#and it was fascinating — music interviews are always fascinating

[insanityisdivine]

so the reason Ace hasn't toured outside US

is because he doesn't have a passport. Get it back, please!!!!!!

[sweetest-devotion]

happy international alex turner day to those who celebrate.

[jezebelblues]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢��𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.

𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞��𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 17k

❏ burning hill by mitski teehee !! was the main inspo for this

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

*

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

[justmeinadaze]

Yin & Yang (Steddie X You)

A/N: This post got me feeling some kind of way🫠 .

Warnings: Older Daddy Eddie (Late 30s)/ Older Dom Mr. Harrington (Late 30s) & Younger Fem Sub Y/N (mid 20s)

SMUT, LOTS of dirty talk, male masturbation, fingering, talks of sharing (duh), slight innocence kink (if you squint; she's new to the dynamic), ANGST, reader deals with a rude customer and Eddie saves the day. A fight between Eddie and Y/N are mentioned.

Word Count: 4838

Donate to my Ko-Fi <3

Everyone always said Edward Munson was a rude, pretentious asshole. News outlets, websites, social media; everyone who met him briefly or not at all expressed a particular distain for him that you always found amusing when the topic came up. 

Visually, he did seem a bit aloof whenever the businessman did any kind of interview or was asked any kind of question. It was always a bit odd seeing a music producer get so much attention especially one who focused on the heavy metal scene but everyone who hated him also tended to agree that he was a genius at the craft. 

The bands he signed and prompted always hit high numbers on their respective charts making him and them a ton of extra money in the process. 

Anything you read or heard you skimmed past mostly because that wasn’t exactly your scene nor did you know anything when it came to what goes on the background of the music industry. Working at a coffee shop wasn’t extravagant or lucrative but it got you through till you could figure what actually was your scene and go from there. 

That’s how you met him. 

On a particularly rough shift, a man was screaming at you about an order that you supposedly got wrong as you tried to control the tears from spilling down your face. 

“How stupid are you?! It’s coffee not a fucking math equation. You just put the right liquid in the right cup and fucking hand it to me! It’s not that hard! Fucking moron.”

“Excuse me.” The man turned just as the handsome gentleman who addressed him hung up his phone and shoved it into his coat pocket. “I understand you’re a bit stressed but I’m going to have to ask you to stop harassing the young lady. It’s not her fault and she’s doing her best.”

“Pfft. Fuck off, douchebag. This doesn’t concern you.”

“It actually does because you couldn’t handle this situation in a quiet calm manner. You’re ruining everyone’s morning including mine. Now…either take the coffee she’s giving you or wait for her to make a new one patiently.”

The man’s fist flew but the gentleman moved out of the way, grabbing his wrist, and twisting it as he forced the man to kneel before him. 

“Ok. If this is the way you want to do this, that’s fine. Sweetheart…” When he addressed you, you immediately stood at attention ready to die for this man if he asked after what he had just done. “Can you hand me that cup there? Thank you.”, he praises, flashing you a small smile that makes you giddy. “Now, apologize to the young lady.”

“Ow, I’m sorry!”, the man cringes when his wrist is twisted a bit more. 

“Good. Take this coffee and get the fuck out of my sight. If I see you here again I won’t be so nice.”

Disregarding the Styrofoam in the gentleman’s hand, the rude customer quickly gets to his feet before running out of the store. Sighing, your hero places the coffee in front of you.

“Thank you…for defending me… He was being such an asshole.”

“Yeah, he was. It’s not your fault he didn’t order the correct thing. I can be an asshole myself but I know when and where to use it.” When you giggled, his beautiful eyes scan you over as if trying to get a read on you with the little information in front of him. 

“Are you, um, are you Edward?”, you ask as you slide him the coffee with the name scrawled across. 

Again, he glances you over and later on you would learn he was looking for recognition. Everyone he interacted with knew his name and who he was. You were the first person in years who seemed to regard him as just another stranger which fascinated him.

“I am but you can call me Eddie. That’s what my friends call me.”

“Oh. Um, we’re friends?”

“For now, but I’d like to be more whenever you’re open to it.”

Another smile stretched across his face when he noticed your own turn bright red as you blushed. 

“You don’t even know my name.”

Coyly, he leans his elbows on to your counter as his eyes stare at your chest. At first you feel self-conscious before you realize he’s looking at your name tag and you let out a tiny laugh to break the tension.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Do I make you nervous?” 

“A little.”

“Honest. I like that. How about this. I can pick you up after your shift today and we can start with dinner and go from there.”

“I don’t have any clothes to change into.”

“That’s ok. I think you look perfect as is and I promise when I come get you I won’t be dressed as formal.”

“O-Ok, Eddie.”

“Good. Good girl. I’ll see you tonight.”

That evening, he showed up right as the shop was about to close and when you told him it would be a few more minutes, he nodded as he patiently waited by the front door. You occasionally snuck glances at him as he browsed his phone. True to his word, he wore jeans and sneakers with a nice white button up shirt that he had rolled up to his elbows. With how he looked this morning, you imagined for him this was dressed pretty down. While his hair was slicked back when you last saw him, now his waves seemed to have a mind of their own making him seem less intimidating and quite adorable. 

Eddie asked you so many different questions about yourself, silently listening as you both ate at the restaurant he took you to. You learned fairly quickly, while he seemed like a man of few words, his body language spoke loudly. His chocolate eyes never left yours as he hung on each and every word you spoke. When you said something he found even remotely funny, his lips would flicker into a slight smirk before returning to their proper alignment. When your drink ran low, his finger would raise and a waiter would promptly run your way with a refill and as the night progressed you found his leg leaning against yours with a little sigh escaping his chest when you didn’t shy away. 

“I feel kind of selfish. I’ve been talking about myself a lot but I feel like I don’t know anything about you.”

“Honestly, sweetheart, it’s a nice reprieve. Everyone I run into knows me and my perceived reputation so to finally meet someone who doesn’t know me is a breath of fresh air.”

“Reputation…”, you repeated the word apprehensively. 

“Um, I’m kind of known as being a jerk.”

“You don’t seem like that to me.”

Eddie smiled so wide this time that his teeth came into view and you knew at that moment you’d do whatever it took to see him smile like that as much as possible. 

“Thank you for that. I can be when I need to be. In my line of work people tend to take advantage pretty early on and I wanted this industry to know I’m not someone to fuck with.”

“Do you make movies or?”

“Music. I’m a music producer for some heavy metal bands.”

“Oh wow! That’s so amazing. I would love to know more! Did you use to play?”

When he finally began to open up, hours passed like minutes and you were so entranced that you didn’t even realize the restaurant was getting ready to close. 

Eddie told you at one point he was in a band but hated the way they were cast aside for being “to generic” and “stuck in the past” so he took matters into his own hands. He bought a building and turned it into a label where he could help produce his friend’s music. He learned everything he could about production and managing, getting everything together, and essentially put Corroded Coffin on the map. 

He found that he actually loved working behind the scenes and stuck with it from that point forward. Now he’s a well-respected name in his field earning triple what he would have made as a guitarist. 

“What’s the name of the label you first opened?”

“Franklin Production; my mother’s maiden name. It seemed right because her money bought the building and she always loved music. She died when I was young.”

When his head hung, your heart broke. 

“Oh my God, Eddie. I’m so sorry.”

His mood changed in the blink of an eye as he breathily chuckled and glanced at his watch. 

“Shit, Y/N, it’s almost 1am. You have to be exhausted after your long shift today. Let me pay for our meal here and then I can take you home.”

“We’ve ordered so much food and drinks. Please let me help pay.” He paused at your comment then as his eyes met your now confused ones. “What?”

“I’ve only met one person who ever offered something like you just did and that man is my best friend.”

“I mean…it’s rude…isn’t it? It’s not fair for me to expect you to pay for everything.”

“Fuck me, baby.” Your eyelids visibly flutter at the term of endearment; coming out of his mouth with a sultry husk that made you swoon. “You’re really something special. I appreciate the offer but when you’re with me, honey, I can take care of you. It’s my pleasure quite honestly.”

You watched him pay the waiter and leave him way more than 15% before Eddie grabs your hand, leading you back to his car. 

That night he dropped you off at your apartment continuing to be the perfect gentleman as he walked you to your door and kept his hands behind his back as you slowly turned your key. Before you entered, however, you paused and hastily turned to plant a small kiss on his lips. Without waiting for a retort, you want inside and shut your door with a little giggle, watching through the peephole to see what he’d do. 

Eddie’s fingers softly brushed against his mouth as he grinned the way you enjoyed at the restaurant. 

***

You had been together now for a few months and you loved him with every fiber of your being. Eddie was extremely protective over you insisting you quit your job and move in with him. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t want you being somewhere where some fucker can belittle you and make you feel like trash. I can take care of you till you find a new job that makes you happy and people treat you with the respect you deserve.”

“Eddie, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking; I’m offering.”, he cooed as his hands cupped your cheeks. “You know how much Daddy loves looking after his pretty girl.”

The first time he called himself Daddy, you blushed and hid behind your hands making him smile as he chuckled low in his throat. 

“Have you ever called a man Daddy before?” When you giggle and curl tighter into your body, he climbed into the bed beside you and pulled you to his side. “It’s ok, sweetheart. Nothing to be embarrassed about with me. Can I show you something?”

Eddie grins when you drop your palms and show him your beautiful face. 

“Good girl.”, he praises as he takes ahold of your hand and kisses the back of it. With his eyes locked on yours, he gradually places it on the bulge in his slacks. “You feel that? Do you feel how hard I am just from being around you as is? You don’t have to do or say anything you don’t want to, princess. I’ll still be here and I’ll still want to fuck you till you can barely move.”

A smile twitched on his lips when your breathing stuttered. 

“I-I-I’ve never called anyone Daddy before or done anything that’s not…”

“Vanilla?”, he helped when your sentence stalled. “Vanilla’s ok to. Definitely a delicious flavor that can’t be disregarded. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

Eddie leans in till his mouth is just hovering over the shell of your ear. 

“The fact that you’re so nervous and innocent to all this really fucking turns me on.”

When his cock strains a bit more against the fabric and pushes back against your hand, you can’t help but release a little whine as you push your thighs together. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Got a bit of an ache between your legs?”

“Yes.”, you breath out heavily as his palm ghosts up your thigh and his lips tenderly peck along your neck. 

“I can help with that if you want.”

“Y-Yes, Daddy, please.”

Now, you were more than comfortable especially since he was always so patient with you when it came to almost everything. Unlike your past relationships, you were genuinely surprised at how little the two of you fought if at all. Eddie was a force in his business but when you two were together he was always as accommodating as possible. The one time you ever saw his anger directed towards you was when you forgot your phone when you went on a girl’s night out with your friends. 

When you came home at 2 in the morning, he was waiting in the living room and pacing with a glass of whiskey in his hand. 

“It’s 2 in the morning, Y/N! I’ve been worried sick! You forgot your phone. What if something happened to you and you couldn’t reach me!?”

“Eddie, it’s ok! I just forgot it. I promise I’ll do better next time—”

“That’s not the point! What if there hadn’t been a next time!? I’m responsible for you!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!! I’m sorry!!”

“You watch that fucking tone with me, little girl!”

“Oh yeah. Or what?!”

When the glass in his hand shattered into the wall behind you everything became abruptly silent. Tears stung your eyes as you grabbed the little trashcan nearby and scooted towards the mess, sinking to your knees as you collect the pieces. 

“Y/N, baby. No. No, no. Let me clean this, please.”, Eddie begged, his tone much softer than before as he kneeled beside you. 

When he tried to take the sharp items from your grasp, you angrily pulled away from him. 

“I didn’t mean to forget my phone. It was an honest mistake and you had no right screaming at me like you just did!”

“I know. You’re right, sweetheart. You are absolutely right. I just… fuck… I’m so sorry, Y/N. I love you so much and the idea of something happening to you or you getting hurt just terrifies me. I shouldn’t have reacted this way.”

Blinking up at him, your hand reaches for his own. 

“You love me?”

“Yeah, Y/N, of course. Since I met you behind that coffee counter.”

After tackling him excitedly, you beamed as you kissed his lips. 

“I love you to.”

People on the outside didn’t seem to understand why you were with him but they didn’t know him the way you did. Eddie was sweet, funny, and incredibly kind despite his hardened outer exterior. According to the man himself, the only other person who understood him the same way you did was a man you had yet to meet. 

#############

Steven Harrington was a name you knew solely due to his reputation in media. 

He was always portrayed as just another trust fund baby who was utilizing daddy’s money to do whatever he wanted. He got in trouble constantly but brushed it off with a sexy smile and a calm demeanor that made even the biggest skeptic want to trust him.

The first time Eddie mentioned him by name was after you noticed him watching one of Steve’s interviews. 

“Fucking idiot.”, he chuckled light-heartedly, turning the screen of his phone so you could watch to when you climbed into bed beside him. “This is the guy I was telling you about. Steve Harrington has been my best friend for years.”

“This is your best friend?”

When he nods, you focus on the interview in front of you.

“No, no. Trust me, that company would be crazy to sell right now in this economy. Once things bounce back it will be worth way more than it is now. Then again…if they sell I could buy it and turn it into a hotel or some s***. Go ahead than! Sell that f***er!”, he laughs making you giggle as well when his nose scrunches adorably. 

“Steve is actually a very clever business guy. People constantly underestimate him because he acts like a playboy.”

“So…he’s the yin to your yang?”

Eddie smirks down at you before kissing your forehead. 

“You could say that.”

The more your boyfriend told you about him the more you wanted to meet him. Eddie seemed to genuinely care about this person and as his girlfriend you wanted him to get to know him as well. The first time you spoke to him was after you moved in with Ed and he called to congratulate you both. 

“Hey! Are you Y/N?”

“I am.”, you grin. 

“Oh good. I don’t know what I would have done if you said no. ‘EDDIE! Some random pretty girl is in your place!’”, Steve laughed. 

“Pft. How do you know I’m pretty?”

“Because a sexy voice like yours must be inside a beautiful woman. I’m kind of jealous.”

He said it so smoothly that if you weren’t already sitting you’re sure his words would have knocked you off your feet. Your eyes glanced towards Eddie who was watching you from his spot on the couch. 

“Uh oh. Did I lose you, honey? Sorry. Sometimes I come on a bit too strong.”

“No, no. It’s ok. You just… you remind me of him.”, you exhale as you get up and walk towards your boyfriend. 

“Of who? Of Eddie? I take that as a compliment. He’s a good man.”

“Yeah he is but that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Oh? Well then use your words, pretty girl. Who do I remind you of? I’m DYING to know.”

Eddie softly smirks as he watches your breathing stagger the same way it does when you’re intimidated by something. His ring covered fingers gently trace down your arm making you shiver. 

“Tell me.”

The two words that followed came out as a strong command that told you to obey. The contradiction of how he spoke now to how he had before made you dizzy and you desperately wanted more. 

“Daddy.”

After tossing the phone next to Eddie, you covered your face with your palms and ran up the stairs. A few moments later, the man you loved climbed into bed beside you and collected you into his arms. 

“Talk to me, baby. Remember, no matter what there’s nothing to be embaressed about, ok?” He smiled when he felt you nod against his chest. “I know Steve can be a bit much at first but he’s a good person who’s been through a lot of bullshit.”

As you sniffle, you tilt back so you could see his face. 

“I feel bad.”

“About what, sweetheart?”

“I liked the way he spoke to me. It turned me on the same way you do.”

“Ok…why does that make you feel bad?”

You shrug. “I love you.”

That makes him genuinely smile. 

“I love you to, Y/N, so much. That’s why I trust you, babe. I, um, I have a confession to make.” When you sit up to give him your full attention, he does the same. “I’ve known Steve for a long time and I trust that man with my life. I’ve told him things I’ve never told anyone and he’s done the same. You said, sweetheart, he’s the yin to my yang and you’re right. Fuck… how do I say this…”

“You want to share me?”

The innocent way you asked your question drove him insane but he pushed down the need to fuck you for the time being. 

“Kind of, yes. I…I wanted to see how you two got along and if it worked out, maybe, we could fly to go meet him and… you’d still be mine but he’d—”

“Use me.”

“Fuck, baby, you have to stop saying things like that the way you are.”, Eddie panted excitedly as he adjusted the growing bulge in his pants. 

“May I ask why? Why you would want to share me like that?”

“Of course, Y/N, you can always ask me anything. You hold the power here especially when it comes to this. I just… he’s my best friend and I want him to be happy to. In these past few months, you’ve changed my world and I just want to give him some of that. I, um, I also think…”

“Tell me, Daddy. Please.”, you beg in your tiny voice that has his eyes closing as he tries to control himself. 

“Fuck… I think it would be incredibly hot to watch you fuck him.”

You had told him you were open but apprehensive because it was all new territory for you. Both men came up with an idea to help you get acclimated to the idea. 

“Hey all. Wow, Jesus Christ Munson, you undersold your girlfriend’s beauty. Hot damn.”

You giggled as Eddie rolled his eyes at his friend who was laughing himself from his side of the computer screen. It looked like Steve had the device he was using for this facetime visit resting on his lower stomach as he leaned against the headboard of his bed looking incredibly sexy with his ruffled hair and tank top just barely covering the chest hair that littered his skin. 

Eddie had you sitting in between his own legs as he rested his head against your shoulder and his arms hugged you to him. 

“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. If I do at any point please just let me know and I’ll respect your boundaries.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable but, uh, you kind of intimidate me a bit…more than Eddie did.”

“Is it because I start at 10 and go from there? Yeah, casualties of growing up in chaotic household and then starting a business where your biggest competitor is your father.”

“What DO you do? Ed said you’re an investor?”

“Kind of.  I invested in a friend’s tech company many years ago and that paid off in a big way. They make medical supplies that are high quality for a cheaper price. I’m trying to expand so we can invest in more—Pfft! Listen to me talking about all that bullshit. Let’s talk about something else.”

“No, hey! That’s amazing that you do that. My father needed supplies like that but it was so hard for him to afford stuff. You’ve probably helped so many people. What supplies has your company helped make?”

Steve blinked, sitting up straighter.

“Huh.”

“I told you.”, Eddie sings as he places a delicate kiss along your skin. 

“D-Did I do something wrong? Am I not allowed to ask him questions?”, you asked genuinely worried you crossed a line. 

“Most people, let alone women, don’t care enough to ask us things like you just did.”

“Maybe you two are spending time around the wrong people.”

“Maybe… Damn, Eddie. She’s perfect. Where did you find her because obviously I’ve been looking in the wrong places.”

“Hm. I found her in a coffee shop being yelled at by some asshole. Fucker.”, he growled before you tilted back and kissed his cheek. “It’s not just her personality either. Her body fucking drives me crazy. Even just watching her walk from the bed to the bathroom makes me so fucking hard.”

“Yeah? Your Daddy says you have sexy body. Can you show it to me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable, princess.”, Eddie whispers in your ear.

“Can you help me, Daddy?”

Nodding, he removes each item of your clothing till you were naked for the man on the screen in front of you. 

“Fuck me. I’m not just saying this, Y/N, but you’re so gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”, you groan as you lick your lips. “May I see you?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”, he smirks. 

Your whole body tingled as you watched him undress until you sucked in a sharp intake of air when his cock sprang free from his cotton confinement. 

“He’s so big.”, you murmur against Eddie’s cheek as his eyes remain downcast to focus on you. “How will it fit?”

“We’ll make fit, pretty girl. Steve and I can take care of you.”

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Little one is worried about your splitting her in half. “

“Don’t worry, honey, I’m a gentleman to. I’m not going to just shove my dick inside of you. Even if it takes hours, we can eat and finger your little pussy till she’s ready.”

“Fuck, Daddy, please.”

Aggressively, Eddie opens your legs wide putting you on display and making Steve groan. 

“Wet already and no one’s even touched you yet.”, he responded mockingly before leaning over his cock to spit on his tip and stroke himself. “How tight is she, Munson?”

You moaned loudly as Eddie inserted two of his thick fingers into your cunt and your head leaned back against him.

“So fucking tight, Harrington, and greedy. Her pussy just sucks me in and chokes my dick when she cums. Add in her sexy little noises and the way her face scrunches…” 

“Open your eyes, Y/N.” Steve smiles when you do what he asks. “Good girl. She listens to. Fuck, baby, don’t take those eyes off me. God, I’m—mmm—I’m dying to feel those pretty lips around my cock.”

“You’re really good at sucking cock, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy. I’m…M’close.”

“I know, pretty girl. I can feel it. Why don’t you tell Stevie how bad you want his cum.”

You mewl as Eddie moves at a faster pace with the sound of your slick echoing around the room. 

“Please, Mr. Harrington, Sir. I-I-I want your cum so much. I want to feel you—ahhhh—feel your cock in my mouth till you spill down my throat.”

“Jesus Christ.”, he grunted and you both watched as his release hit his thigh. 

“You did so good, sweetheart. Cum for Daddy now, baby.”, Eddie praised as your back pushed against his chest and you panted as you came. “That’s my girl. Good girl. Ride it out on my fingers till you come back to me. That’s it.”

“Fucking hell. That was amazing, honey.” Steve watch with fascination as you turned your body and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s chest as you curled into his warm chest. “Everything ok?”

“She’s fine. It’s something baby girl does when she cums hard like that. She’ll squeeze me like a fucking Teddy bear and fall asleep. Sometimes it’s for a few minutes or a few hours. At first I thought it was the headspace but I don’t know. Either way I love it.”

“Yeah, man. If she had a good time and is open to it I have that party coming up in a month. You two can fly down and we can hang out. Of course, nothing has to happen. I can always just show you guys around and get to know her more.”

“I’ll let you know when she wakes up and we talk about it.”

“No problem. No problem. Hey, maybe at most, you and I can fuck around.”, Steve replies as he coyly raises his eyebrows making his friend laugh.

“Ok, calm down over there.”

“Oh, come on. Not like it would be the first time—”

“Good night, asshole.”, Eddie teases as he cuts him off and closes the laptop.

#################

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”, Eddie asks as he watches you fidget with your hands as you stare at your reflection in the metal of the elevator. 

“Yeah. I’m just a little nervous. This is your best friend and I know how much he means to you. I don’t want to…I don’t know…fuck anything up.”

“Fuck, I still think it’s hot when you get all jittery like this.”, he chuckles as he takes your palm in his. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. I love you so I know for a fact he will. Just keep being your unique self, baby, and no matter what I’ll be here if you need anything.”

When he flashes you that big toothy grin, you can’t help but smile back as you lean up on your toes to kiss his lips. The doors abruptly swing open and your boyfriend’s demeanor instantly hardens at the sound of loud party guests in the room you both step into. 

Your eyes swing around the area with no sign of the host himself. 

Tugging on Eddie’s bicep, you lead him to the drink station where you desperately chug down some liquid courage as you pray that tonight goes as smoothly as possible.

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

[larissasgirl]

Green-eyed monster

My obsession with Larissa Weems is back, so you're getting a "You look beautiful with my lipstick all over you face" story 👀 I'm sorry if there's any mistakes, I did tried to reread as best as I could 👉👈

Larissa was not the jealous type, and even less the type to fall this quickly. She had devoted her life to her career, as keeping her students and staff safe was always her priority. She was the kind of person that would make an auditorium go silent as soon as she stepped a foot in it, the one who radiated confidence even through the worst crisis. And yet, she found herself in the corner of the gymnasium at the Rave’N, her arms crossed and her jaw clenched as she watched another teacher being way too close to you to her liking. 

Truth to be told, you had always fascinated Larissa. The first day she had interviewed you, she barely asked you any questions, as your answers were already everything she could wish for a first year teacher. When she had hired you, the smile you gave her right then would have made her knees go weak if she wasn’t sitting already. She had done everything in her power to see the same smile again through the years you had worked together, the kind of one that lights up the whole room and made her forget about the world around her. Her affection towards you slowly took another turn, as she began by popping up in your classroom to invite you for lunch, that slowly turned into dinner invitations to late nights drinking wine in her office when everybody had gone to their rooms. Truth to be told, she was head over heels in love with you, but she was too afraid to ruin your professional relationship, your friendship.

And as the Rave’N approached, she wished nothing more than invite you to attend the dance with her, but the fear of rejection paralyzed her. In her heart, she was praying you’d make the first step, but shook her head every time at such an absurd thought, as she was sure you didn’t feel the same way she did. 

And here she was, at a dance full of teenagers she was supposed to watch over, if only her eyes would be able to leave your figure. You had decided to wear a simple black dress that reached your feet, and Larissa forgot how to breathe when she had noticed the slit on your left side, exposing your leg everytime you’d take a step forward. She had also chuckled when she had noticed that you were wearing your typical Nike shoes, remembering that you hated heels from one of your late-night conversation in her office. Larissa uncrossed her arms to flatten the invisible wrinkles on her dress, an attempt to distract herself from the fire burning inside her stomach. She had opted for a golden dress that reached below her knees, the long sleeves covering her arms in a final attempt to remain professional. She had put thoughts into it, opting for something out of her regular style to impress you, but not daring to exceed the limit as she was still the principal. She huffed as she noticed you smiling at the other teacher, one she was truly never fond of considering her very obvious advances on you. Except you never seemed to notice, as you’d always smile back at her politely and keep up with whatever conversation she was trying to have with you. Larissa was not a jealous woman, but tonight, she was boiling inside. 

She finally decided she had enough and walked up to you, her heels echoing despite the loud music playing. You raised your eyes and met hers, smiling at her in a way you only did when you noticed her presence close to you, not bothering to listen to your coworker anymore. She seemed to realize something had caught your attention and she followed your gaze, seeing the principal making her way to you, quickly mumbling she’d see you later as the older woman finally reached you. You chucked, knowing how intimidating Larissa could be. But not with you. Never with you.

“Hi,” she beamed at you, placing herself in front of you. She noticed the way the dress hugged every curve of your body, as her eyes made their way to your exposed leg, making her bite her lip involuntarily. “You look marvelous tonight, darling,” she said, her eyes making their way back to yours, only to catch you doing the same, watching every inch of her body, your cheeks colored in a soft shade of pink at her words. You had noticed how she only used pet names with you, something that made your heart skip a beat every time, and tonight was no exception.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, an attempt to regulate your heartbeat at the compliment. “You look incredible Larissa,” the twinkle in your eyes not having gone unnoticed by the principal, who’s anger was immediately forgotten as her attention was solely on you. 

She smiled at you softly, her cheeks now matching the color of yours. You watched her in awe, fighting the urge to touch her, to reach for her hands, to have any kind of contact with her. She was truly the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. You always craved being near her, to a point where she clouded every thought you had. You had often wondered if her lips were as soft as they seemed. She was everything you had ever looked for in someone, intelligent, brave, kind, patient. You had wanted to ask her to the dance, and God knows you had tried. Every time you had faced her about to do so, you had choked on your words, changing topic as if nothing had happened. And defeated, you had decided to let it be. 

“They certainly did a good job,” she got you out of your head as she raised her hand to gesture to the room, where you noticed Wednesday doing a strange dance that made you chuckle. 

“They did, I’m so happy they’re finally having fun and getting a chance to unwind after all the craziness that happened,” you confessed, staring into her blue orbs once again.

“Are you having fun?” she questioned, taking a step forward to hear you better, the music blasting louder than before making it difficult to hear your voice. She wanted to hear your voice. 

“I am now that you’re here.” You tilted your head to the side. “I was looking forward seeing you”, you confessed, unable to keep this information for yourself any longer. Surely, Larissa had to know she was the only person you wanted to spend time with in the crowd, she deserved to know, to be reminded.

She took a step forward, her face incredibly close to yours as she put her hands on your shoulders, making you melt at the contact. Her perfume made you feel dizzy and you breathed it in, the smell just so Larissa. “Do you wanna step out a moment? It’s getting too loud,” she said in your ear, and you missed the contact of her hands on your body as soon as she stepped away, only being able to nod in agreement.

Larissa turned on her heels towards the door, looking back to make sure you were following. She noticed the same teacher that was talking to you earlier standing by the door, fire coming back to her eyes as she announced to her that she was stepping out a moment and to keep an eye on the room. The other woman’s eyes had widened as she noticed the principal approach, only to quickly nod before stepping further into the room, disappearing from your view. The background noise seemed further away as soon as the doors closed behind you, feeling like a relief to your ears. You followed Larissa to her office, entering behind her as she held the door open for you, making you blush once again. You had never been treated this way before, never had anyone holding a door for you, and for some, the small gesture would have gone unnoticed, but not to you. And even if she was doing it simply out of kindness, or so you thought, it was still enough to make the blood rise to your cheeks.

She opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses, expertly opening it and handing you a half-full glass. You thank her before sitting on the couch, Larissa following your movements and sitting next to you. 

“It’s nice to get some silence,” you broke the silence, pulling the glass to your lips, tension leaving your shoulders at the contact of the liquid. “It feels so comfortable being here with you”, you continued before kicking off your shoes and crossing your legs, exposing the skin of your tight. 

Larissa eyes never left the new exposed skin, smiling at your childish gesture at first only to find herself completely hypnotized with this part of your body she had never seen before. 

“Like was you see?” you teased her, taking another sip of wine. This seemed to snap her out of her trance, raising her gaze to meets yours only to find a smirk playing on your lips. The liquid seemed to give you the bravery you didn’t have before, and the looks Larissa kept giving you since she had first approached you in the gymnasium certainly helped with the turmoil of uncertainty you were feeling inside.

“What if I do?” She took a sip as well, her answer almost daring you to continue. Truly, you were taken by surprise, and a little spark of hope light up in your heart at her words. You had noticed the way she was looking at you when your coworker was talking to you. You had never seen that look before, it almost looked like she was angry. But maybe you were mistaken, you soon realized. Was she.. jealous?

You raised your hand and reached for a loose curl that had freed itself from her complicated updo, brushing it behind her ear. The contact of your fingers on her skin made her shiver, and you heard her whimper softly when you retreated your hand back. You put your glass on the decorative table in front of you, moving forward to grab hers out of her hand and doing the same. You sat back closer to her than before, the exposed skin of your leg brushing against her own. 

“Then I’d say I like what I see just as much,” noticing the way her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes flickered to your lips for a second, her heart beating so fast in her chest that she was sure you could hear it too. Except that yours was beating just as fast, and the room suddenly seemed a lot warmer than it was seconds ago.

“Then we have to do something about that,” she whispered, as she forced herself to look away from your lips, only to find your pupils completely blown, focused on her own lips before meeting hers. And she was sure her own eyes mirrored yours, craving to feel you against her, to have your lips on hers. Her hand gently cupped your cheek, watching your reaction as she leaned forward, for any sign you didn’t want it, giving you time to move away if it was the case. But you didn’t, your attention now back on her lips as your hands found their way to her waist, pulling on the fabric of her dress slightly as you met her halfway.

Her body pressed against yours, holding you impossibly close to her, her free hand moving to the back of your head in an attempt to pull you even closer, which was impossible considering the angle you were in. It was the softest, most loving kiss you had ever received in your life, and yet, it was full of passion, of repressed emotions that could finally come to light. Nothing mattered except her in that moment, loosing yourself in the kiss you had craved for so long. She pushed you backward, your back hitting the soft couch as her lips never left yours, taking advantage of the new space she had created by straddling you. You couldn’t feel anything but the weight of her body on yours, how perfectly you seemed to fit together. She only pulled away when her lungs were screaming for air, resting her forehead against yours with no indication to move away from you. 

“Wow,” was all you could breathe out as you tried to catch your breath, your eyes still close. A soft smile was playing on your lips as your hands holding Larissa’s waist firmly into place hinted her that you wanted her just as close and she did. Your mind was trying to process was had just happened when she kissed you again, this time only lasting a few seconds, her thumbs softly stroking the sides of your cheeks. 

“Wow indeed,” she smiled against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do that for a while”, you confessed, brushing your nose against hers, not daring to move, not ready to pop the little bubble you had just created. 

“So did I, sweetheart. And we can do it again, and again, and again,” you giggled as she kissed you every single time she pronounced the word. This was probably what heaven felt like, being in Larissa’s arms, being able to kiss her so freely. Her brows suddenly furrowed, making your smile fade as you noticed the turmoil that seemed to have taken place inside her head.

“Rissa?” you questioned, her features softening as she noticed the uncertainty painted on your face. 

“It’s nothing bad darling. Well, kind of, because we have to go back to the dance”, she groaned, tension leaving your body at once and you giggled when she hid her face in the crook of your neck, her breath tickling your skin. “I promise you we’ll finish what we started after, as I’m not done kissing you yet”. 

She raised her head from her new favorite place to hide and sat down, immediately missing your warmth. She extended her arm so you’d grab her hand and sit down next to her. She handed you your shoes, sending her a grateful smile as you quickly put them back on before standing up next to her, facing each other once again. “You look beautiful with my lipstick all over your face”, she teased as she used her thumb to wipe the excess her kisses had left on you, making you blush as you did the same, even though it wasn’t so smuggled on her. She opened the door for you once again, your health melting at how thoughtful she was, your mind spiraling in a bliss you had never experienced before.

“Maybe I should start wearing heels,” you whispered under your breath, as she seemed so much taller than you now that you wanted to reconnect your lips to hers, making her chuckle softly. She led you to the doors of the Rave’N once again, her hand never leaving yours. The loud music didn't seemed to bother you as much as before, your mind being completely elsewhere. As you passed in front of your coworker, you noticed her attention focused on your joint hands, Larissa’s grip tightened on your hand before you poked her side, making her try to move away to the side giggling, and you mentally noted that she was ticklish for later on. “No need to be jealous, I was always yours,” you told her, her features softening, the smile you gave her leaving no doubt to it.

[jokeroutsubs]

[📝ENG translation] 'My Parents Gave Me a Strong Sense of Identity'

An interview with Bojan Cvjetićanin.

Original article written by Teja Roglič for Ona plus, published 05.11.2024. English translation by @kurooscoffee, review by @weolucbasu, proofread by IG Gboleyn123.

Full article and Spotify link under the cut 👇

🎧 Article available in audio form on Spotify.

Last year’s craze at Stožice, summer festival performances, the Eurovision Song Contest, international success. And then everyone asks, what could be bigger, what could be better? But as the band Joker Out releases their new album, they consciously follow the motto "I want less". Singer Bojan Cvjetićanin explains why: "This is our home, this is our base. If we don’t feel good at home, we can’t feel good anywhere. We need to rediscover love in our base, that’s what we told ourselves."

With the song Bluza, you’re returning to love. Why?

We went through a lot. The songs we released after Eurovision dealt with the most acute situational changes in our lives—touring, exhaustion, questioning ourselves. Now, it’s time to have a bit of fun again. And there's probably nothing more beautiful than being in love. (smiles)

I’ve been looking into people’s stories, into the lives of those around me, seeking beauty.

What did you discover?

That I enjoy writing about love the most. When you write from a place of uncertainty, it’s nice to get those feelings out; when you write about love, you search for timeless beats within yourself, not something that’s only fleeting. I write about the ideals of love I held as a child, and in the future, I’ll see how these have either evolved or fallen apart.

It's best to write about love...

When you have a broken heart.

Your Eurovision song was more socially critical, though it might seem, at first glance, to be about joy. In it, you say: "We won’t take part in your games or your divisions." Did the song’s message reach people?

Undoubtedly. A lot has changed in a year and a half, not only personally but also in terms of our views of social issues. For the first time, we've connected with young people from abroad. It was fascinating to see how connected the fans from different countries became, encouraging each other, learning new languages—even a lot of Slovene. The desire for peace and unity is very strong at our concerts, so our messages have touched them. But of course, you can never reach everyone. (smiles)

You mention changed perspectives with regards to society. Have any ideals been shattered?

Many ideals have crumbled. In school, learning about war, it always seemed odd to me that the world could just go on at the same time, despite the ongoing disruption in the system. Now, I see that we have access to all the information, that we see and hear what’s happening, that we witness an influx of people coming from regions where this is happening, yet everything literally carries on as usual.

War has become more of a trend on TikTok or Instagram than something people feel hurt about. This makes me very sad.

A lot of ideals that have shattered relate to the life of a musician. We’ve achieved things we could only have dreamed of—not just as kids; even two years ago, what’s happening now would have seemed impossible to me. But the ideal that’s crumbled is this one: I don’t always know how to appreciate what I have.

On tour, I often slipped into negative thoughts, didn’t appreciate everything happening to us. This links to the idea that this kind of life is easy, that as a successful musician, you only have fun. This, of course, isn’t true; it’s incredibly exhausting, both mentally and physically. I could go on until tomorrow, listing everything that’s fallen apart, but fortunately, a lot of new things have also come to be.

You’re the idols of generations; do you feel pressure because of that? After all, you’re still young guys too…

No. We already lost the childlike joy of music because we had to start working so much so early and get to know so many new systems. If we also take on the responsibility of raising generations of kids, we could truly fall into a black hole.

We need to be role models, but we can’t shape our work around that. On the upcoming album, there’s a song, 'Muzika za decu' ('Music for children'), which touches on this very point. We want to convey that we’re not addressing generations who think all younger people are lazy bums who only hinder the world’s progress. We’re addressing everyone who is young enough at heart to believe in a better world, a brighter tomorrow.

Photo: Vita Orehek

More and more musicians are stopping concerts at large venues when fans are in distress or overcrowding happens. You too?

Absolutely. This summer, we constantly stopped concerts if people were packed tightly indoors or out in the sun. We handed out a lot of water from the stage, and I even paused a concert if some listener (m.) was treating another listener (f.) disrespectfully. A concert is a safe space; there’s no place there for infringing on the rights of others.

That’s an interesting topic I wanted to touch on anyway. So what is the rock ‘n’ roll world of the new generation like?

It’s a lot better. I’m glad we’re not a group of drugged-out dudes living only for today. Carpe Diem really means seize the day, but for us, that doesn’t mean picking every fruit that exists in the world. Waking up healthy and energised, wanting to go to a concert, being open to meeting new people, our fans, being creative...

That’s what it means to seize the day. Sure, sometimes we go on a trip, we do have fun too. But I’m glad that sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll aren’t our guiding principles in the band. When we watched the documentary about Mötley Crüe, we saw how they started with heroin and opiates and ended with smoothies and fruit. Well, we’re already at the fruit and smoothies stage. (laughs)

“We’re constantly building a relationship that gets deeper every day, even though it seems like it can’t get any deeper,” you told me before the Stožice concert, as I was stunned when you said you were going on holiday with the guys right after the concert. How much do you invest in relationships within the band? We know it’s sometimes challenging to nurture a relationship between two people, let alone five.

This is like a partnership with five people. Except for intimacy, all the other elements of partnership are there. We’re companions. We often live together, work together; the dynamics are demanding. I talk a lot about this with fellow musicians. Recently, I was talking to Mr. Vlado Kreslin, and we concluded that being in a band requires a touch of madness.

Even if it ends someday—nothing is guaranteed—I know I have four lifelong friends. We exist as friends even beyond the band.

Success demands hard work; you’ve told me before how sure you were of your path in the band, of your decisions, and how hard you worked to achieve what you have. And we’re back to the topic that some might say your generation isn’t hardworking, that you’re quick to say what you won’t do at the work place...

The young people I know could hardly be described as not hardworking. I’d rather say we’re diligent, and the drive to work comes from the strong pressure that you need to achieve a lot very quickly, or else you won’t make it in this world. As for them being quicker to say no... Maybe they know they can’t live that way if something doesn’t work. And to live is very costly.

Young people feel they don’t have to stick rigidly to one profession, that they can change courses, jobs, and find something that suits them. We’re far from the days when the son was a blacksmith because the father was a blacksmith, and the daughter stayed home as a housewife. But we also have to know that there’s more and more uncertainty, precarious work.

If Gen Z is the way it is, I wouldn’t attribute that to the generation itself but rather to the Boomer generation. Everything that makes life harder for us isn’t the product of our ideas and actions. But it’s also true that sometimes, you need to stop, think, and make a decision. I’d like to do something today, something different tomorrow, but that’s not realistic. When you’re bombarded by choices from all ends, you have to make decisions. If there are three shirts in a store, I’ll pick one; if there are 250, I might end up buying sneakers instead. (laughs)

You performed at a concert aimed at contributing to the best possible care, treatment, and support for women with gynaecological cancer. You probably get invited to participate in quite a few charitable events; how do you choose them? This concert likely wasn’t a hard choice, as both of your parents are doctors...

My father is a gynaecologist, my mother is a pediatrician, so naturally, when I got the invitation, I immediately thought my dad would be happy if I could perform there. Otherwise, I choose events based on two criteria: whether it’s something important and whether I’m home at that time. I've often had to turn down an event I would have really liked to participate in simply because I wasn’t here.

Life has taken you all over in recent years. What have your parents given you that has stayed with you and has been proven most useful today?

They gave me a sense of normality. I'm an ordinary person who takes everything in moderation. I didn’t become a hedonist, nor did I give in to the patterns that the environment might impose. They gave me a strong sense of who I am and what I am, unconditional self-confidence, and self-respect. And the certainty that I’m never alone in anything.

Recently, the dramaturg Nina Kuclar Stiković and I talked about how Generation Z might be the first to actively work through its traumas, though she noted that taking on such responsibility across generations is a huge task. In the end, you might even feel worse. If you only become aware of your baggage but can’t overcome it, it can feel even worse than if you had never been made aware of it at all, she said. What do you observe around you, in your own generation?

Mental health has never been as openly discussed as it is today. I know many people who go to therapy. It’s actually strange that mental health was never treated before, that this stigma existed. If you have a cold, you stay home, you also heal a broken arm. Today's generations have managed to break free from these shackles. The individual is becoming increasingly more important.

People are working through the things in their minds. And this bothers many people from generations who suppressed everything and unleashed their traumas onto others. I often think how unfortunate it is that we don’t practice everyday therapy in our surroundings. Everyone surely has someone whom they trust. We talk about all sorts of things, but we never ask each other how we are and share that honestly. Now, I do this with a few friends, and it’s really nice. I go to my friends for therapy. (smiles)

Nina also mentioned that patriarchy has wronged not only women but men too. It’s unfair that men couldn’t show emotions and always had to be strong. It always helps if you can share your feelings with someone. What do you think?

The Neanderthal perception of masculinity is passé. We can all first tell ourselves, and then tell others, how we feel and what’s going on in our heads.

This summer, you performed at festivals. Now you have a new album, and you’ll be performing at various venues again, with tickets quickly selling out. It's a carousel that never stops. You mentioned earlier that you caught yourself maybe not appreciating it anymore. What do you do now to keep that from happening?

For the tour that’s coming with the release of the new album, we consciously followed the motto, "I want less." Last year, we played in Stožice, before that in Križanke. This year, we toured Europe, and everyone was asking us what big thing we’re preparing next. But we were only talking about how nice it would be to play at Ljubljana's Cvetličarna again.

Pass by Maribor too, go a bit to the clubs in the Balkans, and that’s it. This is our home; this is our base. If we don’t feel good at home, we can’t feel good anywhere. We told ourselves that we need to find love in our base again. I’m glad we recognise this, that we’re not just banging our heads against a brick wall. The purpose of this tour is simply to enjoy it.

A few years ago, you told my colleague Robert Rebolj, my fellow journalist, and your fellow musician, that you’d like to have kids while still young. Yet you also say that you're in a period where several of your ideals have collapsed as you look at the world around you. Does the desire still remain?

When I said that, I was thinking I’d have my first child between the ages of 28 and 30. Then Robert told me that having a child young doesn’t necessarily mean that. (laughs) I see it now, too, as some of my friends already have children, and some even their second. My calendar no longer just has friends’ birthdays, but, for instance, the first birthday of a friend’s child. (laughs) Yes, I think a lot about how this world is in many ways not what I imagined it would be, but I guess it’s always been that way throughout history—things have never been ideal. I think everyone, in every era, has felt the world is going to- hmmm, well, that’s how it seems to me too. (laughs)

[lecsainz]

Hi can you do some charles headcanons dating a emo girl (and she plays bass in a emo band)

SHE MAKES SONGS

˒ ⌕ masterlist . . .

parings: charles leclerc x emo!reader

an: I loved writing that! I was a bit scared of getting something wrong, so I didn't delve too deep into it.

summary: the one where you are a bassist in an emo band and date charles.

Charles loves when you play the bass. He finds the emo tunes you create both fascinating and alluring. The way your fingers dance over the strings makes him appreciate your talent even more.

You both complement each other in a unique way. Charles with his racing attire and you with your emo style; it's an unexpected but intriguing contrast that draws attention and makes people curious about your relationship.

Charles adores calling you by sweet nicknames in French, like "Mon Trésor" my treasure, "Ma Belle" my beauty, or "Mon Coeur" my heart . Hearing these terms of endearment from him makes your heart flutter every time.

Despite being at your gigs, you always manage to keep tabs on Charles's races. During breaks between songs, you discreetly ask someone from your band's crew for updates on your boyfriend's race position. Charles finds it adorable and loves that you're always keeping track, no matter where you are.

Charles loves brainstorming with you for new songs. He's always there to bounce ideas off, offering a fresh perspective and helping you fine-tune your creations.

Sometimes, during interviews or public appearances, Charles subtly mentions your band or a particular song, expressing his admiration for your talent.

"Ah, well, you know, I've got to say, my girlfriend is an incredible musician. She plays bass in her band, and honestly, she's amazing. The way she pours her heart and soul into her music—it's something else. I'm really proud of her. I mean, I know I'm probably going on about her, but it's hard not to when you're so impressed by someone's talent, you know?" smirks "She's got this way of captivating the audience with her passion for music that's just... it's something special. And yeah, I think I'm a pretty lucky guy to have her in my life, both as an incredibly talented musician and as my partner." grins "Sorry, got a bit carried away there, but I can't help it. She's just that good."

He absolutely adores it when you pick up your bass and play just for him. Your private jam sessions, where you perform songs specially dedicated to him, become treasured moments between you both.

Charles loves it when you share your new compositions with him first, feeling honored to be the primary listener and your biggest supporter.

There have been a few secret moments where Charles has joined you on stage, playing a simple melody on the piano while you perform. It's a beautiful surprise for the audience.

Charles is your biggest fan at your band's performance. He proudly attends your shows and, to your surprise and delight, wears a shirt emblazoned with "My Hot Bassist Girlfriend" in the front row. His unwavering support and cheering from the crowd make your performances even more special.

He frequently plays your band's songs in the Ferrari garage, showing immense pride in your musical talent.

One day, Charles surprises you by gifting one of his favorite bracelets, a piece he hardly takes off. He expresses that he wants you to have something of his close to you, a sign of his deep affection and trust.

On race days, you proudly wear Ferrari-themed outfits but add your personal touch, incorporating elements that reflect your own style. Charles appreciates the gesture, feeling a sense of unity when he sees you in his team's colors.

[jbaileyfansite]

USA Today Interview (2024)

For Jonathan Bailey, one of the biggest perks of starring in a massive franchise is getting your very own Lego figure.

The British actor, who plays the swoony prince Fiyero in “Wicked,” is featured in a 945-piece plastic Emerald City set. Although he has yet to procure the toy metropolis for himself, “Christmas is coming and I hope I’ve been a good boy this year,” Bailey says with a grin.

The impish heartthrob has been using Legos to unwind while on a weekslong promotional tour for the blockbuster movie musical, which tells the origin story of the witches of Oz. “Just last night, I managed to (put together) the Atlantic Ocean in this giant Lego globe that I’m currently building,” he delightedly explains.

The fantasy film caps off a monumental year for Bailey, 36, who earned an Emmy nomination for his devastating work in Showtime miniseries “Fellow Travelers,” and spent the summer in Thailand shooting “Jurassic World: Rebirth” (in theaters July 2, 2025) alongside Scarlett Johansson.

“It’s extraordinary the types of roles I’ve been able to play these last two years,” says Bailey, who broke through to U.S. audiences on Netflix phenom “Bridgerton” in 2020. “I’m pinching myself. If I could have gone back and told my younger self that this would be happening, I’d probably do a flip.”

Jonathan Bailey brings 'boyish charm' to 'Wicked' prince Fiyero

Bailey is no stranger to musical theater: At just 8 years old, he played the pint-sized revolutionary Gavroche in “Les Misérables” on London’s West End. And in 2019, he won an Olivier Award for a gender-swapped revival of Stephen Sondheim’s “Company,” singing the mile-a-minute “Getting Married Today.”

But it was a viral audition tape for the musical “The Last Five Years” that caught the attention of “Wicked” director Jon M. Chu. “It felt like the thing I’ve always loved about musicals, where the song is just an extension of the dialogue. It felt like acting,” Chu recalls. “He just has that X factor. There’s such a boyish charm to him that you’re like, ‘That is Fiyero.’”

Like many, Bailey became obsessed with “Wicked” thanks to its Broadway cast album and 2004 Tony Awards performance with Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth. “The lyrics are so fascinating and witty,” Bailey says. “I remember laughing specifically at Glinda singing how this hat is ‘really, uh, sharp, don’t you think?’ I screamed!”

When the contumacious Fiyero arrives at Shiz University from Winkie Country, he instantly enchants the besotted Glinda (Ariana Grande), but slowly finds himself drawn to the green-skinned Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo). He also freely flirts with both his male and female classmates.

“Fiyero is confident and curious and kind enough to invite anyone to Winkie Country,” Bailey says cheekily. But as a gay actor, he’s grateful for the “years and years of progress” that have allowed him to be the leading man in a big-budget movie like “Wicked.”  

“There's been many Fiyeros before me, and many members of the LGBT community who have fought for times where someone like me could play these parts,” Bailey says. "This story resonates for so many people because it’s about identity and celebrates our similarities. In playing Fiyero, you realize what an ally he is to someone who’s outside of society. People are incredibly unkind to Elphaba, and he uses his charm and privilege” to help her feel accepted. “It’s really lovely.”

The 'Bridgerton' dreamboat heads to 'Jurassic World' next

“There's been many Fiyeros before me, and many members of the LGBT community who have fought for times where someone like me could play these parts,” Bailey says. "This story resonates for so many people because it’s about identity and celebrates our similarities. In playing Fiyero, you realize what an ally he is to someone who’s outside of society. People are incredibly unkind to Elphaba, and he uses his charm and privilege” to help her feel accepted. “It’s really lovely.”

The 'Bridgerton' dreamboat heads to 'Jurassic World' next

Bailey delivers one of the movie’s standout numbers in “Dancing Through Life,” in which Fiyero persuades his schoolmates to join him for a night on the town at the trendy Ozdust Ballroom. The song begins in the Shiz library, where Fiyero swings between ladders, slides across desks, and flips through novels using only his feet. The actor spent seven weeks rehearsing the choreography, much of which takes place on rotating bookshelves.

“It turns out in Fiyero’s boots, it’s not so easy to open books and read ‘War and Peace’ with your toes,” Bailey jokes. “I also started training vocally over Zoom while I was filming ‘Fellow Travelers.’ I would do these scenes with Matt Bomer where I’d be smoking and screaming, and then I’d have to come back and sing somehow.”

Ultimately, making "Wicked" helped Bailey feel more at ease taking on the beloved "Jurassic Park" series, in which he plays a bespectacled paleontologist named Dr. Henry Loomis.

“Dancing and closing books with your toes does not save you from raptors,” Bailey quips. “ ’Wicked’ is its own beautiful beast, but it leans so much on the original imagery of ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ It taught me to blur out the reality of what it means to step into an incredibly iconic story, and just focus on working hard and having a lot of fun."

Bailey teases that he has another musical project “on the horizon.” In the meantime, Fiyero will have a more substantial role in "Wicked: Part Two" (in theaters Nov. 21, 2025), which shot back-to-back with the first movie. He still regrets not taking home the character's black leather boots, created by "genius" costume designer Paul Tazewell.

“I did manage to steal some postcards from the Emerald City,” Bailey says. “Some of those accidentally flew off in the middle of a take and landed in my bag. Other than that, I hope Paul will send me Fiyero’s tight pants one day."

Source

[yamy-brett]

Happy 91st Birthday, Jeremy. You are sorely missed.

From JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker. Quotes by Jeremy Brett.

"It all started for me on 3rd November 1933. I began life with everything a child could wish for. We had a huge, glorious, country house on the outskirts of Berkswell, near Coventry, with tennis courts, squash courts, horses and dogs and a wonderful, terraced garden created by my artistic mother, Elizabeth. The family was spoiled rotten, for we had three live-in staff, plus four other people who came in to help. We always seemed to be entertaining a houseful of fascinating people; the door was always open.”

The Grange, where Peter William Jeremy, was born, is a beautiful house with sweet smelling flowering wisteria on the front elevation and nestled in a magical vista of gardens, landscaped by Elizabeth, known as “Bunny”, who was the centre of this loving family.

The Huggins family was a significant part of the delightful Berkswell village in Warwickshire. William and Elizabeth had decided to move to the rambling, attractive Berkswell Grange in 1929 to accommodate a growing family. The three boys, John, Michael and Patrick, needed somewhere to play and to ride, so a large, impressive house was chosen in nearby Truggist Lane. The house featured seventeenth century timber framing, and nineteenth century additions, including a tiled roof.

Due to its grandeur and welcoming hostess, the Grange was the centre of village events, of Christmas parties, of afternoon teas and of music and entertainment.

William and Elizabeth were both keen archers, so it is no surprise that Jeremy took this seriously and belonged to the Woodmen of Arden, a notable club for the sport. “The whole family were taxophilites. Actually, my mother was a brilliant archer, won many awards. She had a special lightweight bow, and when I was growing up, I used her hand-me-downs. Looking back, I must have been about four or five when my father gave me my first lesson. The outfit is really glamorous – Lincoln green cut-away tailcoat, buff waistcoat with gold buttons, shite slacks, shite shoes and a New Zealand style hat that turns up at the side…”

Archery Week was hosted by the Huggins family at the beginning of August each year and to accompany the competitions on the extensive grounds at the Grange, they featured special balls for about 30 or 40 people for dinner, followed by dancing in the ballroom. “The dancing finished so late that breakfast was often served to the guests before they left for home the following day.”

“Naturally, I’d been practising like mad for the occasion. Firing at 100 yards I nervously let the arrow go. It wobbled in the air and my astonishment landed smack in the middle of the target. I was made Master Forester on my first day – a title which carries with it sitting at the High Table. Socially, archery can be pretty heaving going. That day the lunch ran to 12 toasts and I remember staggering out afterwards full of venison and summer pudding, cheeks pink from the port and nose still twitching from my first pinch of snuff…”

He told one interviewer that he had “a marvellous youth with every kind of animal under the sun, from ferrets to rabbits to mice to horses, to monkeys even. It was like a paradise, and a gorgeous home.”

Jeremy had a very special relationship with all animals. He welcomed dogs as earnestly as he welcomed his friends and often on his knees to greet them, face to face. His own dog, Mr. Binks, was a Jack Russell terrier that he affectionately called his “hound of heaven”.

Elizabeth’s reputation was always one of kindness to others, especially towards the homeless in the community. Gypsies and vagrants were frequent visitors expecting to be fed, have a wash or receive fresh clothing, and Williams shirts or trousers, could often be seen on these visitors leaving the Grange. Mrs. Huggins would go out and find Gypsies, taking them back to the Grange – the Colonel would come home from work to find a “Gypsy encampment with great cauldron in the walled courtyard, and clothes being dried in the saddle-room.”

During the Coventry bombing on 14th November 1940, in which more than four thousand homes were destroyed, including the 14th century cathedral, Jeremy’s mother, alerted by the sirens, the noise of exploding bombs and the sight of leaping flames across the open countryside, left her family to drive to the nearby town to what she could to help those who were caught up in the devastation. “The whole city was ringed with leaping flames, bathed in brilliant moonlight and a few searchlights were sweeping the smoke-filled sky.” Consequently, one family was taken into the Grange and 42 members of the extended family lived there until alternative accommodations could be found. There was no question in her mind about the decision; it was simply her first and characteristic response to suffering. “She was a dazzling woman, half Irish and fully Quaker, and ran our home, a large country house deep in the Black Country outside Coventry, in a sort of Flower Power way, always filling it with people that she’d picked up. I remember her bringing home a whole family called Weston during the war, and all of them stayed in our stables.”

Elizabeth Huggins had an enormous effect on the growing Jeremy and some would say that he was very like her in his response to others. “My mother had this extraordinary way of making us flower, and she had open doors and windows in her soul – that’s the only way I can put it. Everybody came to my mother. She was like a light of great warmth.”

What an amazing beginning to a brilliant gentleman.

This is just the very beginning of JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker.

[marimayscarlett]

I seem to be haunted a bit by bad luck on here - prepared an answer for an ask yesterday, but instead of posting it, Tumblr swallowed the ask and it's nowhere to be found. Since I always type my answers in a Word document, I still have it and answer it in a proper post. The ask was signed with "RZK obsessor", so if that's you, here's your answer to your ask 🔎 which was something along the lines of:

Anon: Can you confirm the existence of RZK?

Hi 👋

Now ☝ Getting to the bottom of this kind of fundamental question does require a bit of a planned approach and care. So, at the start of the research process, one should ask which approach and research path to take when tackling this question: the philosophical route, the one of scientific research, or perhaps one's own wealth of experience? I’d say, let’s just go with all three.

Philosophical thoughts on the existence of our beloved Richard

From a philosophical standpoint, one must first ask - are we dealing with Richard as a tangible, real entity, or is this a collection of idealized versions of fundamental concepts? Wishful and idealistic projections designed to show just how diverse a single individual can be? Included in this are the epitome of confident presence on stage:

the audaciously good looks in every kind of stage outfit, be it leather, dramatic coats, feathers or questionable sleeves (wet or not):

and the efortless serving of rock star attitude, no matter how tight the clothing:

as well as exuding the most cozy vibes in rather eyebrow-raise-inducing attire:

Richard embodies so many concepts in one person that it’s hard to believe such traits can coexist in a single individual - perhaps Richard is Schrödinger's guitarist? Simultaneously existing and not existing, until you see him live and promptly lose all sense of composure...

2. Scientific research and evaluation of existing data on the topic of the existence of Richard

Like any good scientist, one must disclose the sources used and where one has gained knowledge and insights in order to report on their research in a credible manner.

To get to the bottom of the question of Richard’s existence, I have spent nearly the last 10 years meticulously studying every music video and their corresponding making ofs to the point where I can recite every line by heart (even the ones that make me want to sink into the ground out of secondhand embarrassment - "so ein Gesäuge", I’m looking at you). I went to the cinema three times to analyze Richard's presence on the big screen, absorbed recordings of live performances to examine and cross-reference his alluring movements on stage, and created a seven-page long table in Word to organize his interviews by date and topic, tracking his statements and quotes - I mean, quotes like the following have to be proof that this man exist, who else could express things like that so calmly, right?:

Every fur frog tastes different. Pure question of taste. There is no judgment in the text. We’re not saying it stinks.

I believe the music itself must be the king, but I want to be the queen.

The result of this research so far: Things are looking pretty good that Richard actually exists! But I understand what you mean - sometimes it’s hard to believe that this person truly walks, no, struts among us on this earth.

That’s why I had no choice this year but to take my research to the active side of things. Which brings us to:

3. The fan experience as a way to proof his existence once and for all - with my own two eyes

Even though we have countless recordings at concerts of him, from the 90's:

to the 2000s:

all the way into the 2010's:

to today:

it’s still hard to truly grasp that he exists in flesh and blood. Even I sometimes catch myself looking at pictures of him and thinking, “Wow… he actually exists! He’s real!”, fascinated anew every single time.

This year, as part of my research, I was fortunate enough to practice my research in the Feuerzone three times, and I must say: the moment Richard stepped onto the stage, I was often left speechless. He has an incredibly majestic presence, very focused and fully immersed in his role as the serious rock star - with moments of warmth (towards his band mates) and small glimpses into his thoughts (the annoyed look he gave in Dresden when he forgot his pyro arm for DRSG was so expressive; he rolled his eyes so hard, he surely could see into his brain). I was utterly captivated and thoroughly enjoyed watching him play and use iconic gestures (like during Du hast 👆☝✋👉), and to witness his presence and mannerism live on stage really was a highlight for me. Here's some of my research footage (grainy and shaky, and please be aware of me screaming, but all in the name of science):

After this intense period of dedicated research, I can confidently say: You don't confirm Richard's existence - you witness and experience it 😌

[misskattylashes]

Alex Turner has left the building

Just some ruminations on what has been an eventful weekend in the fandom, and the big question that bothers me is ‘where is Alex?’

For someone who wants to be considered a serious artist, he appears to care so little about his image that whoever it is- Louise herself, PR, a combination of both, have reduced his fame to tabloid worthy cringe. Louise (or PR) roping in her friends (including Matt and Amanda) to create this illusion that she and Alex have this wonderful relationship, when we all know they don’t live together and rarely see each other. It’s embarrassing.

Miles is on his tour, but people are so eager to know what Alex is doing, Miles gets asked for the 674th time when are we getting TLSP 3. I know people are angry with fans for asking him but they want to know what is happening with Alex....anything.

Now, Alex doesn’t owe us his private life. What he does when he isn’t working is his business. But he is an artist and artists are always either in one of two states – creation or hiatus. He has lots of money to hire publicists (separate to the ones who work with Louise et al) just to issue a very basic update;

‘Alex is currently working on new music for AM/Alex is taking a well-earned break after the tour. Alex is giving up music to become XYZ (maybe do the degree he never got to do)’. For most fans, if they knew what Alex was doing, Louise and her cringey attempts to get attention wouldn’t wash, and if we knew for sure Alex was doing something or having a rest or whatever, there wouldn’t be the need to bother Miles so much.

But instead Alex doesn’t seem to care about any of it anymore. The fans are getting fed up with being treated for fools where Louise is concerned, and Miles will get to a point where there will be a clause in all interviews where TLSP isn’t mentioned. But it doesn’t seem to worry Alex.

The question is why and I wonder if it is linked to a quote he made in an interview with Q magazine 2009 where he said the only things he has control over is his lyrics and his hair. Maybe nearly 20 years of living a constructed life that’s far away from the real him, has finally got to him and he’s leaving them all to it. Or is it arrogance that once he comes back with new music all this tawdry stuff will be forgotten and people will be fascinated by what he has to say?

If it’s the former, fair enough (although I feel sorry for Miles always having to be his mouthpiece) but if it’s the latter then he is taking a chance. People get bored, even the people who once looked on people like me as crazy for thinking his relationship with Louise is for PR, are starting to notice patterns and fakery. And no one wants to be treated like a fool. Meanwhile new acts are emerging all the time to take his crown away.

So Alex, whatever you're doing, just put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door, but at least we’ll know you’re there.

[lindamccartneysstrap]

hell0o. i dont know anything about the beatles but i just watched two of us on a whim and have become insane. fic recs please or just any content, news articles interviews idek. help me tumblr use paulmccartneyprostateorgasm

Sorry I haven't been ignoring this I've just been Thinking. The thing is that I've been into the beatles off and on since I was in middle school so it's hard for me to remember like. Beatles 101. But welcome to hell. Two of us is a cwazy intro to mclennon lol.

Ok so I guess the thing is really depends on how serious you wanna be with your idk beatles scholarship? Like at an absolute bare minimum I would skim some wikipedia articles so you know the major people/places/events/eras. There are a zillion beatles bios and docs most of them bad some of them vital. Unfortunately it haven't gone through any of those since I was a teenager so I can't really tell you which is which anymore. I'm sure plenty of other beatles blogs could provide resources if you want them.

Definitely watch get back and let it be. The movies the beatles were in as well but less essential I guess. Advanced Level McCartney Studies but watch give my regards to broad street it's a fascinating reflection of pauls psyche.

I'd look at blogs like @amoralto @thecoleopterawithana @undying-love for references. Probably more upper level stuff but all of pauls interviews are on the paul mccartney project website and I once went through and read all the interviews from the 80s. Full disclosure, the thing about mclennon that compels me the most is the tragedy of it all, so that's where I tend to fixate. But it was a fascinating experience because you can really see paul work through his regrets/grief/resentment/bitterness/pain about john in real time

A word of caution when reading interviews: both of these guys are incredibly untruthful at times. John, after the breakup in particular, could be very hot and cold, especially about paul so don't take everything he says at face value. Paul also lies a lot no matter what anybody tries to tell you he just gets away with it more because he's still alive and people feel bad calling him a liar

Songs. Their songs are very very important. I sometimes see people act like it's stupid to believe things based on the songs. To a point I get it art doesn't have to be literal yadda yadda. But you also gotta consider these guys communicated a Lot to each other through music from the time they were teenagers. Anyway I'd suggest listening to the songs for a more thorough understanding but just reading lyrics I guess is fine. I personally still like going through people's mclennon playlists and analyzing Why people think they're mclennon. Look at the lyrics, go to beatles bible and/or the paul mccartney project and learn about the context, etc.

Okay anyway on to fanfic. If this is your main concern just ignore all the above advice who cares. Also I'm a horrible resource because I always forget what I read. Um @forthlin @menlove @pauls1967moustache have good fics sorry I can never remember any of your ao3 names. Merseydreams (I think it is) has good fics. @crepesuzette2023 does a lot of fic recs I think. One thing that's always fun about beatles fics is when u think something is completely made up and you look it up and it's literally real like wtf. I'm also a bad reference because I'm heavily biased towards early days fics and post breakup fics.

Ok hope this helps even a little bit. Remember the most important rule is to have fun. People take this shit so seriously but it's literally the beatles. But please do fact check that always drives me nuts.

[tavolgisvist]

I think one of the most interesting things about Linda’s photography is her journey. She started off in Tucson with Hazel Larsen Archer – she happened to go to Hazel’s class who said, ‘Get yourself a camera, take some pictures and come back next week’. So, that was the first lesson and Linda found it a lot of fun. Then when Linda went back to New York and got involved in the music scene. She began taking pictures for music magazines like Rolling Stone and Crawdaddy. She would be at the front at a concert taking pictures of music she loved and was knowledgeable about. She once told me about the time she was taking pictures of B.B. King, whose music she adored. She felt very privileged to be in that position. Another photographer next to her was a guy who was sent along to take photos, and he asked Linda, ‘Who’s this? Who is it I’m photographing?’ And she had to tell him, ‘It’s B.B. King!’ Her love of music and photography really came together then. After we got married, her photography started to focus on family life with the kids, horses, countryside and landscapes. Whatever situation she was in she would use it for her art, and her craft naturally developed that way. At one point she heard about cyanotypes and became really fascinated by the whole idea of printing photos herself. She loved treating the paper haphazardly and the whole process of putting it out on the balcony in the sun to develop: she thought it was magic. So, I would say she was excited about all her photography, because it was her life. Q: Which artists from the 1960s had the most profound impact on Linda’s photography? Paul: I’m not sure it was artists from the 1960s, but before that Dorothea Lange was a favourite of hers. Linda’s tastes were formed by looking at artists like Walker Evans, Ansel Adams, Georgia O’Keeffe – she was a big admirer of O’Keeffe. Growing up she knew Willem de Kooning as her dad was his lawyer, so there was a family connection. Of course, she had studied History of Art in Tucson, although she confided in me that in those classes it was often a typically hot Tucson afternoon and they’d be in a little dark room watching a projection, so sometimes she might nod off. I imagine current students might relate to that, too! But anyway, Linda had a pretty wide knowledge of art. That was one of the things we both had in common when we first met. I was enjoying people like Magritte, which impressed her. One of my big show-off moments was asking, ‘Have you seen my Magritte?’ <…> Her family had a love of art, and there was a lot of art in her life from a young age. Her grandpa had come over as an immigrant from Russia and he was a bit of a painter. There was this family story that her dad Lee had a picture by her grandad up on the wall and a famous art connoisseur friend of his said, ‘I’d like to buy that, who’s it by?’ And he replied, ‘It’s by my dad and it’s not for sale!’ Anyway, the point I’m making is that art was always there. Her dad was a big collector of very good art and ended up being a lawyer to quite a few artists like Robert Motherwell and Willem de Kooning, so there were always great pictures around. I think that was a big influence. Then going to college in Tucson and taking the Art History classes. <…> It might sound simplistic, but if you’ve got a good photographer’s eye you will spot a good situation and a good bit of lighting anywhere. For Linda, it was often to do with the lighting, and our daughter Mary does it now as well. She’ll move you around saying, ‘The lighting’s better here,’ and she’s always right. <…> Linda was a very strong animal-lover, really strong – people will say, ‘Oh I love animals!’, but with her it was very deep. She had a kind of Disney-esque view of animals, so no matter what animal it was, it was ‘cute’. If it was a frog, it was a ‘cute frog’. If it was a beetle, it was a ‘cute little beetle’ – like me!

(Paul McCartney, Feb 2023, interview for lindamccartney.com)

[fanhackers]

Anne Kustritz’s Identity, Community, and Sexuality in Slash Fan Fiction

Anne Kustritz’s new book, Identity, Community, and Sexuality in Slash Fan Fiction: Pocket Publics has just been released by Routledge (2024).  You might know Kustritz, a scholar of fan cultures and transmedia storytelling, from her early essay “Slashing the Romance Narrative,” in the Journal of American Culture (2003) or maybe from some of her more recent work on transmedia and serial storytelling. But this new book is an exciting addition to the fan studies canon, and Fanhackers readers might be particularly interested, because the book “explores slash fan fiction communities during the pivotal years of the late 1990s and the early 2000s as the practice transitioned from print to digital circulation,”--which is the era that a lot of the fans involved in the creation of the OTW came from. As I noted in my book blurb, “​​While there has been an explosion of fan studies scholarship in the last two decades, we haven't had an ethnography of fan fiction communities since the early 1990s. Kustritz's Pocket Publics rectifies that, documenting the generation of slash fans who built much of fandom's infrastructure and many of its community spaces, both on and off the internet. This generation has had an outsized impact on contemporary fan cultures, and Kustritz shows how these fans created an alternative and subcultural public sphere: a world of their own.”

Kustritz doesn’t just analyze and contextualize fandom, she also describes her own experiences as a participant-observer, and these might resonate with a lot of fans (especially Fanhackers-reading fans!)  Early on in the book, Kustritz describes her how her own early interest in fandom blurred between the personal and the academic:

Because I began studying slash only a year after discovering fandom on-line, my interest has always been an intricate tangle of pleasure in the texts themselves, connection to brilliantly creative women, and fascination with intersections between fan activities and academic theory.  I may now disclaim my academic identity as an interdisciplinary scholar with concentrations in media anthropology and cultural studies and begin to pinpoint my fan identity as a bifictional multifandom media fan; however, I only gradually became aware of and personally invested in these categories as I grew into them.  This section defines the scope of the online observation period that preceded the active interview phase of this research.  In so doing it also examines the messy interconnections between my academic and fannish interests and identities. Trying to pick apart what portion of my choices derived from fannish pleasure and which from academic interest helps to identify the basic internal tensions and categories that slash fan fiction communities relied upon to define themselves, the pressures exerted upon these systems by the digital migration, and complications in academic translation of fannish social structures.

Later in the book, Kustritz discusses how fans have organized and advocated for themselves as a public; in particular, there’s a fascinating chapter about the ways in which fandom has adopted and transformed the figure of the pirate to forge new ways of thinking about copyright and authorship.  If the OTW was formed to argue that making fanworks is a legitimate activity, the figure of the pirate signifies a protest against the law and a refusal to be shamed by it: 

[F]ans also use the figure of the pirate to make arguments that validate some fan activities and consign others to illegitimacy.   At the urging of several friends involved with slash, I attended my first non-slash focused science fiction and fantasy convention in the summer of 2004.  The program schedule announced a Sunday morning panel discussion provocatively titled “Avast, Matey: The Ethics of Pirating Movies, Music, and Software” with the subheading “Computers today can distribute [more] intellectual property than ever before--not always legally. Is it ever okay to copy, download, and/or distribute media? Sorry, ladies, none of us will be dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow.”  The panel’s subheading, which obliquely warned away both lusty women and pirates, led a small contingent of slash fans to shake off Saturday night’s convention revelries unreasonably early and implement a plan of their own for Sunday’s panel.  As many fan conventions encourage costumes, known as “cosplay,” one of my friends and research participants happened to have been dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow of Pirates of the Caribbean that weekend, so I entered the piracy panel with Captain Jack and a motley crew of slashers, some of them intent upon commandeering the discussion.

The clash that followed exemplifies a structural fault line between various types of fan communities regarding their shared norms and beliefs about copyright law, the relationship between fans and producers, and appropriate fan behavior.

If you want to find out how this clash played out–well, you’ll just have to read the book. 😀

–Francesca Coppa, Fanhackers volunteer

[wassupmygays]

do u have any hc of the significance of pony and soda in the musical having jewelry/necklaces they play w a lot but darry not having any and i noticed when i saw brent is v still when he speaks but soda and pony fidget a lot

i am always fascinated and in awe of the ways actors use physicality to portray so much about the character, and this show is no different. you can definitely look at this both from canon facts and hcs of the characters.

darry, for example, we know through ponyboy's eyes as this rock of a man that doesnt give in to anything. ponyboy is seeing this through his young, upset eyes and just thinks darry is so stuck and strict bc he doesn't like ponyboy. but i also think that is just . darry coping. and trying not to break. brent has said in multiple interviews that he plays darry very still on purpose. partly because, thematically, he is the rock of the family. he is the pillar holding them up. he has to be still and strong. i feel like if he thinks if he lets himself fidget nervously too much, he'll break, and he just cant have that. the only fidgety character choice i know brent does is biting his nails during stressful scenes, which in my heart is a trait darry and pony share (pony does it in the book a bunch)

sodapop, on the other hand, is the exact opposite. i think if he settles down for a moment too long, that is when he breaks. jason understands soda as a character SO WELL every time he talks about how he plays him im just like yea. youre sodapop. anyways he regularly talks about how when soda allows feels emotions, he experiences them in Big Ways. he cries for days, he feels everything so completely. but he cant let himself do that all the time, so he bounces around. he deflects with a laugh. he busies himself with making everyone else feel better so he doesn't have to focus on his own emotions until he can get the time to let himself let it all go. headcanon wise i think he especially fidgets with his dad's dog tags whenever hes gotta try and hold it all together. he's also an adhd king, so even if he isnt trying to distract himself, hes not staying still.

and finally, ponyboy. i think he is a nervous fidgeter. hes also a 14 year old kid, with all of this pent up emotion about his family and his world and wanting more somehow. he has so much inside of him that he just doesn't understand. i don't think he's as hyperactive about it as sodapop, but its still there. hes chewing his nails, hes tapping his fingers, hes playing with his necklace, or hes running a hand through his hair. to me it feels like hes a mix of his brothers; he can't stay still at all, like soda, but his movements are smaller, like darry. him and darry share a lot of the same motions. and also i think writing, movies, and daydreaming is where he gets out a lot of his energy and feelings.

anyways. that was really long. i love you if you read all of that. as you can see i have So Many thoughts about these characters, so thank you thank you thank you for this ask and im sorry it took some time to answer dkfjdkjfkjf. i will always take more asks to talk about these characters and this story <3