watering; he could tell by the way they were becoming frantic and by how much she was blinking. He hated to admit it, but he’d become accustomed to a lot of things Kassia related during their rocky relationship.

"Kass, breathe," he instructed her and pressed his lips against her forehead. "Everything’s going to be fine. No need to get so ahead of yourself now. We’re here right now; me, you, this house, your uni, and all the fucking time in the world."

"We can’t even go a day without fighting. You just got back, and look at us."

"We’re not even fighting anymore. We were fighting about not spending time and moving in together. If we fix that, we won’t be arguing about that anymore."

"Yeah," she scoffed, "until something else pops up."

"I don’t get it." Harry frowned and pulled back a bit. "You were literally just going on about how everything’s gonna become so hectic and how we won’t have anymore time for each other, but then you say it’s a bad idea to live together and literally be obligated to spend almost all of our time together."

"I’m just saying that we don’t have to make a decision right now," Kassia sighed before wrapping her arms around him. "We can think a bit, give it some time. I’m sure we’ll make the right decision."

Harry’s hands rested on her hips, pulling her in towards him until her chest was flushed against his. He softly kissed her temple and slowly made his way down her jaw, giving a little more attention to the spot under her ear, until she turned into putty in his arms. "That’s all I can ask from you."

"Good," she joked, softly whimpering when he nipped down her neck. "Don’t go asking for too much."

"Would it be too early to bring up marriage, then?" he asked between kisses, a light tone to his words. He couldn’t say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

"I knew you’d say that," she smirked proudly, "and you should stop talking before I hit that pan on your head."

A loud laugh erupted from him while he threw his head back, exposing his neck to Kass’ tongue licking a fat stripe along the length of it. He retaliated by peppering kisses all over her face, some sloppy, some toothy, before landing on her mouth, where he kissed her properly.

Harry took her to his bed and made love to her in all the sweet ways he knew drove her crazy. Fittingly, they spent the rest of the night watching a stupid kids movie she’d searched on Netflix, sprawled out over each other, following the story of a little girl and a purple alien trying to learn, love and find their homes.

/ / / / / /

"two hearts in one home"

"Kass, they’re both literally the same colour to me," Harry said for the thousandth time since they’d left the house. Of course, Kass had picked the snowiest day to take on paint shopping and Harry would rather throw himself in a pile of snow, naked, than look at a bunch of white shades that looked exactly the same to him under the fluorescent lights of the hardware store they were at. He’d made a point to complain a few times.

"Can you have some vision, please?" Kass groaned, looking back and forth at the two colour samples she was holding in her hand.

"Here’s a vision; you could paint the wall half-half and I probably wouldn’t notice the difference. You’re the designer. You pick." Harry put the weight of the decision on her shoulders once again. It had been the same with the pieces of furniture they were planning on buying; Harry said he’d only help with setting them up once they were delivered. Obviously, Kass didn’t take that as an answer.

"Harry, it doesn’t take an interior designer to see that Lily of the Valley is a warmer white than Honeymilk. You’re just useless."

"I’m plenty useful. Think about who’s gonna be carrying these cans up the stairs," Harry scoffed.

"Okay," Kassia sighed, turning to the poor boy that was standing behind the counter, and trying to calm herself. "I told him to look at the samples at home and decide, but obviously, that didn’t happen."

"It’s okay," the boy mumbled, clearly unsure about the situation.

"You already had your mind set on Honeymilk when you showed them to me. What difference would it make which one I liked?" Harry exclaimed, despite Kassia glaring at him. He turned to boy, throwing him an exaggerated smile. "We’re gonna go with Honeymilk."

Ever since Kass had agreed to move in the house with him around a month after he’d proposed the idea, he’d become all about pleasing her and making sure it was as comfortable as possible for her. She’d practically been living with him prior to their definitive decision, but this seemed to make it so much more official. It was definitely a huge step forward in their relationship, and it was needless to say that Harry was trying as hard as he could to spoil her.

They stopped for lunch on their way home, as their fridge had been empty for a few days now that they’d seriously started redecorating and spending more time on the house. Once they got back to their house, she took a few ‘before’ pictures of the place, saving them for the day their project would be over. They were starting with the master bedroom first, which resulted in them taking one of the guests rooms during the time it’d undergo a transformation.

Walking into the empty bedroom, Kassia waited for Harry to follow her up the stairs.

"You could help, y’know?" he said breathlessly, placing the cans of paint at the top of the stairs with a thud.

"Oh, relax," she said, turning her head to face him.

"It’s like carrying you up the stairs," he blurted out without thinking, but quickly regretted his choice of words. Kass’ less than impressed face earned an apologetic smile from Harry’s part.

"Yeah, and you do it all the time, so effortlessly," she teased.

"It’s not as bad when you’ve got extra motivation," he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

"How’s not having a proper bedroom for extra motivation." Kass lightly pinched his waist over his thick wool sweater. "You look cute when you’re a bit sweaty."

Harry hummed jokingly. "How cute?" He wiggled his eyebrows, leaning his face towards hers. "Wanna show me?"

"You’re an idiot," Kass laughed, pushing his face away, but only ended up getting slobbery kisses on the palm of her hand. "Please be a dear and go get the rest of the stuff from the car."

"Lovely," he said dryly. "Making me do all the grunt work."

"C’mon, babe. Put these bad boys to good use," she teased as she squeezed his biceps. She sent him back downstairs, but not before he snarled and stole a kiss, pinching her bum just for good measure.

Painting the room with him turned out to be a completely different experience than expected. Sure, they got the job done, but only halfway. They spent the whole day going at it, trying to be as meticulous as possible with the paint roller, making sure no visible streaks were left and that the walls were evenly coated. With that said, they only finished two walls and probably spent more time putting paint on each other than on the walls. It started with a swipe of Harry’s coated finger across her cheek, which was inevitably followed by Kass reciprocating the gesture. By the end of the day, Harry looked like he’d gone for a terribly done ombré with all the paint in his hair. And even though he knew the hassle it would be to take it all out, he’d do it all over again if it meant he could see Kassia smile and laugh they way she had all day.

He watched her step out of the shower as he wrapped a towel around his waist, and handed her one as well. Her cheeks were red from spending that much time under the steaming water and he couldn’t help but notice how soft and fresh she looked, the deep warm tone of her body glistening with drops of water that’d yet to dry off. She twisted another towel around her hair, reminding him of the time he had shoulder length curls, before standing on the tips of her toes to press a sweet kiss to his lips. Her fingertips lightly skimmed the soft lines of his abdomen, feeling the goosebumps rise on the skin beneath them.

Harry felt warm all over, partly because of the steamy bathroom they were standing in, but he knew better. That feeling reached deep within him; there was a fullness in his heart that could only be explained by the woman standing in front of him. The woman he loved.

His tongue traced the curve of her bottom lip, slowly following the path he knew so well. Kass whimpered softly when he unfastened the towels around their bodies. Instinctively, her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, using it as leverage to tilt her head and gain easier access to him while his body pressed hers against the cool granite around the sink. The edge cut into her ass, and her right leg came between his, her thigh repeatedly brushing over his cock. It sent electric shocks through Harry’s body and he involuntarily thrust forward, yearning for the friction once again.

Kass was the first to pull away, after teasingly running her fingers over his groin, and her lips were swollen, eyes fully glossed over.

"Food should be here soon," she managed to say, very distracted by Harry’s hands, one skimming the curve of her backside while the other lightly cupped the underside of her breast. Neither was fully satisfying her.

"Hmm," he hummed, staring into her eyes before studying her lips. "Just a bit more," he mumbled as he leaned forward and kissed her softly. Despite the blood rushing to his cock, he managed to stir away from kissing her dirtily; instead, he gently moulded his lips around hers and lazily traced circles with his thumb on the skin of her hipbone.  

They somehow managed to make it downstairs, fully clothed in sweats and sweaters, not trying to rip those clothes off each other, and before the delivery guy was ordered to arrive. As usual, they ate in front of the TV, feet propped on the coffee table while Harry flipped through the channels.

"No, go back," Kass said, mouth half full as she waved her chopstick towards the screen.

"No." He knew what she’d caught.

"Harry, yes. Go back."

"No."

"Harry," she whined, pleading with her eyes. Finally giving in to her, Harry skipped a few channels backwards, until he fell upon the one she was seeking. He watched as her eyes literally turned into hearts when she saw the purple little alien. At least that’s what he thought it was.

"Kass," he whined this time. "Seriously?" They’d watched this movie over a hundred times; Harry was sure he wasn’t even exaggerating.

"Yes."

And that was that.

Harry stopped protesting and they watched Home once again, because it meant he got to listen to her murmur all her favourite lines ("What is the purpose of your face?" was her personal favourite) and sing along to the songs she’d become familiar with. When their food was done, he cuddled into her side, resting his face on her breasts. The only downside to possibly having the most comfortable pillows under his head was that he couldn’t properly see her face light up every time the characters said something endearing.  

They somehow found themselves lying in each other’s arm by the fireplace under the flatscreen, kissing and loving one another to the sound of the crackling fire. Heat radiated off them as well, keeping their naked bodies comfortable during the cold winter that London brought. Harry noticed the fire dancing in her eyes as he rocked into her languidly and tenderly, loving her until his heart was so full.

And yet, as she sighed an ‘I love you’ in his ear, surrendering to the euphoric rhythm of their bodies, he managed to fall for her that much more.

/ / / / / /

"i always think about how we don’t speak enough"  

New York was always so nice to them. Despite its busyness and overpopulation, they’d always had their best times there, whether it be at Fashion Week or in the bed of their 50th floor royal suite. This time around, they’d been invited by Harry’s producer to celebrate his twelfth year in the industry and his achievements, an annual event held by the artists he worked with. Naturally, with Jeff being Harry’s producer on his debut album, Harry’s name and Kass’ name  were  on the guest list.

Stepping into the spectacular ballroom of the Plaza Hotel, a hostess seated them at their table, already occupied by some guests Kass  recognized, like John Lennon and his wife, and others who she introduced herself to after Harry did the same. He put his hand on the small of her back as they sat down and let his long fingers gently graze her ass over the sheer fabric of her dress. Courtesy of a bridal brand, Kass was dressed in a near see-through maxi slip dress, adorned with delicate crystal-like gems all over. She’d opted for simple nude strappy heels, visible thanks to the slit in the center of her dress, and a large diamond necklace resting on her chest where her dress plunged deep.

From the he’d set eyes on her in their hotel room, Harry couldn’t stop looking at her or touching her, hence their special rendezvous in the back of the limo on the way to the Plaza. For once, they had both been grateful for the hectic streets of the Big Apple.

"Think we could head to the bathroom for a few?" he whispered in Kass’ ear, the luxurious scent of her perfume filling his senses, heightening them.

"Harry," she tutted, placing her hand on his to prevent it from trailing any higher up her thigh. "We just got here."

"Can’t help it." His lips grazed the shell of her ear as he spoke. To anyone else, they just seemed to be having a normal conversation over the loud buzzing of the ballroom. "You just look so beautiful."

Kass could say the same about his all black tuxedo, sophistication and luxury dripping off him like he’d been born to wear silk designer ensembles. She wanted to run her hands through his hair, already a bit more tousled since they’d left their suite.

"Later," she gave into him, placing his hand back on his knee.  

‘Later’ didn’t happen through the night. After dinner was  served, Harry was  whisked away by some of his friends and left Kass mingling with the few people she knew. He loved catching her stare from across the room, watching her mingle with her friends until she felt  his gaze on her. When she noticed it, she’d subtly raised her martini glass at him, intently watching him reciprocate the gesture before they both tipped their glasses back.

"Ladies." He watched her excuse herself from the group she was socializing with, downing the rest of drink and placing it on a server’s tray, before walking towards him. He’d long forgotten about the conversation going on amongst the people around him, too captivated by the way the sway of her hips and the look in her eyes made him want to leave for their hotel immediately.  

"Gentlemen," Harry politely excused himself. He met Kass halfway, placing one hand on the curve of her hip. The other held his glass of scotch, carefully bringing it to his lips, all while keeping her stare. "I’m gonna be honest with you, I’m really horny—"

"What’s gotten into you?" Kass chuckled, checking around them to make sure no one had overheard him. Luckily, the chattering and music made anything they said pretty inaudible, and nobody was paying any attention to them.  

"—and you, in this dress, is most definitely not helping," he admitted as he felt her hands roam over his black dress shirt and make their way around his waist.

Between dropping his gaze to her chest, her lips and her eyes, he watched as a knowing smirk played on her mouth. "Suppose this wouldn’t be the best time to tell you," she started before dropping her voice and leaning toward his ear to whisper, "that I think you’d be happy to know that I’m not wearing any underwear."

His grip on her waist tightened and he felt himself twitch in his pants at the thought of her bare under her dress. That image had his mind going hazy, picturing the feeling of her soft skin so easily accessible if he’d just trail his fingers a bit lower.

"You’re driving me crazy."

She hummed. "Very happy."

"Should make our bathroom trip a lot easier," he cheekily commented, and she tried to suppress a smile.

Before she could answer, the lights from the chandeliers dimmed and the background music turned off as all the invitees turned to watch the stage at the back of the room. Kass leant into Harry’s side as they all watched numerous artists, long time friends and colleagues walk up the stage to give a tribute to the man of the hour. They were followed by Jeff himself, giving a small speech, thanking everyone for attending his event.

As he made his way down the podium, the guests went back to chatting and more champagne was served, as the reputable producer joined Harry and Kass, as well as his manager and the small band he’d put together himself, a few others who’d be partaking on Harry’s first solo project. They gushed and praised Jeff, congratulating him on all his previous work before moving forward and talking about the ones to come.

"Here’s to many, many more years of creating, producing and winning Grammys, baby," cheered Jeff’s wife, Glenne, taking their intertwined hands and kissing the back of his. The whole circle of friends raised their glasses to him, Jeff bashfully grinning back at them, and teased him for his soft side, as he was known to be quite frank and straightforward, although always kind and thoughtful.

"Speaking of," Jeff’s manager, Sophie, intervened,"what’s the plan for your album, Harry?"

Harry tensed a bit, knowing that this wasn’t be the perfect timing to elaborate on some things that were to occur in the near future.

"Not really sure myself," he chuckled, thinking a few white lies would go unnoticed. Now definitely wasn’t the time to talk about the trip, but nobody could stop Jeff’s manager from pressing the matter, not even her client, to whom Harry was sending pleading looks.

"I thought Jeffrey had booked the villa though," Sophie stated innocently.

He felt the colour drain from his face as Kass’ hand went limp in his, only making him grip hers more tightly. The plan wasn’t to keep the trip a secret from her; he knew he’d have to tell her eventually, he just didn’t know how. He knew she’d take it the wrong way, and now, she’d just been delivered with the news in the worst possible way. His producer and manager knew, of course, about the trip and the fact that Kass was unaware of it; his producer’s manager, however, probably hadn’t been let in on that small piece of information.

"Villa?" he heard Kass ask confusedly, looking between Jeff, his manager and Harry’s manager, and a chill ran down his spine at the tone of her voice. Any previous teasing and flirting they’d done was long forgotten as Harry contemplated how he would get himself out of this one. This was all on him.

"Yes!" Sophie excitedly exclaimed. "Ocean view, outdoor pool, three stories and fully equipped to record the album. If that doesn’t scream inspiration, I don’t know what does," she gushed.

Harry did know. Kass had always been a source of inspiration for him. And she could scream, mostly at him.

"Ocean view?" his girlfriend questioned, finally turning to face him. Her nails were now digging into his palm, and honestly, he would rather endure a pain ten times worse than look into her icy eyes, masking the hurt behind them.

"Of course. You don’t take a trip to Jamaica without taking advantage of the ocean," Sophie added as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It probably was, but Harry couldn’t think properly, not with the way his brain was trying to come up with a thousand excuses to give Kass. Her buying any of them wasn’t really likely.

"Of course," repeated Kass, dropping Harry’s hand when he refused to acknowledge her or the situation. He was frozen. "Excuse me," she mumbled distraughtly and exited the ballroom.

An awkward silence fell upon the group, all of them looking between themselves confusedly as Harry shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. A million thoughts were going through his head, yet he couldn’t focus on any of them. The picture of Kass walking out of their house with her belongings stuffed in a bag was scaring the hell out of him, as he simultaneously tried to recall all the steps that led up to now, considering how easy and flirty their dynamic had been less than an hour ago.  

"Harry," Glenne called out his name, pulling him out of his thoughts. His eyes wildly searched hers under the scrutiny of the friends around them, desperately begging her to help him. "Go after her, dude," she hissed .

He looked back and forth between one of his closest friends and the woman he loved, walking further and further away from him. The voices around him were quickly reduced to faint buzzes as he contemplated staying put, giving her some time to cool off, or to follow her and possibly have his head bitten off. He cursed himself, disgusted that the former was even an option.

In a split second, he followed her footsteps at  a faster pace, having to push and wedge himself through the sea of people occupying the room. He could make out the top of her blond curls as she was taller than average, something he liked to think as more of her for him to love. He loved her. Following her through the high ceiling hallways, relief washed over him as he noticed that they were surrounded by a considerably smaller amount of guests. For the event, half of the floor on which the ballroom was located had been closed off to anyone whose name wasn’t on the guest list.

The determination and anger in each and every step she took complemented the sharp clean clicking of her heels resonating in the large area. It shook him to the core. He picked up his feet more quickly, closing the distance between them, still unable to produce any coherent thoughts to speak. The second his hand made contact with her upper arm, Kassia spun on her heels and pressed the palm of her hand on his chest, hard, pushing him back.

"Where are you going?" Harry dumbly asked, blurting out the first question that crossed his mind.

"To the fucking ladies room," hissed Kass, glaring at him through slitted eyes. "Funny I’ve got to let you know when I’m going to take a piss while you make plans to—"

"Kass, babe, you’re gonna cause a scene." He looked around, trying to see if anyone had taken an interest in their confrontation; all he realised was that the few people near them were engaging in a conversation and walking down the hallway, furthering themselves from the couple.

"Don’t fucking babe me," she scoffed, pulling her arm from his grasp.

Harry sighed, reminding himself that she was angry at him, and rightfully so. If only he could explain himself. He never meant for her to find out this way, especially through someone else at a fucking gala.

"Okay," he calmly agreed, "can we— can we talk about this later?"

"Later?" She laughed humourlessly . There was nothing funny. "Like we did before you flew to France? Or—or when you came back from that, and we still didn’t talk about it. And then after that, when you were in LA all the time, but we just turned a fucking blind eye to all our issues and moved in together. Later," Kass repeated, scoffing. "No. No we can’t. There is no ‘later’ with you. There’s no ‘talking’ with you. There’s just you, what you need, what you want, and then there’s me, having to fucking deal with it, whether I like it or not." Her words were laced with anger but her eyes defied her, tears welling over the most beautiful green he’d ever seen.

She left him there, standing in the middle of the opulently decorated hallway and pushing down the urge to knock over every single vase and sideboard lining the stretched out walls of the corridor. He wanted to follow her, run after her and beg her to listen to him. Instead, he turned his back on her just as she swung open the restroom door, and he numbly walked himself to the men's room. The sensation of freefalling, common during dreams, shot through him four times while he walked the few meters that separated him from the washrooms. He was then thankful for the console tables he could grip when he couldn’t trust his knees.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he barely noticed any signs of distress painting his facial features. To anyone else, his wild eyes could be blamed on the champagne. After splashing some water on his face, he slapped it a few times, urging himself to snap out of his trance. He wished he had the willpower to punch himself repeatedly for somehow managing to fuck up over and over again.

When Harry stepped out of the bathroom, he spotted Kass standing by open doors of the ballroom they’d fled, playing with her nails. She looked up at him after hearing the sound of his footsteps, barely daring to look at him in the eyes.

"I think we should leave," she mumbled, her eyes fidgeting between his and whatever decor was behind him. Harry, however, couldn’t take his eyes off her, studying the dull shape her eyes had taken and the crease between her brows. Unable to resist the urge to kiss it, he placed his fingers under her jaw, feeling it tense over his touch, and shut his eyes to fully embrace the warmth of her skin upon his lips. Before he could press them on her, she bowed her head, refusing the gesture. "You should go say goodbye to everyone and thank Jeff before the car gets here."

The car ride back to their hotel was nothing like their previous one. Filled with tension, Harry and Kass both took interest in the city behind their tinted windows, shielding them from prying cameras. They weren’t hidden at all times though; the short journey from the limousine to the top of the hotel’s front steps was packed with photographers, dying to get a glimpse of one of the most talked about couples. Their argument remained unresolved, but still, Harry walked behind his girlfriend, who was following a security guard pushing the crowding paparazzi aside. His arms created a sort of belt around her, preventing the men around them from touching or disturbing  her, despite the hundreds of questions and comments being thrown at them.

"How’s it been, living together?"

"Looking so beautiful, Kassia. Who are you wearing?"

"When are we gonna hear more about Dunkirk, Harry?"

"How’s uni, Kassia?"

"Harry! How’s the album doing?"

"Look here, please, Harry!"

"What’s the next step for your relationship, guys?"

It was hard for Harry to admit that his heart started beating harder, faster when Kassia took his hand and gripped it hard.

Once they reached their suite, finally getting the privacy they yearned, they went about their normal night routines. Unlike usual , tonight didn’t involve any speaking, not even when Kass silently asked Harry to unzip her dress and unclip the hefty necklace. It wasn’t how he’d wished to undress her.

Harry was startled to hear her voice croak when she spoke to him for the first time since they’d gotten to their hotel, almost an hour ago. Standing over the double sink vanity of their ensuite, he stared at her through the elongated mirror reflecting both of them. Her makeup had been washed off, leaving her face bare, and she was dressed in her silk pyjama set that he’d grown accustomed to and quite fond of as well.

"I thought you didn’t have a set date?" Kassia replaced the cap of her moisturizer before placing it in one of her many makeup bags. "For the release of your album," she clarified when he didn’t answer.

"I don’t," he replied simply, slipping on a clean pair of boxer-briefs.

He watched her face fall, clearly disappointed at barely getting an answer out of him. Sighing, she threw her hair into a loose bun and walked herself to the bed, giving him a whiff of her perfume as she brushed past him. She was irritated, he could tell by the way she hit  the rows of plush pillows, pushing them aside and rendering them more comfortable. Finally satisfied by their position, she leaned back against them and rubbed her lotion over her legs.

"Kass," he pleaded, begging her to acknowledge him. "Talk to me."

Her movements came to a halt and she snapped the cap of her body cream closed before tossing it on the bedside table. "I don’t know what you want me to say, Harry." She shrugged, sounding so distant to him, even as she sat just a few feet away from him. All he wanted to do was hold her.

The strain in her voice indicated that she was trying her hardest to remain calm. He was known to push her buttons to get a rise out of her; they were known as that couple. But this was different, it felt different. Harry felt like he was walking on eggshells; at any moment, the wrong words could cost him the love of his life.

"Tell me how to fix this." He took a few steps, standing under the arch of the ensuite, and the smell of her moisturizer filled his senses. "I--I don’t want to leave us like this before I go."

Confusion drew upon her face. "When are you leaving?"

"I think Jeff booked it starting next week."

"You think?" she scoffed, focusing on the lamp next to her rather than on him. "How long?"

He couldn’t answer that; he knew what her reaction could be. He couldn’t respond to that before explaining himself to her. "Kass, babe, listen, I—"

"How fucking long are you going for, Harry?" she asked again, raising her voice, and finally snapping her eyes towards him. This time, Harry couldn’t bear to look at her, knowing that behind her anger was the feeling of hurt and betrayal.

"A few months," he mumbled, irritably running a hand through his short hair, pulling at it.

"What do you mean?"

"Fuck, I don’t know, Kass. Two, maybe three. I don’t know. Depends on how long it takes."

"How long does it take, then?" she pressed.

"It takes as long as it takes, Kass. It doesn’t happen overnight," he tried to explain. "It needs time and I don’t want to rush it."

She shook her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. "That’s not good enough."

"I don’t know what you want me to say." Harry enunciated each word slowly as his breathing shallowed.

"What do you know then, Harry?"  she sarcastically asked.

"That I love you," he cried, staring into her teary eyes. "Damn it, Kass."

"People who love each other don’t pull shit like this."

She stabbed him in the heart with each word. He knew how much of an idiot he was for treating their relationship this way. His mother wouldn’t be proud. Kassia certainly wasn’t proud of him; his singing and acting achievements meant nothing to him if they came at the cost of his relationship.

He dropped to his knees in front of her and took her face between his hands, forcing them to look at each other. His heart nearly stopped, noticing the vivid emotions behind her eyes, switching back and forth from pain to anger as they searched his.

"I’m sorry." His voice cracked as he spoke while he willed himself to not break down.

She sniffed, shaking her head. "Sorry doesn’t stop you from leaving me for another two months. I just got you back." It had been less than six month since he’d been home. He was always away and she loved what he did, but she had been committed to them ever since the start, even with her hectic schedule. Saying the same for him wouldn’t be entirely true.

"I can’t not go." It pained him to say it, to tell her he had to once again put work before her. He’d never seen it as that when he’d be constantly touring or jetting off to shoot his movie for almost half a year. "I made work commitments, Kass. We have everything set and ready for Jamaica."

"What about this commitment, Harry?" she asked, pointing between their bodies. "How much more do you think I can take? How much longer can I come second? How much longer do you think this will last?"

"Don’t say that," he hissed, his own tears welling up as he difficulty pictured his life without her. He didn’t want to live a life where he couldn’t hear her laugh at one of his corny jokes. He didn’t want to forget the softness of her skin or the plushness of her lips; he didn’t think he ever could. "I can’t live without you. I love you."

"Then do something about it. You have to meet me halfway here, Harry," she hiccuped, and he knew it was just as painful for him to hear the words as it was for her to speak them.

"I can’t," he choked. "I can’t. Not this time."

"Then when?" Her voice trembled as tears ran down her face and the pads of his thumbs brushed them away. She even looked beautiful when she cried, red-rimmed eyes and flushed face. He never wanted to see her this way. "When are we gonna be a priority, Harry? When will I be worth it?”

And there went his heart, shattered and torn into a million pieces because he couldn’t possibly imagine her thinking she wasn’t worth it.

Time wasn’t their friend. Harry didn’t necessarily have a deadline for his album release, but for promotional reasons, it was best if it came out a few months prior to the premiere of his movie. It had all been crystal clear when he’d arranged it with his manager, Jeffrey, but the plan was never to leave for Jamaica for so long. Originally, it was meant to be a maximum three week trip to distance himself a bit from the routine and hecticness of his everyday life. To find inspiration and have no distractions. Just him, his guitar, the studio, and an ocean view.

She was his everything. She was his inspiration in every aspect of his life. He wanted to be a better person for her, a better lover. She wasn’t a distraction.

He was frowning hard. He felt it through the prominent crease between his brows, stinging his forehead. A suffocating bubble blocked his throat when she wouldn’t meet his eyes, casting her gaze down to her fidgeting fingers. The words were caught in his throat, despite how desperately he wished to tell her that he didn’t want any of it if it made her feel anything less than worthy.

He couldn’t tell her, no matter how hard he tried or how many songs he wrote, so, instead, he showed her. All night, he loved her sweetly, pressing their bodies as close as he possibly could, until they truly felt like one. Kass’d been hesitant at first, as if she were roaming unfamiliar territory, but she found her comfort quickly. Her skin almost felt softer than the silk of her night set that he carefully peeled off her, allowing him to press his mouth against every inch of her skin. A feeling of nostalgia loomed around them as they rocked their dimly lit bodies, with one of the biggest cities at their feet.

This wasn’t goodbye. Harry certainly hoped not.

He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, kissed her, reminded her how much he loved her. Anything but naive, Harry knew that one night of making love to her wouldn’t patch everything up. That being said, the last reaction he expected was her breaking down in tears in his arms later that night when they both laid silently in the oversized bed. He wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for her tears wetting his chest.

"How long have you known?"

The rasp in her voice hurt him beyond words.

"Kass," he sighed, stilling his hand rubbing her arm, a bit frustrated that all he could see was the top of her head. "It doesn’t matter."

"It matters to me."

Fuck.

"I—I, uh, it’s been a few weeks now," Harry shamefully whispered and expected the worse reaction from her.

"When were you planning on telling me?" she asked calmly, as calmly as she could between her shaky breaths.

"Around now. Maybe tomorrow." He made a mental note to cancel their reservation for her favourite restaurant.

A long moment of silence passed where he thought she’d fallen asleep, her body slumped and pressed to his. He was tired of fighting. He thought they’d gotten over the hard part, that he had learned. The fact that she couldn’t look at him certainly didn’t prove him right.

Startling him, she pushed herself up on her forearm, looking at him with her big eyes, filled with tears and confusion. "Why?"

He knew that she knew why he was going. That wasn’t her question. She’d never actually stop him from going and pursuing his dreams as he was filled with ambition and never settled for just ‘good’.

"I didn’t know how to tell you," he confessed, ashamed to admit he couldn’t talk to his long time partner.

There was only silence after that, apart from the irregular sobs coming from the girl next to him. He couldn��t relish in them, he couldn’t block them out, he couldn’t tell her it was okay.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was telling her he loved her.

He wasn’t even sure if she was awake to hear it.

/ / / / / /

"it’s harder when we argue, we’re both stubborn, i know"

Jamaica was fun. Sort of.

Harry would be having the time of his life, if it weren’t for the unsettling nerves in the pit of his stomach every time he thought of home, which was quite often. It didn’t help that his phone’s home screen was a picture of Kass laughing at the camera. It only pained him more remembering the day it was taken, a day spent in his mum’s garden drinking sangrias while his parents were out. He couldn’t bring himself to change it. He’d grown so fond of the picture; it had quickly become one of his favourites of hers. Instead, he left his phone on his nightstand, only checking it twice a day in case of an emergency.

They’d been there for almost three weeks now, and his debut album was starting to fall into place. It was nowhere near done, but at least they’d gotten out of the limbo they were stuck in for the first two weeks in Jamaica. Jeff was particularly pleased with him, watching the talent he  had

As for Kass and him, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms. He wished he could just pick up the phone and call her, tell her about Jamaica, about the amazing people he’d met and about his album. God, he wanted so badly to go on and on about the vibe he wanted to go for and how he wasn’t sure how long it would take for it to turn out how he wanted it to. Hell, he was so scared it wouldn’t live up to his expectations, no matter how many times everyone, including himself, tried to reassure him that authenticity was all he needed. He knew he was gifted, so did his producer; the nerves were still there.

She was the person he always turned to. And now, she was the person he was turning away from. He hated it, but he couldn’t swallow his pride and call her. instead, he spent his time solely focusing on his album and taking advantage of every bit of inspiration that hit him; luckily for the album and his producer, there was a lot it. Unluckily for him, they all led back to Kass. He’d had previous relationships that’d meant a lot to him, and he definitely planned on exploring those ideas. Now, however, all he could think about was Kass and how so many things were always left unsaid between them.

Sometimes they did, except the message wouldn’t get through. Like when Harry nearly cancelled the whole deal and tried to tell Kass about it. He’d been set and ready to call off the trip and book a studio back in London, with maybe a few trips to LA; he’d even gone to the point of letting his manager and producer know. It almost went through.

As quietly as he could, he tried to calm down Jeffrey and Jeff on their three way merged call, both clearly irritated while Harry was getting fed up by the similarity in their names. The digits under the TV read 3:29 AM, an awkward time to be woken up by his anxious thoughts. Her tears had dried on his chest, only having been shed less than two hours ago, destroying almost all evidence of their rough night. Almost. Harry was a songwriter and a lover. He knew that emotional scarring was much harder to forget

The yelling in his ears continued, as both Jeffs had first been annoyed at being woken up at such an hour, despite both their phones being reachable, and now, they were going out of their minds that their key player was probably crazy. He just hoped the loud screeching coming through his phone wouldn’t wake up the woman in bed, only separated by an archway holding up white curtains.

“Guys!” Harry whispered harshly. It was unlike him to get angry at the people he worked with. “I’ve made up my mind. We’ll just figure out something in London.”

“Harry, no,” Jeffrey protested, trying to reason with him.“There are hundreds of people and things coming into play. You can’t--you can’t just cancel--”

“What’s going on?”

The fourth voice coming from behind made him end his call in a flash. He turned to face her like a deer caught in headlights.

“Kass,” he breathed, “I thought you were asleep.”

Her lips rolled against each other and she wrapped her silk robe around her a bit tighter. She shook her head. “I woke up when you did.”

Oh. Maybe she’d heard everything after all.

“Who were you talking to?” she spoke again.

“Nobody,” he scrambled to answer, mind frozen. “It’s not important.” He didn’t want to promise her anything he wasn’t sure he could make true.

She scoffed, nodding this time. The wall in front of him invited him to bash his head against it. “It always is, though, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically.

“Kass, please. I’m trying to fix things.”

“Okay.” Her eyes roamed around the hotel, before focusing on her feet for a few seconds. “Maybe you should just focus on you, right now. Do what you need to do, get your album done the way you want to. Make sure it’s everything you want it to be.” Harry was already shaking his head. “And when you come back, whenever it is, we can maybe focus on us a bit more.” Her voice was cracking and Harry knew this wasn’t what she wanted.

“No. No, I want us to focus on us now, before it’s too late.”

“We’ll have all the time in the world. We’ll manage,” she said with a small smile. “But for now, maybe you should work on you a bit more, Harry. You need to figure out a way to balance out your professional and personal life, or else it will rip us apart. And I can’t be the one making you spend your time with me. It has to be something you want. I love you, so much. We’ll be okay for right now, when I’m so fucking in love with you, but there will come a time when that just won’t be enough, not when I only have a part of you."

Silent tears were running down both their faces; hearing the truth always sounded worse out loud. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe we should take a--” she cut herself off, trying to carefully choose her words. “Maybe it’s good that you’re gonna be away,” she spoke with a small voice. He knew she was scared to speak her mind, something so unlikely from the outspoken and confident woman he knew she was. “Perhaps we need this break, Harry.”

Either his heartbeat slowed or picked up like crazy, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that if he didn’t sit down soon, his legs would give in and his head would probably hit the edge of the coffee table. Hard.

Jeff had been over the moon when Harry showed up at the airport. Although he’d re-confirmed with his manager around ten times and assured his producer a million times that he would show up, he’d given them a reason to doubt him. So, Harry set his mind on pulling himself together the second he stepped on their private plane and making sure his producer and crew wouldn’t regret a second of flying down to Jamaica and working on his album.

During their third week in Jamaica, their days got a bit more busy. Harry had a few songs coming together, with lyrics that meant more to him than anyone could understand. He started writing about himself and how he felt. At first he thought he couldn’t write about her point of view, about how she must’ve felt, facing his behaviour. And then, he truly started writing about himself, and how he fucked up in New York. He wanted to tell her how much he hated himself for it, and that he was aware of his imperfections and his flaws. He was certainly aware of them now, when they were thousands of miles apart and not talking, mostly because of him.

It was nice to get it off his chest. He felt like he was directly talking to her, explaining it to her; it was undeniably more romantic, but he knew that when it came to it, Kass didn’t want romantic. She wanted real, raw and personal. A song would get her to soften up and open her mind. A face to face talk would bring them back together.

Harry knew what he had to do. He just couldn’t do it over the phone.

That’s what he thought, at least, until one night after he  and his friends went out for drinks as a mini celebration for getting one song completely done, recorded and tuned. It was probably one of the only nights of his trip when his mind wasn’t so clouded with guilt and anxiousness. They returned to their villa around 2 a.m., most of them smashed, all of them ready to crash on the couches and watch some TV.

Harry was sprawled on the recliner in his blue Hawaiian t-shirt and matching swimming trunks, and he could still feel his sunglasses on his head. They were starting to give him a headache. He wasn’t as drunk as some of his friends; he was capable of forming coherent thoughts and sentences.

"Should we watch another rom-com?" someone asked. Harry guessed it was Mitch. It didn’t really matter who said. Harry wasn’t in the mood and frankly, all the rom-coms they were watching only made him miss Kass more and want to fly over to her and cuddle with her in their new bed.

He was staring at the big screen through half shut eyes, and once again, all he could think about was her. He remembered her smell and he tried, as hard as he could, to somehow smell it again, shutting his eyes hard. It was impossible, he knew that. He would give up just about anything  to run to her and cry on her shoulder.

When he opened his eyes, someone was scrolling through the movie genres and as they were selecting comedies, right above it, the children and family movies caught his eye. It was only for a split second, but it was still long enough for him to notice it.

Damn the purple alien.

Almost against his will, his legs bounced off the couch and he stood up, mumbling a quick goodnight to his friends before disappearing into his bedroom. He switched the lights on, only for them to blind him for a second so he could find his phone and then they were  off again.

Before he knew it, his fingers were automatically scrolling through his contacts and suddenly, her voice was coming through the phone.

"Hello?"

He almost dropped his phone, his fingers fumbling to grasp it in his long fingers. All he could think was, angel. He had to sit down on his bed, still in his day’s outfit, before he tripped over his own feet.

"Harry?" The way she called out for him made his chest tighten, because she sounded so worried.

"Hey," he croaked. A sort of relief washed over him after hearing her voice, but it wasn’t long-lived.

"Is everything okay?"

He rolled his lips together, tightly shutting his eyes. He hated that they’d reached the point where she thought he would only call if there was a problem. He wanted to tell her there was a problem, that nothing was okay, but he knew it wasn’t the right time.

"Yeah, yeah," he repeated slowly, almost out of breath. The inside of his mouth felt like sandpaper, either because of the alcohol or because of Kass. Neither reason pleased him. "Did I—Did I wake you?" he asked, his hazy brain trying to figure out the timezones.

"No, it’s, uh, almost eight thirty now. In the morning," she added. Harry could imagine her looking at the floor and wiggling her toes, as this had to be one of their most awkward conversations ever. She tended to show off that habit when she had to endure tense phone calls, and he’d seen her do it more than enough times to know that she’d be doing it now.

"How’s everything?" He didn’t know what to expect as an answer, but silence definitely wasn’t it. Anger bubbled within him; she’d been the one to propose taking a break after all. This was what she wanted. Still, he kept those feelings at bay. "How’s the house, with the decorating, y’know?" he asked after too many seconds of nothing.

There was a cough at the end of the call before Kassia answered, "It’s good. Things are good. I looked at some new stuff for the kitchen and bathrooms. I’ll show you them when you, uh, come back." He could feel the question burning at the tip of her tongue, but she refrained from asking when he was coming back.

"I didn’t know we were redoing the kitchen too," he said dumbly. Out of all the things he could’ve commented on, he managed to pick the worse.

"We didn’t really discuss it yet."

Harry didn’t know if there was a double meaning to that, but if the edge in her tone was any indication, he concluded that the kitchen wasn’t what she was most upset over.

"Yeah. It’s okay. We can do the kitchen too."

"Okay," she whispered. With each passing second that went silent, again, Harry’s heart thudded louder and louder in his ears. "How’s the album coming along?"

"It’s, um, it’s coming along," he said. He couldn’t tell her everything he wanted to, but his mouth was running a bit faster than his brain could catch up. "I write about you a lot."

He immediately regretted saying it.

"Oh."

He didn’t know if she said it because she was surprised that he wrote about her, or that he said as much out loud. There was some more silence before Harry managed to talk again.

"I think about us a lot."

"I know," she whispered after a few seconds. He didn’t tell her that he knew she spoke to Jeff about him, wondering and worrying about him, but he imagined that his manager was acting as their intermediate. That made him feel like a teenager again, scared and nervous to talk directly to the girl he liked. Except, a lot more was at stake here.  

"God, I missed your voice." He slurred a bit, but she didn’t notice.. He was thankful for the long-distance call and its mediocre quality.

"You could’ve tried returning my calls." Her voice didn’t sound too angry. It was more sad than anything, but Harry knew her defence mechanism; she was about to get pretty irritated, and Harry had to carefully choose his words.

"I know, I know. I’m so sorry. It’s just--everything’s been so hectic." He proved unable of being wary with his choice of words.

"I thought you were going there because things were hectic here." There was an edge to her tone. Harry knew she’d be unhappy with him; it was just different experiencing it than imagining it. He’d gone over this confrontation a hundred times in his head, but the few drinks he’d had had not been part of the plan.

"That’s not why I’m here Kass." He was starting to get irritated and almost regretted calling her in the first place.  "Can we not do this right now?

"Do what?"

"I don’t know. This." Harry waved his hands around as if she could see him. "Can we just, fuck--" He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think clearly, before repeating, "Can we just talk about this later?"  

"Later. Okay." Kass scoffed, but insisted, "When? When you’re back home and won’t talk to me about major plans you have? Or when I wouldn’t be killing your buzz maybe?" He didn’t say anything. "What? You thought I wouldn’t notice?"

So she had noticed. How did she even know? She was Kass. She knew him better than he knew himself, and she probably knew he was about to get defensive.

He chuckled dryly. "So now you’re pissed that I’m drunk?" The words didn’t really hold any meaning to him; he knew why she was upset. It didn’t change the fact that her condescending tone was getting to him.

There was a moment of silence where Harry thought maybe she’d apologize or even go back to their previous topic. He wasn’t prepared for the next words she spoke.

"No, just disappointed."

He couldn’t think of anything worse she could say to him. It hit him hard, knowing that he’d let her down. She was the one person who was always on his side, who always had his back, no matter how his day way, no matter all the bullshit that he would cause with his career and the media. Her words were like daggers, and they cut deep.

It was the first time he’d spoken to her since he left home, if he didn’t count the few text messages they’d exchanged as soon as he’d landed.

It was the first time he’d spoken to her since he left home, and he was borderline drunk. He understood where she was coming from. But he didn’t know what to say. The next few minutes on the line were completely silent, save for their audible breathing. Kass’ end of the call was nearly silent, or maybe he couldn’t hear much over his own erratic breaths.

Harry hung up on her before he knew it. He regretted it immediately.

He didn’t drink again for the rest of the trip.

/ / / / / /

"when I run out of rope, you bring me home"

London was grey and rainy when he landed. It was quite fitting, Harry thought. He was a nervous wreck, drained and tired, and his delayed flight only fuelled his restlessness. He terribly missed her.

He tucked the leather of his notebook back in place and wrapped the string around it to secure it before grabbing his duffle bag and stepping into the hectic night of Heathrow. Dodging as many photographers as he could, he couldn’t help but be thankful for the questions they threw at him. It helped drown out his thoughts racing over the words Kass had told him before he’d left.

He didn’t know what was waiting for him at home. He wasn’t even sure anyone would be there at all. When he walked up the front stairs of his house and stepped into the living area, he half expected Kass to be waiting there to slap the shit out of him. Finding her asleep on his side of the bed, wearing nothing but his green sweater both relieved him and made his stomach tie up in tighter knots. She missed him too.

Quietly changing out of his clothes, he decided that taking a shower could wait another few hours. All he wanted to do was get in bed next to her and hold her close and tell her that all he could write about was her.

Kassia shifted when he slipped under the sheets next to her, awakening her from her light sleep.

"Hi." He weakly smiled at her, studying her taking in his presence. He wasn’t expecting her to lunge forward and wrap  her arms around him.

"Harry," she simply acknowledged him. He slowly laid their bodies back down on their bed, locking her under him as he kissed the side of her head.

"I missed you." Quite oddly, he sharply inhaled through his nose, trying to satisfy the longing he felt to smell her once again.

"You didn’t call."  She was referring to his delayed plane trip.

"I’m sorry."

"I know."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "I wish things were different."

"I do too."

"I wish I were different," he heavily gulped, "for us. For you."

They hadn’t talked it through. He didn’t know where they’d left off. Things had been so bad, he couldn’t understand how she was here, in their bed, in his arms.

"It’s okay," she choked, shaking her head and tightly gripping his. "I don’t want you to be different. I just want you. All of you. Everything else is trivial."

Fatigue tormented his body, not only from hours of traveling, but from fighting and spending time apart from her. Likewise, deep shades of blue and purple tainted the skin under Kass’ eyes, exposing her sleepless nights and weighing thoughts about them.

"I’m sorry," he apologized again. He couldn’t say it enough.

She let her eyes roam his face, taking in his troubled features. "My beautiful man," Kassia commented, mostly to herself. "I’m sorry for ever bringing up a br—"

"It was me," he said, taking the blame, "it was all me. I’m sorry. Never again," he promised. He never wanted to put her or himself through such pain again.

"It’s okay." She pressed a kiss to his creased forehead before he laid down beside her and placed his head on her chest.

"What about us?" Harry asked after a while of mustering up the courage to face the consequences of his actions. The answer would determine the course of the rest of his life. Part of him, most of him, couldn’t imagine her saying this would be their end. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

His heart beat louder in his ears— either it was his or hers, vibrating through her chest— as Kassia carefully thought for a moment.

"We’ll be okay."

Okay it would be, then. As long as he had her, he could put up with anything. She was the reason why he looked forward to coming home, the face he always hoped to see in a crowd, and the person he wanted to fall asleep next to. She was the reason he woke up every morning and faced the world with a brighter smile everyday because she was the reason he saw the world with a bit more colour. She was the reason behind the near fifty songs he’d written in the past few months, because even as they fought, she consumed his every thought and reminded him of home.  

Everything led back to her.

[janaboruta]

Moving to New York City!

I’ve wanted to live in New York City since I was 17 years old, and it’s finally happening! 

When I was in high school, my AP Art History teacher took our entire class (4 ladies) on a trip to NYC for a week to go visit all the museums. We spent days wandering through the MET, Guggenheim, MOMA, Whitney, and the Jewish Museum. We had stimulating debates about all the great masters. We analyzed every piece of art, sculpture, and building we saw. We vigorously sketched famous works of art in our notebooks that we had only until that moment seen in textbooks. On this particular trip, I ate a New York style bagel for the very first time, I saw my first Broadway show, I saw the Statue of Liberty… you get it. I fell madly in love with what Jay Z and Alicia Keys call “The Concrete Jungle.”

Years later my yearning for that city has only intensified. My best friend, Sarah Rumsey always talks about listening to your “inner child”. Well my inner child has been screaming at me at the top of her lungs to go sip champagne at cool, hip rooftop bars. I want more. I want to surround myself with the energy that New York radiates. I want to have other interests than just my job and what’s happening in tech. I want to rediscover my love of art, music, and fashion. With all that in mind, I decided to finally take the plunge and move to NYC. With a heavy heart, I said goodbye to San Francisco, a city that has been my home for the last 8 years. I said a painful goodbye to my best friend and life partner of 6 years. I signed a 3-month sublet in Greenwich Village. I packed 2 suitcases full of my coolest outfits and at 8am this morning I caught a flight to New York. Holy shit! I’m fucking terrified. My friends keep saying they are proud of me and that I’m being brave, but I keep having these moments of panic and doubt.

I’m on my flight rereading on of my favorite books called When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chödrön. My dear friend, Ela Madej gave me this book back in August, 2013 and I’ve reread it a points in my life when things are a bit chaotic or sad or unknown. I’m going to leave you with my 2 favorite quotes from this book:

“The Essence of life is that it’s challenging.”

And

“That’s the beginning of growing up. As long as we don’t want to be honest and kind with ourselves, then we are always going to be infants. When we begin just to try to accept ourselves, the ancient burden of self-importance lightens up considerably. Finally there’s room for genuine inquisitiveness, and we find we have an appetite for what’s out there.”

I’m writing this last sentence as I stare out my window watching my plane descend on Newark airport. I’m realizing that I’m going to be ok. We are all going to be ok as long as we continue listening to our inner child and try to be brave while going after what we want.

(source)

<3 

Jana

[bmichael]

January stuff: activities, books, and such

I’ve never been, and never will be, a diarist. I realized today was Feb 1 and that I’d closed a few threads (or semi-closed) that I wanted to think about and process.

I attempted one of those “Dry January” things people do. On paper it actually seems to be quite good. I once had a roommate that fasted once a week. It wasn’t a big impact on his life, really, and it meant his body ended up processing 1/7 the food he’d ‘normally’ eat. Which, actually, is quite healthy. I have no idea if he’s still doing this, but it struck me as intelligent. Not drinking for a month (a 31 day one, at that) seems similarly healthy. That’s a whole 1/12th of the year you’re not drinking alcohol, which, if you drink a lot (...?!) then that’s good. I was mostly successful, drinking only about three of the 31 days. So not really successful at all, strictly speaking. It just goes to show how hard it is to get rid of vicious habits.

In a lot of ways. it was actually much easier to do an 80 day running challenge, which I completed on Jan 6.

The challenge for me was to run at least a mile every day for 80 consecutive days. I think I averaged about 3 miles per run, which ended up being less than my usual weekly/monthly mileage. The experience taught me a lot about sticking with a habit and pushing through mental resistance. I almost never run after work, but during the 80 day run streak, I ran after work about half the time. I bought a headlamp as this all occurred in the fall and winter. I ended up going for a very drunk run after the Ohio State - Michigan game, and I fell down on the sidewalk and really scraped myself up. I realized an easy one mile run can turn into a really fun, energizing three or five mile run. I think I’ll probably go for another run streak, although by the end I was constantly tired and sore.

January was a disappointing month from a health and fitness perspective. I ended my 80 day run challenge, and immediately picked up a new one: to run ten miles more than the previous month’s mileage, for at least six months. The problem was, I had run about 90 miles in December, so I had a goal of 100 in January and an eventual goal of 150 in May, which would be about my maximum monthly mileage. As I mentioned above, I was really worn out from the run streak (how do people stack up years-long streaks?) and turning my mileage up to a very high level was a bad idea. It didn’t end up mattering anyway, as I got to be very sick for the last two weeks of the month (just feeling better now) and I haven’t run since Jan 20.

I picked up another challenge, but one without a time component. Spurred by a friend’s push-up streak and an oblique reference to it from a Learned League question, I decided to train to do the “Sally Up” challenge:

If you don’t watch the video above, the gist is to do push-ups, planks, and whatever you call holding yourself off the ground, but with your elbows bent to 90 degrees - all to the tune of Moby’s “Flower”. The song samples a blues song with the lyrics, “Bring Sally up / and bring Sally down / lift and squat gotta tear the ground”. On “bring Sally up” you push up and hold until “bring Sally down”, at which point you bend your elbows to 90 degrees but don’t rest your body on the ground. It’s quite hard. I’d come across it maybe a year ago and only made it about a minute in. My only training for it was to do it after running, and I went from about 1:20 to 1:45. But I haven’t done it since the 20th. I also haven’t researched ‘strats’ for it, but I presume that by just doing the activity I’ll improve at it. Of course, I do pull-ups as a counter motion to this, but I end up feeling some tendonitis or something in my right elbow from doing a lot of push activities, so who knows if I’ll ever be able to do this.

Another reason why I know for a fact I’m no diarist is that I had attempted to chronicle each of the 80 or so runs I did during my run streak. I made it to run three, and then penciled in maybe number 80. Like, utter failure. I don’t know why I can take up physical challenges pretty easily, but forcing myself to do ‘work’ is infinitely harder. I have a form of discipline, but it’s not that one I guess.

I have a few other self-improvement projects, like learning Spencerian penmanship. As I also have a more than vague interest in pens and things, I thought it was stupid to have bad handwriting. Similar-wise to drawing. I’ve wasted so much of my life being fixated on things. I’ve always loved pens and art supplies -- notebooks, pencils, rulers, markers, paints -- but I’ve never taken any kind of instruction or tried to learn anything artistic. So I had and have been working on that. It’s relatively easy to be able to draw forms and figures if you practice, but being creative can’t be taught.

Over what I like to call the ‘Winter Break’, I received for Christmas and read Masha Gessen’s book about Putin. It’s quite good. I don’t know anything about Russian history, so I have to remind myself constantly to temper my reactions to her stories, but it seems... hella fucked up? It’s improbable and frightening how quickly Putin gained, consolidated, and abused his power. Obviously, there are many, many parallels to Trump. It almost seems by design, which I wouldn’t discount. I’ve constantly found many leftists chiding this new-found Russo-phobia to be consternating or outright puzzling. I know Glenn Greenwald is aware of Russia’s policies in re: freedom, press, minority and gay rights. But he seems pretty non-plussed about it all. Like liberals in the US are just continuing the cold war or something. Which, I think is probably sort of true. But also, the motivations here seem totally different? The political apparatus opposing Russian interference in American political life doesn’t seem like it will gain much materially from its actions. And the opposite faction actually has everything to gain. I don’t understand.

One book that’s helped me to understand somewhat is The Devil’s Chessboard, a long history of Allen Dulles and the CIA, written by David Talbot, who founded Slate. Again, I know very little about anything, so I’m constantly having to remind myself that there are countervailing interpretations and views about all of this. But if even half of what Talbot writes about is true, Allen Dulles and his brother John Foster Dulles are two of the most powerful and little-discussed (in the mainstream, popular press or history curriculum) men in American history. The Dulles brothers ran the CIA and State Department throughout from WW2 through the Kennedy administration. So: they ran the official and unofficial foreign policies of the most powerful country in the world during the period in which it gained the majority of its power. With little public accountability. And their only guiding principles being to topple Communism and make money for their former clients and friends in the insanely affluent world of international business. Take away about 80 points of IQ and trade Islam with Communism, and you have today’s state of affairs.

My thinking has been dominated by trying to contextualize all of what’s happening with whatever accounts of the past I can find. This book on Dulles has been an amazing resource for that, and if you’re unfamiliar with the political context of the cold war, then I’d recommend it. It’s very relevant. The whole of American foreign policy, official and secret, can be traced directly to Allen Dulles. From collaborating with Nazis to creating pan-national corporate states to destabilizing foreign regimes to promote or protect the interests of those states to utterly ignoring the rule and spirit of the law to accomplish all of the above. It’s headspinning, breathtaking, whatever. It’s literally incredible, and I’m looking forward to reading something more ‘basic’, like Halberstam’s book about the 50s, to get some more perspective. But it’s beyond a doubt in my mind that America right now is just where it deserves to be.

I haven’t been listening to as much new music and such this month. I came very late to the Kevin Gates album. He’s been consistently one of my favorite rappers, even though he has a plethora of corny songs (”Hard For” is a major cringer). But his flow is ferocious and his voice is just about singular. Whereas it seems like all the other young rappers have moved to welp-like squeaks and squawks for their vocal style, there’s something strangely transgressive about his deep throated gravelly sound.

I’ve rediscovered my love of Phish. It’s just happy, great, energetic music. I just found out Phish is playing a 13 day stand at MSG, and I hope to go to one of those shows. But, TBH, I could live in the summer 1993 tour and be happy forever.

Up until the election, I listened to so many political podcasts, and then after the election I stopped finding entertaining political ‘news’ and journalism. Especially Jon Favreau. What a smarmy fuck. I hope his new podcast “saves america” or whatever, but I highly doubt it will, unless he can find a way to weaponize the uniquely grating sound of condescension and overconfidence masking his one good attribute in life: having a great boss, once. 

I’ve recently discovered an older podcast (though still ongoing!) called Tincture. It’s a post-apocalyptic one, like listening to an alternate universe version of Fallout. Like, if Fallout 3 were actually amazing and somehow influenced by Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series (but only the good parts). It’s awesome, so far. Highly recommended, along with Doughboys, my favorite comedy podcast of the last year. It’s started off a little ‘ehhh’, but the last episode with Jon Gabrus (who also has a pretty good podcast, High and Mighty) was an achievement. Maybe a little too up its own ass for new listeners, but that’s sort of the whole MO of the Doughboys. Maybe you have to get frog-boiled accustomed to it, though. 

There are lots of other things going on in my life, and January has marked an inflection point in one of them. I’m hoping that things somehow the general situation improves. Going to the women’s march in New York was inspirational for the size of the crowd and the diversity of the voices, but it was just one day. I know people are protesting and resisting throughout the country (and world), but I fear that unless the resistance can become commoditized into some form of media or consumption (basically, subsumed into capitalism) a la Fox News and MAGA hats, then it’s doomed to fail. It’s not fun to stand outside in the cold all day yelling. It’s fun to have well groomed people on TV telling you things you agree with. That’s something you’ll do every day and spend money on, perpetuating the messaging and power it has. I just don’t see a way out until people on the left can start to coexist and consolidate their world views into something sustainable in some form that’s empowering and most of all easy to do. I know that’s not very revolutionary, and making a liberal Fox News sounds like simultaneously an unambitious and meager, sham-like goal. But just being practical, everyone tearing everyone else apart on twitter all day is the opposite of productive. There has to be something else.

(I know it’s ironic that I’m calling for some sort of agreeable mass media to give leftist views a mainstream platform for consolidating and propagating their views just a few lines after slamming the Favreau podcast. Maybe I’m just not the target audience for it, so I walk my condemnation back a little and say, more power to you and good luck.)

January is over. Tomorrow is James Joyce’s birthday. I might go for a run today, but I probably won’t. Twenty-eight days later, this post will almost certainly not see a sequel.

[dewbond-blog]

Shallow Dive: Girls und Panzer

Here is a simple question for you: Why do you like Anime?

There is no right or wrong answer to that question, and like any form of entertainment, it is very subjective to the person watching it. When it comes to Anime I think there are several general answers though. People like Anime because of the art style, the music, the mind-blowing battles, the copious amounts of fanservice, the emotions it can bring out of you whether they are sad or go, or maybe they just like cartoons.

Asking this questions at myself I found that my answer was not what I expected, and years of engaging in anime culture and entertainment have shaped and forged that answer until now, I think I can fully answer it.

I like Anime, because when other forms of entertainment ask “Why?” Anime proudly says “Why Not?”

A show where women compete using their boobs and butts? Why not?

A show where a boy uses a robot within a robot within another robot to kill a space god? Why not?

A man with a god complex finds a magical notebook that kills people. Why not?

An entire genre revolving around a single loser guy and a bunch of girls who want nothing more than to ride his dick? Why not?

A show where a guy can cook so good it literally rips people’s clothes off? Why not?

A show where an accidental kiss turns a good upstanding girl into love nectar obsessed sex freak? Why not?

In a world where fans and people seem to be constantly ripping apart entertainment and nitpicking even the slightest plot hole, or dismissing shows because “they don’t make sense” or “don't reflect my Politics”. Anime and Manga have proudly planted their feet on the ground and embraced the idea that ANYTHING can be good entertainment, and one show in my mind sums up that feeling perfectly. After the cut let’s take a dive into Actas Inc’s Girl und Panzer.

Girls und Panzer is something that only Japan could make. Only Japan could take the idea of World War 2 tanks, cute moe Japanese school girls and go “let’s combine the two together.”

Panzer’s world revolves around the sport of Tankery, in which young girls become “better mothers, wives, women and fighters’ by engaging in tank to tank combat where the last remaining one standing wins. To take the brutal and very dangerous practice of tank combat and turn it into a freaking sports anime is something so unbelievable, so brilliant, so just mind-boggling insane that I just found myself yelling at my computer screen: “GOD DAMMIT JAPAN, YOU DID IT AGAIN!”

The story is relatively simple, we follow Miho Nishizumi, the daughter from a family of tankery experts as she transfers to a new school and finds herself roped into the sport of tankery despite not wanting any to do with it. Meeting a bunch of new friends, Miho is able to rediscover her love of the sport and help lead her high school to victory and save it from being closed down. Along the way, there are laughs, tears and excellent tank combat.

Panzer’s story is admittedly very boilerplate, and if you have watched any sports anime before, or any anime, in general, there is nothing in the story itself to set it apart from other shows. The characters themselves are nothing to write home about either as they don’t get much development and mainly serve as pieces to keep the plot going. There are a few quirks and cool ideas, but they are extremely secondary to the idea of cute moe girls fighting in tanks, and that is where Panzer excels.

I do not know if the tank combat portrayed is extremely realistic, but the art, animation, and attention to detail make each battle pop and have you on your toes as you watch them unfold. You feel every hit, every shell fired, and I couldn’t help but feel genuine emotion as Miho and her friends struggle to achieve victory, despite the girls barely scratching the surface of interesting.

Furthermore, Panzer’s absolute commitment to the premise makes the show work. These girls 100% believe in what they are doing and there is never a moment where they seem to be taking the piss out of the show’s concept. They want to fight with tanks, they want to win and they care very much in making sure that they succeed. This in turns helps the viewer adjust to the idea of cute moe girls fighting in what was wildly considered the most dangerous and casualty high combat in World War 2.

Girls und Panzer is not a bad show, nor it is a great show. It is very average, very run of the mill, and aside from its concept, there isn’t much depth. But it is also everything that makes me love Anime, that sheer courage and guts to proudly say “Why not?” when presented with a frankly insane story idea. Where other countries would turn away from the idea of school girls firing tank shells at each other, Japan and the Anime world falls in head first and creates something fun, heartwarming and just...anime. 

These days we live in a world of second-guessing and almost unfair criticism in our entertainment. Give yourself a break from the madness, say “Why not?” and watch some school girls riding battle tanks. You might find yourself saying ‘Why not?” next time too.

[caveartfair]

The 11 Best Photo Books You May Have Missed This Year

“In the blur of the photograph, time leaves its gleaming, snail-like track,” wrote the experimental novelist and photographer Wright Morris, and his words feel right to affix to the act of reconsidering some of the strongest, most resonant, and perhaps overlooked photo books published this year, both works by new photographers and rare or unseen works by the dead and living greats.

Nancy Rexroth, IOWA

Nancy Rexroth, photo from IOWA. Courtesy of University of Texas Press.

Nancy Rexroth, photo from IOWA. Courtesy of University of Texas Press.

In that vein, or rather, on that gleaming track, arrives University of Texas Press’s reissue of Nancy Rexroth’s IOWA. Rexroth’s black-and-white photographs, all taken with a toy plastic Diana camera, and not in Iowa, but Ohio, land on ordinary subjects—livestock, woodframe houses, children playing in backyards and on porches, sunlit interiors—but render them as square-framed dreams, evocative and mysterious. A cult classic sought out by photobook collectors, IOWA returns to print for its 40th anniversary, with a foreword by the acclaimed contemporary photographer Alec Soth.

Joseph Rodriguez, Spanish Harlem: El Barrio in the ’80s

From Spanish Harlem by Joseph Rodriguez, published by powerHouse books.

There is so much heart in the images that comprise Joseph Rodriguez’s Spanish Harlem: El Barrio in the ’80s. Vibrant and irreverent, they portray lives lived largely out in the open, in the streets and playgrounds, in daily religious and musical ritual, and also acknowledging the darker side of life in 1980s Spanish Harlem, economically forgotten and affected by drugs, crime, and poverty. The photographer’s affection for the community of Harlem is rich and deep.

TBW Books’s Subscription Series

Mike Mandel, photo from Boardwalk Minus Forty , 1973–83. © Mike Mandel. Courtesy of TBW Books.

This year’s edition of TBW Books’s annual Subscription Series is a consistently excellent four-book set of rare and never-before-published bodies of work by influential living photographers. TBW Subscription Series No. 5 includes Susan Meiselas’s Prince Street Girls, her intimate photographs of a group of teenagers and girls in the Lower East Side of the late 1970s; Mike Mandel’s wonderful portfolio Boardwalk Minus Forty; Lee Friedlander’s Head (whose recurring titular motif astutely, movingly, and wittingly transforms each frame); and Bill Burke’s They Shall Take Up Serpents, which spools a fascinating narrative in its portrayal of the lives of coal miners who double as religious snake handlers.

William Gedney, William Gedney: Only the Lonely, 1955–1984

William Gedney, Cornett Girls, Kentucky, 1964. Courtesy of the University of Texas Press.

William Gedney, San Francisco, 1967. Courtesy of the University of Texas Press.

This is the first book devoted to the late and vastly underexamined photographer William Gedney’s work in nearly 20 years. For those new to Gedney, the book serves as a fine introduction; for others, there is much to rediscover and a rare glimpse at the photographer’s process, via a selection of his artist’s notebooks introduced by Margaret Sartor.

Gedney died at just 56, of an AIDS-related illness in 1989, and was not open about his homosexuality until relatively late in life. His deep, documentary-minded forays into India, San Francisco, Kentucky, and elsewhere find a resonant and emotional kinship with marginalized people and places: black-and-white photographs of a family of sharecroppers and laid-off coal miners that rival in excellence to work by his mentor Walker Evans, as well as participants at gay pride parades in the 1980s, streets-dwellers in Benares, India, hippie drifters in late 1960s Haight-Ashbury, and the diverse world right outside his Brooklyn apartment. Perhaps his most work, his eloquent “Night” series captures lonesome streets, yards, and porches.

Sam Contis, Deep Springs

Sam Contis, photo from Deep Springs (MACK, 2017). Courtesy of the artist and MACK.

In sublime black-and-white photographs that veer between gentleness and grit, Sam Contis’s Deep Springs emerges from a series of trips the photographer made to the experimental, all-male northern California college Deep Springs. There she sought to reckon visual archetypes of the American West and traditional notions of masculinity with the people and close-knit world she encountered: the tangible, physical connections between young men and between the men and the rugged and romantic landscape. These are pictures that deal equally in violence and tenderness.

La Toya Ruby Frazier, And from the Coaltips a Tree Will Rise

La Toya Ruby Frazier, Maria C.’s hands holding a family photograph showing her mother, brother, and herself as a child. Courtesy of Mac’s.

In her acclaimed 2014 book The Notion of Family, LaToya Ruby Frazier portrayed members of her African-American family in moving, classic documentary photographs that viewed their complicated and intertwined relationships to the dying steel mills in Braddock, Pennsylvania, through the lens of environmental and economic racism. What had developed in personal and organic ways translates just as movingly outside her own family and country, too: Recently, Frazier adopted a similar approach in Borinage, a formerly prosperous Belgian mining region that saw its last mine close in 1976. Told in photographs and testimonies Frazier gathered from the former miners and their families, her new book And from the Coaltips a Tree Will Rise is an extensive and trenchant collection of portraits, landscapes, and still lifes.

Rebecca Norris Webb and Alex Webb, Slant Rhymes

Alex Webb, Havana, Cuba from Slant Rhymes. Courtesy of La Fábrica.

The conversation between words and images, and between images and images, is the foundation for artistic collaborators and wife and husband Rebecca Norris Webb and Alex Webb, who drew from nearly 30 years of photographs and travels for their vivid and enigmatic book of color images, Slant Rhymes. The title is an allusion to Emily Dickinson—“Tell all the truth but tell it slant”—and Rebecca Norris Webb, originally a poet, borrowed the idea of half rhymes, “pairings of words that echo each other,” to describe the visual reverberations that accrue in these pictures.

In dual visions of the animal and human worlds on a shared trip to Havana, or palpable resonances between far-flung and seemingly disparate places (a bleak interior window on a rainy evening in the Badlands of South Dakota; women at the Kumbh Mela festival in India, a gathering of 35 million people), the pictures become a correspondence, a love letter even. Asks Rebecca: “Why do I see you more clearly when we’re worlds apart?”

Jack Pierson, Pierson: The Hungry Years

Jack Pierson, Janet and Lynelle, 1990. © Jack Pierson. Courtesy of Damiani.

“The tawdry side of life is celestial,” writes Eileen Myles by way of introduction to Jack Pierson: The Hungry Years, a collection of Pierson’s color photographs from the 1980s, which is both artistically illuminating and as casual as a scrapbook. Shot in his native Massachusetts to his adopted New York City, as well as Florida and elsewhere, the pictures form a seductive, adventurous, and bittersweet travelogue and an aesthetic record of a photographer coming into his own as an artist, and as a gay artist, pulled equally toward lurid abstraction and, as Stephen Shore puts it in the foreword, “the expressionistically real.”

Mary Frey, Reading Raymond Carver

Mary Fray, from the series Reading Raymond Carver. Courtesy of Peperoni Books.

In Reading Raymond Carver, Mary Frey revisits a body of work she began 38 years ago, when she was teaching full-time in graduate school, and pregnant. Shot in early 1980s working-class America, her photographs of family, friends, and strangers in seemingly banal domestic scenes capture unconscious moments of grace—the woman balancing a just-baked pie on mittened fingers, the husband placing a strand of pearls around his wife’s neck. Most revelatory, though, are her pictures of girls, women, and young mothers raising kids, putting on makeup and dressing up in bridal veils, listening deep to Led Zeppelin eight-tracks, and visibly trying out new ways of being. The final text of the book is a poem by Carver, bleak but affirming: “Would I live my life over again?
 Make the same unforgivable mistakes? Yes, given half a chance. Yes.”

Sory Sanlé, Sory Sanlé: Volta Photo 1965–1985

Sory Sanlé, photo from Sory Sanlé - Volta Photo 1965-1985. Courtesy of Reel Art Press.

Sory Sanlé, photo from Sory Sanlé - Volta Photo 1965-1985. Courtesy of Reel Art Press.

Like his Malian neighbor Malick Sidibé, Sory Sanlé was a photographer of and for the people, making portraits in a local studio in his native Upper Volta (the country now known as Burkina Faso) where, also like Sidibé, he encountered an uncommon number of incredibly stylish subjects, many of them dressing in highly original outfits that blended African clothes and Western, brand-conscious influence. When he began photographing around 1960, the country had just gained its independence from France; the black-and-white photographs collected in Sory Sanlé: Volta Photo 1965–1985 are both indelible portraits in their own right and a fascinating visual chronicle of both the evolving styles and dynamic cultural shifts in an underrepresented country.

William Eggleston, Election Eve

Finally, while it would seem disingenuous to categorize anything William Eggleston does these days as being under the radar, this fall, the celebrated pioneer of color photography released his first album of music (Musik, if you’re interested) and the fervor for his collection of synthesizer improvisations threatened to overshadow the arrival of one of his most remarkable portfolios, Election Eve, now out from Steidl in a gloriously beautiful edition. In 1976, when Jimmy Carter was running for president of the United States, Eggleston was asked by a magazine editor to photograph the Southern hometown of the presidential candidate, who was once a peanut farmer. Eggleston, now 78 and resolutely apolitical, did not accept the commission, but visited Plains, Georgia, on his own terms.

The famously at-war-with-the-obvious Eggleston did not photograph the candidate, or his family, or supporters; in fact, scarcely any people appear in these pictures and there is scant indication of the impending election, other than a photograph of a “Let’s Elect Jimmy Carter President” sticker plastered on the bumper of a gold-colored Chrysler. But the impressions made by human beings (particularly the photographer himself) are revelatory, and even in the languor and stillness of seemingly benign settings (parking lots, baseball field bleachers, roadsides, mounds of red Georgia dirt, the exterior of a peanut processing plant), there is a profound sense of anticipation and an elegiac discovery of beauty in the overlooked.

Viewing these pictures anew and many for the first time in 2017, it is impossible not to also see them as lessons, subtle but potent signs in the landscape, pointing to the kinds of things we as a country are still all too apt to miss.

from Artsy News