#but they have been on my mind because the crows keep playing in traffic where i live

[obscure-entity]

Its critter time >:] Today I give you the Thick Billed Raven (Corvus crassirostris)

OH I REALLY LIKE THIS ONE. they look so pompous. i wanted to search how tall they are (their body just looks kind of stilty like that) and did not get an answer but i like this sound they make. you could kind of look at them and tell they make at least 1 funny sound

normal civilized conversation

[corkcitylibraries]

Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar interviews Jim Crickard

Cork in Verse is a series of interviews by Ana Spehar with Cork Poets. This week Ana interviews Jim Crickard.

Jim Crickard’s poetry is camp, entertaining work that explores culture, sexuality and identity with a hint of colour. In 2020 he was invited to represent Cork in the Cork-Coventry Twin City Exchange, which was moved online due to pandemic. In 2019 he was selected by Poetry Ireland for the inaugural Versify series and performed to a sold out show at Dublin Fringe Festival. He came second in the 2019 All Ireland Poetry Slam Final (and is working through his feelings about it with a therapist). In 2018, he won the Cuirt Spoken Word Platform and was awarded a slot to perform at Electric Picnic. In 2020 his poetry was broadcasted on RTE Arena. A poem he wrote was shortlisted in the 2018 O'Bheal International Five Words Competition, and his work has been published in Automatic Pilot, A New Ulster, and Contemporary Poetry.  

When did you start writing?

I started writing when was 16. I had just come out of the closet, my older brother Shane (20) died the same year in a road traffic accident. Looking back, I think I needed space for expression. I started out with a journal before sleep. It was playful, private, and helped organise my thoughts. I’d draw a little picture at the end of each entry. I acted a bit like Virginia Woolf, with a high-neck collar, writing solemnly by candle light. When people write diaries, I think they secretly fantasise them being found and read by the masses.  

When I was introduced to poetry in my Leaving Cert, I found it to be a bit stiff and flowery with poets like Keats, which had some appeal, but when we moved on to Adrienne Rich and Eavan Boland I was a lot more inspired. It was seeing people use the art form to represent women and give voice to minorities, and how they both textured their work with the confessional. I started writing my own poetry at the end of my journal entries but kept it secret. After a few years, and my first break-up, I started sharing online on a site called AllPoetry. It was great because there were little competitions between users and when I won a few of them I felt brave enough to share my work on Facebook. A few people were kind, but most were indifferent. 

When I started going to O’Bheal in Cork, though, I really felt like writing could have a future for me. Writing and performing alongside other writers really makes it a lot more gratifying and instils the self-belief you need to keep going.  

Could you tell us more about your creative process?

I’m always on the lookout for something to play with and tease out until it’s a poem. I write with the intention of making people laugh when they hear me perform. Unfortunately, ideas rarely happen when I’m walking around day-dreaming. I mostly need to sit down and write to find the idea or follow whatever I’ve got on my mind. One of my favourite poems that I’ve written takes a hen party in a gay bar and expands it into a series of images and scenarios that delight me and make me laugh. If it makes me laugh, then I trust that it’ll make a crowd of people laugh. I didn’t start out with that idea of the hen party though, I was trying to write a rather embarrassing romantic poem set in a gay bar, it was for a guy I was briefly dating. Suddenly there was a hen party in the corner. They abducted me with their willy-straws and novelty-glasses, and I followed their embarrassing moments and social faux-pas as they ran around, interloping and ruining the sacred queer-space. I was much more interested in them than the romantic poem I set out to write. I suppose it’s important to trust where the poem is going and let it reveal itself. If I ignored them and focused on the poem I was trying to write then I’d have missed out. 

How does the creative process of writing affect your mood?

I’m elated when it comes together. I love when I get into a flow and my fingers are typing as fast as they can and what I’m writing is surprising me. That doesn’t always happen though, it can be slow and boring and the cursor can be blinking in front of me waiting for me to write something. 

How often do you write? Do you write every day?

I wish I wrote every day. I’ve heard multiple sources say that that’s the best way to approach it, and I would definitely believe it. I have had periods where I wrote a new poem every week, possibly more than one. I have also had long periods of not expressing anything on the page. The latter feels depressing and I feel my life passing me by. It is this dread I feel that I’m losing precious time to grow and improve as a writer. I rationalise it by reminding myself that I need to work full-time, clean my apartment, cook dinner, which is all true. I also excuse myself by saying that I need to relax and watch some TV or listen to a podcast. I think that writing is the purest of me-time and I’d like to transform my relationship with it.  

Can you tell us more about Venus Envy?  

I have been known to dress in drag from time to time... I performed as Venus for Pride in O’Bheal. Afterwards I went to The Crane Lane with all of the poets. It was interesting being a drag queen out of context in another bar... People wanted to talk to me, some random stranger touched me as they passed by, and someone confided in me with something they had not mentioned before. There’s a strange power to being in drag. It’s like being a shaman, a eunuch, a jester, who is on the outside looking in. You can say things that you daren’t dream of otherwise, and people love you for it. If I had the time and money to do it more often I would. Drag will always have a special place in my heart, and on my right arm is a tattoo-portrait of Panti Bliss, the Queen of Ireland. I’ve thought about putting more drag queens beside her, but it would be like Mount Rushmore of Drag on my arm. Who knows, maybe I will.  

‘Hen Party in The George’  

Be careful around the corners, don’t make eye-contact at the bar, 

watch out for the mom, she’s on safari, in search of exotic birds. 

For a parrot to echo her punchlines, 

or maybe a cockatoo, 

she’s prowling around the cocktail lounge, 

she’s looking for me and you. 

The mother of the bride uses her lazy-eye  

to her advantage,

she edges into a group of faces with meandering conversation. 

Now blocking their exit, unsure 

who she’s addressing, 

on about her gay hairdresser, how great 

he is with the scissors. 

“I’ve never had a problem with the gays now myself” she says, 

pausing to sip from a pink plastic penis, 

pausing for praise.

And one by one, the gays fly south, 

migrating to the bar, 

to the dance floor, to South-Africa if necessary. 

“Snobs” she calls em -

“them gays can be awful touchy.” 

All her Christmases at once 

when the black crow drag queen

stalking her long legs across the stage, 

seven foot tall, in a silver crown of feathers refracting light off the disco-ball.

“Jesus” she says, stealing the

microphone:  “you’re looking better than me” 

“I should feckin hope so” the drag queen says “you’re twice me bleedin’ age!” 

Slowly, slowly, the hen party has pissed off all of the George... 

Abandoning punctured plastic husbands all over the stage. 

Flashing so many cameras it feels like E.T.’s family has landed.

A gathering parliament of lesbians  encircles the hens,

a murder of goth gays come down from their perch 

I wonder if they’ve seen Hitchcock’s movie, ‘The Birds…’ 

by Jim Crickard

Sex in the Housing Crisis  

We are the generation of born-again virgins 

headboards disturb housemates on shift work,

Air-traffic controllers should be included in rent  

to coordinate times to get the ride

Landlords can afford to support our sex-lives 

and change carpets once in a while 

We are the generation of born-again virgins  

Like ships in the night, we work to survive,

but we are no thirty year old cargo boats…

anchored in the harbour, waiting for labour,

we are Ferrari red speed boats    

with miles to go before we sleep,   

miles to go before we sleep.  

We are the generation of born again virgins 

Nothing kills the mood like mildew 

home-sense is built on the backs of millennials 

fumigating probate houses 

converted into one-beds 

with constellations of mould 

and half their salary paid  

to make out on an old couch  

facing a microwave

We are the generation of born again virgins 

If you’re living with parents you can forget it 

unless you can face breaking their trust   

and explain condoms in the toilet-drain. 

We must not forget about our parents sex-lives 

afraid their carefully considered bed springs

will be heard by their thirty somethings 

Let’s give the government hell for 

this inter-generational dry spell! 

by Jim Crickard

[thran-duils]

Watch Me Burn (P.2)

Title: Watch Me Burn (Part Two) Summary: Fem!Reader x AU!Cas. Fem!Reader x AU!Sam. This fic was inspired by both parts of “Love the Way You Lie” by Eminem & Rihanna. Castiel and the reader are toxic for each other and keep falling back together until the reader moved away. It’s been years and now she is back home, waltzing back into Castiel’s life. She is determined to do better this time, to make them work, but outside forces as well as the scars the two have left on each other weave their way into their reconciliation. Will they be able to overcome the past and new threats to their sustainability? Words: 2,175 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Extreme angst, domestic violence, smut, unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, BDSM trust breaking, fluff, language, alcohol abuse, !!! eventual !!! happiness Author’s Note: Italics are the past!

Chap One || Chap Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fic masterpost

Staring into the empty cigarette carton, you swore to yourself before crumpling it in your fist and tossing it across the room.

“Problem?” Castiel asked nonchalantly from the balcony, putting out the butt of the cigarette he had just got done smoking.

Unable to resist, you rolled your eyes dramatically. “You could have at least asked me!” you snapped at him, moving away from the kitchen table. “Let alone tell me you were taking the last one.”

“Stop being so whiny, Y/N,” he told you, coming inside and eyes searching the room as your jaw went slack from his comment. “You can just walk to the store and get another pack. It’s not that big of a deal, Jesus.”

“Oh, I can walk to the store to get another pack. You—” you sneered, jabbing a finger at him. “Should be the one going to the store for more if you’re gonna smoke the last one, Cas. And apparently you want me to get attacked? It’s 11:30 at night.”

“Christ, stop putting words in my fucking mouth, Y/N! You know… never mind.” Castiel shook his head, shooting you a vexed looking. He walked into the living room, searching for the bottle no doubt.

You laughed at his frustration, relishing in not being the only one annoyed; and at the fact he seemed too drunk to remember where he had left the bottle in the first place. Turning around, you picked up the quickly warming bottle of vodka from the kitchen counter and took a swig.

“What, Cas? What do I know?” you crowed, following him into the living room, bottle in hand. “Know that you’re being selfish as per usual?”

Castiel exhaled sharply, annoyance evident as he turned to face you. His eyes landed on the bottle and you stopped a few feet from him out of reach.

“Yes, I do know that. And I know you know I love having a cigarette before going to bed after drinking and yet you still decided to take my last one. Not to mention taking the last one this late at night when you know it’s not safe for me to be walking by myself. But, sure, I’ll walk down there. Just to stick it to you. Hopefully I do get jumped and then maybe you’ll feel bad.”

Laughing darkly, Castiel declared, “No.”

“No? You just told me to!” you told him, slamming the bottle down on the coffee table. You whipped around, grabbing your jacket off the back of the couch, throwing it on angrily. “So, I’m going to do it. Just for you!”

Castiel got in your way, blocking your path to the door. He was serious, the amusement from mere moments ago vanished. “I said no, Y/N.”

“What the fuck is your problem, Cas?” you scoffed, zipping up your jacket.

He reached for your hands, stopping you from continuing to zip your jacket. You slapped his hands away and he growled, “You, obviously! You know I wasn’t serious!”

It was your turn to laugh humorlessly. “Oh, you were one hundred percent serious. You just don’t like me pointing out that you’re wrong! Now get out of my way!”

Castiel stepped closer, fists clenched. “No! Take your jacket off and get away from the door!”

Furious he was telling you want to do, you shoved him roughly, forcing him to have to correct to catch his balance.

Jaw clenched, Castiel stared at you stiffly. “Don’t fucking touch me, Y/N.”

“Then move and I’ll stop!”

He did not.

You shoved him again, causing him to stumble back a couple of steps. His balance was more off due to the alcohol and you chuckled, which only served to make him angrier.

“I’m warning you,” he growled, voice rumbling low in his chest.

“Oh, what are you going to do?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Castiel inhaled deeply, trying to keep his composure. “Take your damn jacket and shoes off, Y/N.”

You went to shove him again, but he anticipated it, grabbing both your wrists, and forced you to turn, slamming you up against the wall. You cried out on impact, feeling the reverberation down your spine.

“I told you to stop it!” Castiel yelled in your face, losing his temper. You began to argue, and he told you to shut up. He threw his hands down, tearing his eyes away from you. “You don’t know when to fucking stop. It’s annoying as shit!”

Castiel ripped his jacket from the coat rack and threw it on. “I’m going myself! Since you’re being a huge bitch about it!”

Pushing yourself away from the wall, you started, “You don’t just get to—”

“I told you to shut up!” Castiel shouted at you, shoving his feet into his shoes.

The door slammed behind him and you huffed indignantly.

The sounds from traffic outside drifted in from the open sliding door to the balcony, the chill more evident now that you were focused on it.

“Fucking prick,” you sneered under your breath, tearing your jacket off and throwing it on the back of the couch. You kicked your shoes off, not caring of the noise of them hitting the wall; the neighbors no doubt had had an earful already. Muttering angrily to yourself, snatched the bottle off the coffee table again, bringing it to your lips. It seemed Tito was the only man that was going to be comforting you tonight because you sure did not want to be awake when Castiel got back.

<> <> <>

You slipped from underneath the blanket, trying not to wake Castiel. Thankfully, you woke up naturally early and an alarm had not threatened to wake him up along with you. The two of you had stayed on the ground all night, wrapped up together. His hair was a tousled mess, snoring softly, and you had to smile softly at the sight. You resisted the urge to reach out and caress his face.

Tiptoeing around, you tried to gather your things as quietly as you could.

“Where are you going?”

Closing your eyes tight, you sighed quietly.

Straightening up, you turned around to look back at him. He had pushed himself up into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The blanket had fallen to his waist, exposing his bare upper half.

“Sorry, I was trying not to wake you,” you apologized. “I’ve got to go to work.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “It’s Saturday,” he pointed out groggily.

“New boss, new orientation. One-time thing. Big project going on right now, so she is going to be in today and asked me to come in briefly.”

“You haven’t even been in the building?”

“I have. Just not with her there. She was back in Austin meeting with the CEO when I arrived this week.”

Castiel studied you for a moment and you saw suspicion creeping into his eyes. He stood up, completely nude as the blanket fell away. Rubbing the back of his neck, he cleared his throat, “You, uh… you gonna come back?”

There was no missing the hope swimming in his eyes.

You had been bold last night. Too bold for how you had wanted to come in, but the alcohol had pushed you along. It did not help that that woman Aspen had made you competitive – a downside to your drunk characteristics. You had imposed yourself on him because you had so arrogantly believed he could not be over you.

And you had been right.

And the only reason you knew that was because you had not gotten over him.

If you did not play your cards right, it would be far too easy to fall back into old routine.

Shrugging, you told him, “I’ll probably stay at the hotel tonight.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Get my bearings. It’s kinda weird being back. If you know what I mean.”

Castiel was staring at you intensely and you yielded to his gaze, averting your eyes. He moved, bending over to pick up the blanket on the ground and wrapped it around his waist. There was an edge to his voice when he said, “Sounded like last night you were planning on doing that here.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said honestly. “I… I meant it.”

He was upset. You could tell. Fucking his brains out and then ditching him was classic, past you behavior. This course of action was messing up too. You had promised yourself you would do better by him and yourself this time.

Shit.

You had dug this hole for yourself and you needed to deal with it.

“Hey,” you told him, placing your bag down, and walking over to him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, looking up at him and he was watching you closely, curiously. “I could shower here. Spend a little more time with you. I have a fresh pair of underwear in my bag. It’s not like I can’t just stop by my room and grab clothes on the way to work.” Your hand moved down, pulling the blanket out of his grasp to leave him bare again before you. “You know… after we…”

You trailed off, tracing your fingers gently along his bare chest. Castiel’s face lifted and you smiled in response. Pulling him to you, you laid a deep kiss, and began to walk backwards, pulling him along with you to the bathroom.

<> <> <>

“Welcome, welcome,” Tara told you warmly, motioning you to come into her office. You moved past her, returning her smile. She closed the door behind you and gestured at the seats in front of her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

You did as she requested, situating yourself in the chair.

“I’m sorry I am late. I seem to have forgotten the quickest routes through the city. Which is embarrassing since I lived here for so long,” you told her apologetically.

She leaned back in her seat and said, “Well, it’s not your first day here, so you’ve got that going for you.” The two of you shared a laughed. “So, first job for you is to learn the fastest ways here apparently. Secondly, tell me how are you feeling so far?”

You nodded fervently. “Yes, of course. Everyone has been welcoming and have shown me the basics here. Plus, it’s really nice to be home. In case I haven’t said that yet.”

“You did and that’s another reason I was happy to take you on. Love hiring locals.” She cleared her throat and asked, “You were you given the project outline, right?” You nodded again and she told you, “Good, good. I was hoping to go into more detail with you right now. I spoke with Charlie and she said that she had gotten you caught up on the larger details on Thursday.”

“She did. She was kind enough to take me out to lunch to do so.”

“She is quite gregarious,” Tara told you. “She’s a good one, despite the fact she does get a little… animated.”

“It seems like a positive quality rather than the opposite.”

“I’m glad you see it that way,” Tara responded. She paused, looking you over with approval. Sincerely, she said, “You’re going to do stellar here.”

The sentence knocked you flat, your smile faltering as memory flared up.

Tara was gone and Sam was sitting across the desk from you. You froze, pinned by his lascivious smile and his wandering eyes. He had complimented you too – that exact wording – after you had left your former boss’ office on your first day. He had been onto you since the moment you had stepped into the office.

Adjusting the cuffs on his pressed blue jacket, he gave you a charming smirk. “Beauty and brains, huh? Quite the package. Aren’t we lucky?”

The way he said ‘we’, you felt there was a more self-serving insinuation lurking beneath the surface.

“I…” you stammered.

“Y/N?”

You were snapped back to reality. Tara was looking at you concerned, leaning forward towards you.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

Shaking your head, forcing a small laugh, you told her, “Yes, yes. Sorry. Just… déjà vu.”

Tara laughed gently, “You hear that a lot then? I didn’t mean to be cliché.”

“No, you weren’t.” You cleared your throat forcibly, trying to act normal. “Just funny that’s one of the first things that was said to me the first day at the company.”

“Well, it’s true,” Tara told you affirmatively. “You’re impressive. Jerry was terribly sad to learn you had applied for the position here because he knew there was no way you wouldn’t be chosen. But I can’t say that I am sorry that you did.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spreading at the feeling of being wanted.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely, relaxing back into your chair, trying to shove the lingering feeling of Sam away.

You were starting fresh here for a reason and did not want to let the past few months drama influence your situation here. You were going to be successful without strings attached this time.

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Not father by blood, but still your father; Roger Taylor x reader (oc! child)

*Author’s note*

Well after a full day of writing this idea in my head, I finally worked up the courage to post this.  Sorry if it feels a little rushed with the romance stuff, but I hope the platonic stuff fills all of you with warm feels and gooeyness. There's not really much warning except for the arsehole Paul Prenter who has to ruin everything. So I hope you all enjoy this fic and don't forget to like and comment below and above :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@geek-and-proud

@queendeakyy

@coolcxt

@mexifangorl

@platawnic

___________________________________________________________

Never did he think he’d be ready for this step so soon.  But the second he set eyes on (y/n) (l/n), Roger Taylor was twitterpatted.  It was 1971 when he first met her.  Just shortly after Queen had recorded their first album, he was browsing through a record shop one day and that’s when he heard her recommend the new Hendrix album over the AC/DC.

From that moment on, it was love and first sight with Roger.  But of course flirter that he was, she at first wasn’t interested but after a few attempts at being a gentleman at various occasions like whenever she saw him perform at the bigger pubs and small venues, she decided to give him a chance.

After about six months of being together, the longest he had ever had a committed relationship, (y/n) confessed something to him. She was petrified to tell him but he assured her that he wasn’t going to flee no matter what it was.

It was then she confessed that she had another guy in her life.  At first Roger thought she was cheating on him but it was then she told him it wasn’t another boyfriend, but her son.

About a year before she met Roger, she and her ex-boyfriend dated for a good six years together, soulmates at college. That was until she found out that she was pregnant and at first she thought he was cool with it, until one day his stuff was packed and he was nowhere to be found.  He never called or wrote to her telling her where he had gone, it was like he vanished off the face of the earth.

It was then any other relationship she tried to start up with, as soon as a kid was brought up, every guy high-tailed to the hills and didn’t want another date.

Surprisingly for Roger, he didn’t flee.  I mean yeah a kid is a big responsibility but he was just in admiration of how strong she truly was knowing that even after all that she went through, she somehow still managed to keep a job at the café she worked in, raise a son all on her own and still somehow be this vibrant spirit he saw her to be.

Roger also decided that he would like to meet the little guy because if he was going to be in her life, then he needed the approval of the man who loved her most.  And let’s just say the day Roger met little Caleb, he fell for him just like he fell for his mother.

Even at just 18 months old, Caleb immediately took to Roger and always wanted to be around him.  He’d crawl over to him and try to stand up on his own by using Roger’s jeans as an anchor for pulling himself up.

As Caleb grew older, he came to see Roger as the father figure he needed.  And Roger was more than happy to fill in that role.  He taught Caleb everything from cars, to drums, hell by the time the kid was 4 he bought him his own mini-drum kit (hoping to teach him to play before Brian weaseled his way into teaching him guitar, or Freddie with the piano).

In fact all the boys of Queen grew to love Caleb like their own nephew and they couldn’t help but spoil the boy too much, especially Freddie.

It was now 1975 and the boys were off at Rockfield farm recording their 5th album “A night at the Opera”.  But they were also prepping something else, for tomorrow was July 23rd, and that meant for the boys of Queen that it was going to be Caleb’s 6th birthday.

(Y/n) and Caleb were planning to get there by morning so that meant she was probably driving them all the way to the farm as they speak.  Freddie and Brian were putting up the last of the decorations while Deacy tended to the cake.

“Please tell me the cake got done properly this time.” Said Roger as he came down the stairs with the gifts.

“No worries Roger, never doubt my baking skills. At least Brian and I know how to deal with eggs.”

“That was one time Deacy!” Roger exclaimed.

“Try seven. You’re lucky (y/n) came along when she did and at least tried to stop you from doing it the 8th time in a month.”

“Oh sod off! Fred, Bri the streamers up yet!?”

“Take it easy darling you can’t rush perfection.” Freddie said.

“I’m not rushing perfection, I’m rushing you!”

“Take it easy Rog, we’ll get this up in plenty of time.” Brian tried to assure his long time bandmate.

“Sorry, it’s just I want this party to be perfect for Caleb.”

“And it will Rog, you’re just overreacting. And as I’ve told you before darling there’s only room in this band for one hysterical queen.” Freddie said as he finished tacking the last of the streamers. “There, perfect!” he clapped his hands before stepping down the ladder.

“I honestly don’t get why we’re doing this. All this is is a distraction.” Paul’s voice piped in.  Roger glared at him to see the snake leaning against the stairway and he snapped at him.

“If you don’t like it here then I’ll happily call you a cab back to London.”

“As your day to day assistant I have to be here.”

“Then if you’re going to complain take it up outside with the cows because they can take your shit. And I better not see you smoking anywhere near Caleb when he gets here!”

“For once I agree with Rog, so what’s it going to be Prenter?” asked Deacy.  Paul knowing he couldn’t truly speak his mind, especially when Freddie was in the room he said.

“Just don’t make them stay long. Do the party for one day then kick them out.”

“They’re going to stay here as long as they want. Besides it’s been forever since I’ve seen the little tike. Why should you get to keep him all to yourself Roger?” Brian said.  Roger grinned and said.

“Because I am his father and I forbid you to see him. Plus I know about those guitar lessons you’ve been trying to sneak him behind my back May.”

“Just saying, he’d look much better with a guitar in hand. Because the next thing we need in this world is another Roger Taylor. And god help us all when that day comes.” It was then Roger threw a birthday horn at Brian’s head.

“Children please. We can all murder each other but then who would be left to decorate the home for Caleb?”

“You and me Fred. So please both of you kindly set you rivalry aside and get back to work.” Deacy said as he got to work decorating the cake.

As the night went on by around 11:30 the boys finally got the house all set up for a six year old’s birthday party.

“Well I think that’s everything.” Said Roger.

“It looks good.” Said Brian admiring their hard work.

“Of course it is Brian because I designed the theme. That darling little boy is going to love it.” Freddie said.

“We’ll see come morning. What time did (y/n) say she’d be here?” asked Deacy to Roger.

“She said she’s be getting on the road at about 2-3am so that way she’d be here by around 7 maybe 8am.”

“Alright well my darlings I think after all this, we deserve a good night’s rest. Because tomorrow is party time!” Freddie proclaimed.

“Just don’t get drunk like last year Fred.” Lectured Brian.

“Don’t worry I took out all the booze this time around.” Deacy said. And with that the four band members heading towards their rooms and got a good night’s rest because tomorrow they knew they were in for a wild ride.

By dawn at the rooster’s crow, Roger groaned and placed his pillow over his face trying to block out the sound of the crowing. But then he also heard the sound of a car pulling up along the gravel driveway.

At first he thought nothing of it, that was until he remembered what day it was.

“Caleb. Birthday. Today! SHIT!!!” He quickly raced towards the window and saw (y/n)’s car pulling up and heard the engine shut off. “Fuck!” he quickly got dressed and of course in such a rush, he tripped a few times getting his pants on before banging along the walls trying to wake up Freddie and Brian. “WAKE UP YOU LOT THEY’RE HERE!!”

He raced out only to see that he wouldn’t be the first one to greet them.  Ever the early rise he was, Deacy and (y/n) separated from their hug and they turned to look towards Roger.

“Well finally decided to wake up eh?” Deacy mocked.

“You…..I’ll deal with you later.” He sneered.

“Please Roger, no fighting with your rhythmic partner. Especially with the birthday boy present.” (y/n) said as she walked up to him and cooled his hot-headedness with a peck to the lips.

“Where is he?”

“Still asleep in the back. Little man slept through the entire ride over here. It hurt me to wake him up so early so that we could get on the road early enough to beat the London summer traffic.”

“Well it’ll all be worth it. I think he’s gonna love what we did for him inside.”

“And there she is! (Y/n) darling.” They turned to see Freddie and Brian standing along the porch.  Freddie in his nightly kimono they got from Japan and Brian in a simple tank top and some shorts.

“Freddie, Brian. So sorry to have you guys wake up so early. Especially you Bri, I know how terrible you are in the mornings.”

“This is the one day of the year I’ll be okay with getting up at the crack of dawn. Need any help unloading anything?”

“Yes, I’ve got some of the remaining presents as well as some party games. If you lot could help me…..”

“Oh darling don’t be ridiculous, you will not be lifting a finger. You’ve already sacrificed some sleep just to get here, let us handle the unpacking while you and Roger handle the birthday boy.” Freddie said as he came up to (y/n) and placed both his hands on her shoulders.

“But—”

“He’s right love. The guys can handle the stuff.” Roger assured her.  With the famed baby blue puppy dog eyes, she knew she couldn’t say no.

“Alright then you two. Come help me out then.” Deacy said as he unlocked (y/n)’s trunk and grabbed a few of the presents. Freddie grabbed the board games while Bri got the rest of the presents.  As she went to open up the back door of her car, she told the guys to be quiet and they did as the three of them rushed back into the house.

“Here stay out of sight for a bit till I get him to wake up. Want to make this a surprise, I never told him where we were going.” Roger grinned and hid behind the car and got down so that he’d stay out of sight.

She opened the door and stroked her son’s cheek as she softly called out.

“Caleb. Caleb love.” He stirred and rubbed his hands over his eyes as he groaned and began to wake up.

“Mummy?”

“Hey handsome boy, time to rub Mr. Sandman’s sand out of your eyes. We’ve arrived at our destination.” Once Caleb became a bit more aware of where they were now, he asked.

“Where are we mummy?”

“Well baby; since I knew you were pretty bummed about the guys missing your 6th birthday party due to them recording their album, I thought I might bring you to a very special place. And there’s someone special who wants to see you.” (y/n) turned towards Roger and he slowly came into the frame and he said.

“Someone mention me?”

“Daddy!” Caleb called out. He struggled to get out of his seatbelt.  Both Roger and (y/n) chuckled as (y/n) reached in to unbuckle him.

“Hold still sweetie, I know you’ve missed your daddy but you gotta stay still for a second.” Once she got him unbuckled, she moved out of the way and Caleb immediately flew into Roger’s arms.

Rog spun his boy around and playfully nuzzled him.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“What? What?”

“Do you know what today is?”

“Hmm I don’t know is it…..Christmas?”

“No silly that’s still a long ways away. Although I wish it was Christmas.” Roger chuckled and he adjusted Caleb from his hip to around his waist.

“Okay is it……your first day of primary school?”

“Ewww no!”

“Then I don’t know, what is today bubs?”

“My birthday!”

“Your what?”

“My birthday!”

“It’s not your birthday.” Teased Roger.

“Yes it is.” Giggled Caleb.

“Oh really? Well if it’s your birthday then how old are you today?”

“Six years old, going on seven.”

“Six!? Wow that makes you a man now huh?” Caleb nodded enthusiastically while (y/n) playfully rolled her eyes.

“Please don’t make my baby boy think he’s too old for his mummy.”

“Oh never my love. No matter how old he gets, a boy will always need his mum, right champ?”

“Right! Love you mummy.”

“And I love you my little baby bear.” She cooed as she Eskimo kissed him while cupping his face and giving him multiple pecks all over his face.  He groaned and ewed at the wet kisses he was receiving till he finally buried his face into Roger’s neck.

“Alright squirt, let’s get you inside.” Roger then carried Caleb into the house while the birthday boy kept asking if he could play with the farm animals, Roger answered with a maybe.

The three of them entered the house which had all of the lights turned off.

“Why’s it so dark in here?” Caleb asked a bit fearfully as he clung onto Roger’s jeans.

“It’s alright bubs, I’ll turn on the lights for yah.” The second the lights came on; Freddie, Brian and Deacy popped out from their hiding spots throwing confetti everywhere, blowing on small birthday bugles proclaimed.

“SURPRISE!!” Caleb’s face went full on ecstatic as he raced up to his uncle Freddie first who happily picked him up and spun him around.

“Happy birthday you lovely darling!”

“I can’t believe you guys are really here.”

“Better believe it lad, happy birthday buddy.” Deacy said as he placed the birthday crown on top of Caleb’s head.

“A crown befitting a prince, don’t you think so Roger? (Y/n)?”

“Indeed Freddie, and a very cute prince at that.” (y/n) teased as she gently pinched her son’s cheek.

“Mum! Prince’s aren’t supposed to be called cute!” he whined out as he rubbed his cheek.

“Oh right sorry, I meant handsome.”

“Alright Caleb, what would you like to do first?” asked Deacy.

“Presents!” the boy exclaimed.

“Uhh sweetie, how about we hold off on presents for a little while.” (y/n) told her son.

“Oh come off it (y/n) dear. Caleb is such a good boy plus it’s his birthday. If he wants to open up presents first, then he shall open his presents.” Freddie said as he playfully jostled the boy in his arms making him laugh.

“Fred you’re going to spoil that boy.” Roger said.

“I’m his godfather I’m allowed to spoil him. Now let’s open some presents.”

“Yaaaaay!” cheered Caleb as Freddie took him over to the ‘birthday chair’ (which was just one of the chairs from the kitchen but had some paper folded on the two top ends to make them look like a throne).

“Okay my darling Caleb you’re gonna want to open mine first because it’s the best present ever.” Freddie said as he gave him a very large (and when I mean large, I mean large, it could’ve been as tall as Caleb was standing up).

“Freddie what did you get him?” asked (y/n).

“Spoilers darling, go on Caleb dear open it up.” Almost immediately, the six year old boy is ripping up the wrapping paper and opened up the box to reveal a large shark bag chair with open jaw and everything. Since he saw the film JAWS, Caleb had been obsessed with sharks so when Freddie saw this while touring in America, he thought only one person had to have it.

“Wow!”

“You like it dear?”

“I love it, thanks uncle Freddie this is the best gift ever!” Caleb hugged his godfather thanking him repeatedly.

“Alright Caleb why not open the rest of your presents just so that your uncles and daddy don’t feel left out hmm?” he nodded and proceeded to open the rest of his presents.

From Brian he got some space coloring books and a Lego space set.  Deacy got him some animal books and a new stuffed lion (he, Roger and Caleb considered themselves the lion coalition since they were all born under the Leo zodiac). Roger gave him some Hotwheels model cars as well as a new drum set that almost resembled the set that Roger uses on stage (Queen design included), and his mom gave him the typical mom gifts some new clothes (but she got clothes that she knew he’d like that would have sharks or monster trucks on them) as well as a new teddy bear.

After presents, Deacy brought in the cake and Freddie lit the candles.  Brian picked up the birthday boy and they all gathered around the kitchen and everyone began to sing happy birthday to him.  (Y/n) setting up the video camera began recording to keep the memory of this day forever in the years to come.

Caleb felt like the luckiest boy on earth because to him it wasn’t just his family that was singing to him, but when you can say your family is Queen, it makes you feel even more special.  After the song, he closed his eyes to make a wish before blowing out the candles.  Everyone clapped and cheered then Deacy began cutting the cake.

It was the typical family picture for a kid’s birthday party (minus all the screaming kids).  Caleb telling the guys some of the things he’s done since summer holiday started for him, the four men listening intently, smiling and laughing. Pictures were taken all thanks to Brian, and for the rest of the day it was game time.

From musical chairs, twister, scrabble (of course they let Caleb win a few rounds), to pin the tail on the donkey.  Caleb enjoyed playing each game because he liked playing with his family, especially his dad.

Later that night, Caleb was in the living room cuddled between his parents.  He held his stuffed lion close to him as he leaned against his daddy’s arm.

“Did you have a good birthday bubs?” asked Roger. Caleb hummed tiredly as he cuddled closer to him.

“Seems our birthday boy’s tired himself out.” Said (y/n).  She strokes her son’s cheek and she tells him, “Caleb, sweetie, would you like daddy and I to make you a bath before bedtime?” he nodded.  

“Alright pal, I’ll come down and get you once your mum and I get the bath ready. Don’t fall asleep till then okay?”

“I’ll try.” Caleb says tiredly as he rubs his eyes. The two adults chuckle softly and stand up before heading upstairs to prep his bath.

As Caleb stretches himself out and yawns he then hears a voice say.

“Seems you had a good birthday.” He turns around and soon coming into the living room was Paul Prenter.

“Mm-hmm, it was fun.”

“The lads and your mum sure did spoil you.”

“Yeah. I like it when they do.”

“You know I shouldn’t probably say this but I’m not sure you know what exactly Freddie and the boys do.”

“I know who they are. They’re Queen, the greatest rock band ever.”

“That they are. And their fame is only going to keep growing, especially after this album.”

“Uncle Freddie says he’s gonna let me listen to some of the songs tomorrow.”

“And what a lucky boy you must be. I mean might as well let you have one final moment with them before they’re too busy for you.” Caleb turned to the Irish man and asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well after this album takes off, it’ll be nothing but non-stop tours, album recordings, concerts, press interviews, Queen will be the highest band in the world. Even bigger than the Beatles. They won’t have time for family matters.”

“Huh? But they always have time for me.” It was then Paul sighed clearly showing his annoyed impatience as he continued.

“Alright for your own sake I’ll be blunt. They won’t have time to spend with you. In fact you’ll just be a distraction to their work. Especially Freddie. He is the leader of Queen after all and he can’t have his vision compromised by a child. John and Brian will just grow tired of having to watch over a child constantly when they should be focusing on their rifts. And Roger…..well he’s always gotten the girls’ attentions. Eventually he’ll find there are better more flexible girls that won’t have a child to tie him down.”

“But he’s my daddy! He’d never hurt me and mummy.” Paul grinned and chuckled icily.

“To be honest I don’t even know why he calls himself that. He was never your father to begin with. Your real father abandoned you the moment your mother had found out you were created. Roger’s fooling himself because he’s just like the one who abandoned you.”

Caleb looked down sadly and could feel a lump in his throat and start to feel the tears pooling into his eyes.

“Caleb?” soon coming down the stairs was Roger. The second he saw Paul kneeling down before his son, he got defensive. “What’s going on Prenter!?”

“Oh nothing Roger, just asking the little tike if he had a good birthday.” Then like nothing had happened, Paul ruffled the boy’s head before heading on out for a smoke break.  Roger eyed Paul skeptically knowing that something must’ve been up, but he set it aside and knelt down in front of Caleb.

“Your bath’s ready bud, you ready?”

“Can—can mummy bathe me tonight instead?” Caleb asked. Roger was surprised to hear that because bath time was usually their thing (in Caleb’s words, Roger was more fun during bath time when it came to battleship wars)

“Uhh sure. I’m—sure she wouldn’t mind.” Without another word, Caleb raced upstairs.  As (y/n) was coming out of the bathroom, she felt something tackle her almost making her lose her balance.  She looked down to see her son and she said.

“Caleb, what’s the matter love?” He spoke not a word but she did hear a sniffle and soft sob coming out of him.  She knelt down and hugged her son and rubbed her back. At that moment, Roger came up the stairs and just stood there horrified to see his son crying.

(Y/n) shrugged in a ‘I don’t know what’s wrong’ manner but kept hugging and comforting her son.

After bath time thanks to Freddie, Caleb was allowed to sleep in his room while Fred took the couch.  (Y/n) tucked her son in and kissed his cheek.

“Goodnight my sweet prince.”

“Night, night mummy.” He said.  She stood up and replacing her was Roger.

“Sweet dreams monkey.” He leaned down to kiss Caleb on the opposite cheek but to his surprise, Caleb turned away refusing his daddy’s kiss.  Heartbroken but still wanting to show his son some affection, Roger kissed the boy’s temple and patted his arm before standing up.

The two bid the boy goodnight before turning off the light and shut the door.  As the two of them prepared for bed Roger asked.

“Did he say why he was so upset?”

“No. Why did something happen downstairs when you went to get him?”

“I mean I saw Paul kneeling in front of him, if he said anything to him I’ll throw him out the bloody window of the recording studio as soon as we get home.”

“You do realize you guys have the 24th floor of that studio right.”

“So?”

“Roger, I love you but I’d rather not date a convicted criminal.”

“Hey I’d become a criminal if it means protecting you and my son.”

“I know you would love. Let’s—just let him sleep and maybe he’ll come around tomorrow.” She kissed his lips and the two of them cuddled together for the night.

However the next morning Caleb shook his mum awake asking her if they could go home.  Roger and her asked why he wanted to leave so early when they could’ve stayed a couple of weeks there, but the boy refused to answer.  He just clung to his mum and asked if they could go home.

Giving into her son’s request, she packed up the presents and loaded the car up ready to head back to their home in London.  

But when the four boys of Queen went to say goodbye to their number one fan, he hid behind his mum’s legs and clung onto her like a koala.  He refused to make eye contact with them as he got into the backseat and hid under the window.

“What’s wrong with Caleb?” asked Brian.

“I don’t know.” Answered (y/n) solemnly.

“Roger what did you do?” demanded Freddie.

“Me?! I did—”

“Don’t go blaming him Fred, he wouldn’t talk to us last night. But—maybe I’ll get him to talk once we get home. I’ll let you four know when we get there.”

“Okay, drive safe love. And do you—mind if you check in on Veronica for me?” asked Deacy.

“No problem Deacy. I am you guys mid-wife after all. I’ll check on her and see how she and the future little Deacy duckling is doing.” (y/n) hugged all the boys goodbye before leaving Roger for last.

The two lovers embraced each other and Roger whispered to her.

“Please give my love to him okay?”

“I will Rog I promise. You keep making songs and don’t lock yourself in a  cupboard again.”

“No promises love.” She rolled her eyes before kissing Roger softly while cupping his face.  They eventually separated as (y/n) got in the driver’s seat and turned on the engine before finally pulling out of the farm and headed back into the city.

It was Christmas time and the boys were prepping for their live Christmas Eve show at the Hammersmith Odeon to help promote the success for “A night at the opera”.  (Y/n) was getting ready to head over to the theater because afterwards she and the guys were gonna come to the house for a little Christmas gift exchange.

“Caleb love, are you sure you don’t wanna go see the show live?” (y/n) asked her son.  She’s been noticing how lately Caleb hasn’t wanted anything to do with Roger or the guys lately and she was starting to get worried.

“I’m sure mummy. I’ll just watch it on TV.”

“Okay honey, if you’re sure.” He nodded solemnly as he fiddled with his new Star Wars X-wing he got from Deacy as a pre-Christmas gift.  After putting on the last of her makeup, the doorbell rang and (y/n) went over to the door and opened it up to reveal her best friend since childhood Dani.

“Hey girl!” she proclaimed in an ‘I’m here’ fashion.

“Hey Dani, thank you so much for babysitting at the last minute.”

“No worries girl, I love that kid to death, he is my godson after all. Where is the little cutie?”

“He’s in the living room playing.” Sensing her best friend’s worry, Dani asked.

“You okay?”

“Honestly I’m worried about Caleb.”

“What’s going on?”

“Ever since his birthday he’s been acting a little strange lately. Anything having to do with Roger or the guys he’s—he’s been ignoring them or not wanting to have anything to do with them.”

“What? Really?” she exclaimed softly in shock. (Y/n) nodded.

“He won’t talk to me about it and I’m getting worried. What if he’s—”

“Hey, hey, hey don’t think about that right now. I’ll try and get him to watch their live broadcast and see if I can get anything out of him. After all when it comes to the really juicy stuff that gets to him, he’s always told me.”

“What exactly has he told you?”

“I’m sworn under oath to never tell mummy.”

“I’ll deal with you later, but right now I better get out of here if I want to get to the Hammersmith on time.” The two women hugged each other and (y/n) went over to hug and kiss her son goodbye before finally heading out to meet with the boys at the Hammersmith Odeon.

At the theater; the boys had gotten fully dressed and were about to start the live broadcast.  When they heard a knock at their dressing room, Deacy went up and opened it to reveal (y/n).

“Hello (y/n).” he said.

“Hey Deacy, I just came back to wish you guys good luck.”

“Hello my love.” Roger came up and the two of them kissed. “Where’s Caleb?”

“He—”

“He didn’t come did he.” Roger said more as a statement than a question.

“I’m sorry love.”

“Is…..it something I did?”

“Honestly Rog, I don’t know. He won’t tell me.” He sighed and leaned his forehead against hers.

“You don’t think he hates me, do you?”

“No that can’t be it. He’s always loved you Rog. I wouldn’t worry about it now, you’ve got to focus on the show.”

“I know. But I just wish my little bud was here. It—really hasn’t been the same since his birthday.”

“We’ll figure it out soon my love.” She kissed Roger comfortingly and that’s when the producer came in and said.

“Queen, time to get on stage.” The couple separated from each other but took each other’s hands and the five of them walked towards the stage.

“I’ll be watching from right here cheering you four on.” Said (y/n) with a smile.

“We know you will darling. Hope the little darling is watching from home. I’m dedicating his favorite to him.” Freddie said. After Bob Harris gave the introduction, the boys raced on stage and performed their hearts out.

After the show, the boys and (y/n) arrived back at her place and there they saw Dani holding a sleeping Caleb on her lap.  Dani looked and she smiled at the five of them.

“How was he?” whispered (y/n).

“He was an angel as always.”

“Did he watch the concert?” asked Brian.  At that question, Dani looked down solemnly.

“I turned it on but he didn’t really pay attention. I tried to get him to talk to me but he wouldn’t tell me what’s going on.”

“You? His most trusted secret keeper?” asked Freddie bewildered.

“Yeah.” She said as she stroked his head softly. (Y/n) knelt down and gently picked her son up.

“Can I take him to bed?” asked Roger.  His eyes filled desperate to hold his little boy again.  Complying and fearfully thinking this maybe the only time he’d get to hold her son, she handed Caleb over to Roger.

He held him against his shoulder and took him upstairs to his room.  Roger set Caleb down and tucked him in, he reached over and tucked the teddy bear the two of them won at the Autumn carnival last year.  He stroked the little boy’s cheek with his thumb and whispered.

“I love you buddy. Merry Christmas.” He leaned down and kissed the boy’s forehead before sitting up and left his room.  He came back down the stairs and (y/n) said.

“He still asleep?”

“Little guy didn’t even stir. That’s—the first time I’ve ever got to hold him since his birthday.”

“I know Rog.” She cooed as she hugged him and stroked through his long hair.

“Can we place our gifts for Caleb under the tree?” asked Brian.  She nodded and the guys placed their Christmas gifts for Caleb under the tree, as well as the gifts they were gonna exchange to each other in the morning.

“I think I’m gonna hit the sack. We can start the gift exchange first thing in the morning.” Deacy said.

“Oh yeah cause you and Veronica are planning to go to her parent’s for dinner aren’t you?” (y/n) said as Deacy nodded. “That sounds good, we won’t keep you long Deacy. In fact I think you all deserve some rest after the show you all performed tonight.”

“You said it darling, 14 songs, four encores. I’m bloody exhausted.” Freddie said as he sighed heavily.

“Yeah. Goodnight you guys.” Said Brian.

“Night.” Soon everyone went to their guest rooms while Roger and (y/n) went into her room.  As Roger collapsed onto her bed, she got on her night dress and crawled up towards him and cuddled up into his chest.  Roger wrapped his arms around her and he nuzzled into her hair and without another word the two of them fell asleep.

By morning, the sound of little feet pattered towards the master bedroom.  Caleb crawled up onto the bed and began shaking the figure underneath.

“Mummy! Mummy wake up wake up it’s Christmas! Wake up lazy mummy! Let’s go see what Santa brought!”

“Geez bud, you never cease using us as a bouncy castle do you.” At hearing the sound of a male voice instead of his mum’s, Caleb got off the figure and out popped out Roger.

“Sorry Roger.” Caleb said lowly as he couldn’t even look him in the eye.  Feeling his heart clench that his son still wouldn’t look at him, he said.

“There’s no need to be sorry buds. So shall we see what Father Christmas brought you this year?” he asked trying to lighten the mood.

“Maybe later, excuse me.” He then left the room without saying a word.  Roger tried to reach out for him but he knew it was pointless.  He sighed solemnly and put on an old t-shirt and grabbed his robe as he went downstairs.

“What was all that racket I heard upstairs?” asked Freddie.

“Caleb woke up thinking I was his mum. But then as soon as he saw it was me he barely spoke to me.”

“Oh Roger darling.” Freddie stood up and placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“He couldn’t even look at me Fred. What did I do to him?”

“I’m sure it’s not something you did intentionally, not like you always do.” At that statement Roger glared at him. “Right not helping. Have some breakfast and maybe head back on up and see what’s going on. Cause more importantly I hadn’t gotten my Caleb hugs from him at all since his birthday and I’ve missed those so much.”

“Glad to see my problem makes you feel more like the victim than I am.” Roger muttered.

“Breakfast is ready!” (y/n)’s voice called out. As the boys of Queen gathered around to make their plates, Brian was setting up the presents so that while they were eating, they could quickly do gifts before Deacy had to leave to meet up with Veronica, their son Robert to head on out to meet her family for Christmas.

“Okay so  I’ll be on the right side of the couch, Deacy you’ll be the left since it’s closer to the door, Freddie you’ll have the recliner, and Roger and (y/n) can take the loveseat.” Brian said.

“Sounds good to me.” Deacy stated as he came up towards his seat.

“Caleb come on down for breakfast love before it gets cold!” (y/n) called from the bottom step.

“I’ll be down soon mum!” he called out but she somehow knew that none of them would see him.

“Okay so….who wants to go first?” asked Freddie.

“I’ll go.” Roger said.  As he went through each gift which included a new set of drumsticks with his name engraved on them, some new tools to help work on his cars, the latest “The Who” record, and some boat/yacht magazines.  It was then he came across the last gift which was just a shoebox with a note that said.

To; Roger and the boys

From; Caleb

“Guys, this is from Caleb. And it’s to all of us.” Freddie, Bri and Deacy all came around him and Brian asked.

“Well what is it?”

“Open it Roger.”

“Alright, alright don’t get your knickers in a twist Fred.” He opened it up but the four of them were shocked to see what was inside.

“Are—are those…..” (y/n) started off.

“It’s all the little trinkets we’ve gotten him from our tours around the world.” Deacy said.  The boys looked at each other worriedly as Freddie took out the tiny cat statue he got Caleb in Japan just last year.  Deacy pulled out the snow globe of the Eiffel Tower that he got in Paris when he was 3 years old.

Brian took out the small spaceship he bought at a giftshop in Washington D.C. for his 4th birthday, and Roger pulled out the picture he had (y/n) take of them when Roger first bought him his first drumkit.  Shaking his head he placed it back and said.

“Okay that’s it.”

“Roger, Roger what are you—” (y/n) tried to stop him but of course when Roger sets his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. When he finally reached Caleb’s room, he walked right on in to see the six year old on his bed twiddling with his thumbs.

“Care to explain this Caleb?” he tried his best to not shout at the boy but his tone couldn’t help but come off as betrayed, angered and heartbroken.  “Caleb why are you giving us back all the stuff that we’ve given you throughout the years? In fact why have you been acting like we hate you?! You’ve avoided us for months, you can’t look us in the eye and you seem to not want to have anything to do with us anymore!”

Steadily Roger’s voice got angrier and angrier. But then just before he could blow off his top, he heard the sounds of Caleb sniffling.  He looked down to see the little boy trying to hold back his tears but they kept coming out in tiny drops, like a loose pipe dripping water in the sink.

Roger’s anger immediately deflated and all that he was filled with now was regret.

“Oh Caleb, ohh buddy I—I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m so sorry, c’mere.” He picked the boy up and held him close as Caleb finally started letting out all the tears he’s kept in for five months. “Shhhh, shhh. I’m sorry buddy. I’m so sorry. I’m not mad at you, it’s okay, it’s okay shhh.”

“Y-you….can—gonna….leave…..”

“Caleb, pal I can’t understand you right now. You’re too upset to talk, take a few deep breaths with me, okay?” Caleb sniffled but nodded.  Roger set him back down on the bed and knelt down in front of the boy.  

He took his hands and helped guide him through some deep breathing exercises.

“In for three….one, two, three. Hold. Then out one, two, three, four, five. Good, again pal.” The two of them did the breathing technique together then once Caleb seemed to calm down, Roger softly smiled and tucked away the boy’s bangs away from his face. “You okay now?”

“Mm-hmm.” Caleb nodded softly.

“That’s good.” He gingerly wiped away the access tears that stuck to the boys face and said. “Do you wanna talk? I know something’s been bothering you for a while now. Tell me Caleb what is it?”

“I—I can’t tell you.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because……because…..cause you’ll hate me.” At hearing that, Roger’s heart broke.

“Caleb. You know that I could never, ever hate you. Nothing in this entire world could ever make me do that.”

“But this might.”

“You’ll never know unless you try. Remember when you said you’d never be able to ride a bike? Hmm? Or play the drums? And what did you do?”

“I learned it.”

“Exactly. We never know what will come unless we take the dive and do it. Or talk about it. So come on pal out with it. I’m not a mind reader like Professor X. I can’t look into your head and see what’s been bothering you.” For awhile Caleb remained silent and refused to look Roger in the eye just like before.

But somehow Roger was patient and waited until Caleb finally spoke up.

“Are…..are you…..” he trailed off before looking away.

“Am I what pal?” Roger said as he turned the boy’s head back to him by gently cupping his face.

“Are you gonna forget mummy and me?” Roger was horrified to hear those words come out of him.

“What? No. Absolutely not. What made you get an idea like that?”

“M….Mr. Prenter told me back at the farm that—after this album you, Uncle Freddie, Uncle Bri and Uncle Deacy were gonna be so famous that you’d forget about us. That more girls would come to you and that you would leave mummy for them. And that….you wouldn’t…..want to be my daddy no more when they did.”

Roger was now a field of mixed emotions inside. There was sorrow and heartbreak of Caleb having to think this for over five months, no wonder why he wouldn’t see him or the guys.  But there was also rage due to the fact that Paul Prenter, a grown man had the nerve to actually say things like that to a little boy.

“That son of a…..I know I keep saying but this time I mean it. I’ll throw him out the bloody window!”

At hearing the anger in Roger’s voice and seeing his blue eyes turn ice cold and murderous, Caleb whimpered and started trembling in fear.

“Oh no, no, no buddy, buddy it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry I scared you. Come here.” Roger instantly reverted back to his calm state that he always used with Caleb and he immediately hugged the boy close to him.

He rubbed his back in soothing circles and rocked him back and forth trying to comfort him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you bubs, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. I vowed that I would never get angry around you.” He stroked Caleb’s head before planting a kiss on top of his head. “Listen Caleb. Forget everything that Paul said to you.”

“But…..”

“No buts, as your father I forbid you to mention him right now.”

“But he…..Mr. Prenter also said that you weren’t really my daddy. That my real daddy…..never wanted me.” Roger rubbed his son’s back and said.

“First of all Caleb, I want you to stop calling him Mr. Prenter. Mister is something you only use when someone respects you back. And Paul doesn’t deserve your respect.”

“Then what should I call him?”

“Whatever mean name you can come up with.” Caleb thought about it before saying.

“Poo-poo pee-pee!” Roger laughed and said.

“That’s perfect!” he playfully ruffled Caleb’s head messing up his inherited (h/c) from his mum.  “Now everything that poo-poo pee-pee said to you, is nothing but lies. I love your mother, and I love you. You both are my whole world, sure there have been women while I was on the road trying to get a hold of me but every time I denied them because I already had my best girl and best bud waiting at home for me. And that they are the loves of my life.”

“But when he—said that you weren’t my real father. Is….is that true?” At that question, Roger knew he had to word it carefully because at this point Caleb was still fragile and if he said that what Paul said about Roger not being his real father was true, the poor boy would have a breakdown and feel like he’s been living a lie.

“I can tell you this Caleb. The man who—was with your mum before me. He lost a great opportunity. And his loss was my gain. Because just like Queen, you and your mum are my family. Just like I hope that I’m a part of yours. Family doesn’t always end in blood, it’s the bond we share with each other. And the love we give each other throughout our lives. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Yes daddy.”

“Oh you have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to call me that again.” Roger said as he stroked Caleb’s cheek with his thumb and smiled down at him. “Can I get some lion cuddles and kisses?” Caleb nodded and cuddled close into Roger’s chest.  

He clung onto his shirt before raising his head to kiss Roger’s cheek.  Roger smiled and playfully devoured Caleb in wet kisses making him laugh and try to break free of Roger’s embrace.  Roger chuckled and said.

“Now this is what I wanted for Christmas.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Your hugs and kisses are worth more than any presents Father Christmas can give. I’ve been denied this gift for five months so you better pay me back with as many hugs and kisses you can give me. Deal?”

“Deal.” The two men shook on it.

“Now tell me; who do I love most in the whole wide world?”

“Me and mummy!”

“You got that right pal. I love you so much Caleb.”

“I love you too daddy.” He hugged his father and Roger rubbed his back. “I’m—sorry I hurt your feelings daddy.”

“Shhh, don’t think of it anymore. All is forgiven. So long as you take back your gift.”

“I will. Do—Uncle Freddie, Bri and Deacy forgive me?”

“I’m sure they do. Freddie has been going on nonstop of how he’s missed your hugs. Wanna go down and see them?” he nodded and Roger picked him up so that he hung around his waist and the two of them headed downstairs. “Look whose finally decided to come down.”

“Caleb darling!” Freddie exclaimed.  Roger set him down and Caleb immediately ran up to his uncle Freddie who picked him up and set him on his lap. “Ohh this is what I’ve waited for.”

“You happy now uncle Freddie?”

“Oh darling I am very happy.” As Roger came up to (y/n) she whispered.

“Everything okay now?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you once he tires from playing with all his presents.” And with that the five adults watched as Caleb ripped open every single one of his presents and was all oooh and awe.

Roger finally got what he wanted and he was so happy to finally have his little buddy back on his side.  Because even though he wasn’t Caleb’s birth father, he still looked at that boy like he was his own son.  And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[thecozywhaleshark]

King of Hearts (pt. 4)

Word Count: 6,344

Warnings: Smut. Angst. Some fluff. Swearing. Oral (male and female receiving). Denial. Overstimulation. Bondage. Begging. Masturbation. Unprotected sex (they forgot this time sorry, please be safe my beans). A little thigh riding. Little face riding. Basically the kinkiest shit I have written so far. I’ll go retreat back to my hell cell now.

Summary: He was hired to teach her things... and so that is what he’ll do.

“Bye everyone! It was nice to meet you and see some of you again!” Jin yells, waving as you walk out of the door of another publishing event.

You were so glad it had gone well. It had come up last minute and you had frantically texted Jin: “I have a meeting and Marsha (another one of my editors) is asking about you… H E L P” and thankfully, he had come through.

It had been a long dinner, office casual, and you almost drooled when you saw Jin enter the restaurant in a simple pair of slacks and a buttondown shirt, looking delectable as always.

“Thank you for saving me… again,” you sigh, cheerfully linking your arm through his as you walked to your car.

“You’re just lucky it landed on our date night.” Jin replies, giving you a wink.

You roll your eyes. Boys. “Date night, huh? So that’s what we’re calling it?”

He leans in and brushes his lips against your ear. “That’s what we’re calling it until we’re out of earshot of some of your co-workers.”

You glance behind you and see that there were, in fact, two of your team walking a couple feet behind you on their way across the parking lot.

“Good catch,” you whisper, “Now pretend to laugh at something I said.”

Jin lets out a jolly laugh and unlinks your arms so he can throw it around your shoulders.

“I can’t believe you said that!” he says, raising his voice slightly so the people behind you are sure to hear.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first,” you fire back, raising your own voice slightly and elbowing him in the gut before ducking out from under his arm and striding out of his reach. “Race you to the car!”

You are thankful you decided to wear flats to this dinner instead of your heels and take off, more to get away from your co-workers than actually play with Jin.

Jin catches up to you easily and could have outrun you, but you slam your hand against the back of your car.

“I win!” you crow gleefully.

“That’s not fair, I don’t know what your car looks like!” he complains, while you search in your bag for your car keys.

You grin. “I just thought we should put some space between us and our followers,” you state, nodding your head in their direction.

He glances back and sees them a good ways off and grins. “Smart tactic…” he mumbles, then leans across the hood as he waits for you to unlock the door. “… or were you just warming up for later?”

You smirk and give him a heavy wink. “Maybe I was warming you up,” you reply, unlocking the door and sliding into your seat before he has a chance to reply, and therefore missing the way his face changes.

Jin slides into the passenger side and buckles, waiting until you start the car and are backing out before speaking.

“So I read some of your works…”

You blush hard. Well this has to be a nightmare... 

“Oh god.”

“I read that Elaina is tied up in Chapter 57… and so is Ariel in Chapter 8, and Sydney in Chapter 32, and Morgan in Chapter 23…” he counts off his fingers then looks up at you with a smirk.

You can feel your face turning so red it hurts and you’re thankful for the darkness of the car, though you’re sure he can see flashes of it in the strobing passes of the streetlights.

“Did you read everything I’ve written in a week?”

He rests his head on the back of his seat and shrugs. “You write interesting things. And I travel a lot. Reading passes the time.”

You nod and there is a moment of silence before his voice leeches out from the dark.

“Tell me, y/n, have you ever tied up a man?”

You choke and swerve the car, and a car honks at you.

“WATCH IT!” Jin shouts, grabbing the steering wheel and getting you to the side of the road.

He pats your back while you fan yourself with your hand. “What –“

He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, let’s try that again. You seem to be quite fascinated with tying up other women y/n… have you enjoyed that in past experiences?”

You blush before mumbling a soft yes and he makes a humming sound in the back of his throat. “Okay. Things to keep in mind.”

The car ride is silent until Jin suddenly yells, “THERE!” and points violently to a store on the corner.

“What?! What is it?!” You yell, straining to see if there was something in the road ahead of you.

“That store – do you see the neon red sign?”

You squint. “Momma Thot’s Sex and Secrets?”

He nods. “Yes! Pull into that parking lot.”

“Why?” you ask as you cross lanes and turn into the lot of the gas station on the other side of the street.

“I have something I need to buy there… for us.”

You park the car and turn to him. “Us?”

“Yes, us.”He smirks and unlocks his door, climbing out before ducking his head back in. “You hired me to teach you things, darling. And this item is part of the lesson. Plus, this shop is the only place I can get it.”

You climb out of the driver’s side and slam your door, double-checking to make sure you locked it.

“This place is sketchy.” You say, quickly walking to Jin’s side.

He scoffs. “Don’t judge it just because it has a red sign. Kristy is very nice.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Kristy?”

“The owner of the shop.”

You look at him and he holds out an arm in front of you to stop you from walking into traffic.

“So I take it you’ve been to this place many times before then.”

He smirks and gestures to you when the traffic is cleared enough so you can cross. “I know this place like the back of my hand…”

You thought you heard him say “and the woman who runs it too,” but you couldn’t be sure, as a loud truck drowned out the last part of his sentence.

You tried to ignore it but you couldn’t help hearing it over and over in your mind. And the woman who runs it too and the woman who runs it too and the woman…

Jin opens the door for you and you enter the store under the ding of the bell.

Yup, definitely a sex shop, you think as you take in the racks of nude magazines by the door and the locked case of whips and harnesses against the back wall.

“Can I help you?” a woman purrs and you turn to meet the striking blue eyes of the cashier. Jin offers her an easy smile.

“Hey, Kristy. Just need some of that lovely Japanese silk rope you introduced me to…” he leans against the counter and gives her a heavy wink.

She smirks back. “Back for more?” she asks, slowly trailing her hand up his arm.

He covers her hand with his own. “As much as I would love a little more of you… I have a date tonight.” He nods in your direction.

You offer a shy smile and little wave of your fingers. Kristy chuckles and gives a little finger wave back making you blush and look away.

I’m just gonna go over here and um… admire this wall of dildos… yup.

“Do you think she’ll be able to handle it?” you hear Kristy whisper and Jin laughs.

“The rope please, princess. You know my favorite one.”

She chuckles and pulls a sky blue rope off the back wall.

He smirks. “Perfect. Just like the eyes of my favorite girl.”

You roll your eyes and try to ignore the twinge of jealousy that pings inside you and turn your focus to a shelf of ball gags. Maybe if I shove one down my throat far enough I’ll die…

No. Snap out of it.

You’re gagging enough having to listen to this.

Not that you’re jealous.

Why are you suddenly jealous of an escort?

Stop it. This wasn’t the plan.

“Ready to go?” You start and turn around, seeing Jin holding a plastic bag and staring at you curiously.

“Um, yeah. I’m fine. Let’s… yup. We go.” You quickly spin on your heel and head out the door, Jin chuckling after you.

I am not jealous of the sex store cashier. Am not. Not jealous. Not.

“You’re flighty tonight, little bird.” He hums, catching up with you easily in just a few long strides.

You laugh and hate how it comes out sounding higher than you intended. “This is how I normally walk.”

He snorts. “No you don’t. You drag your feet. Right now, you seem to be running away.”

He grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop. “Y/n… are you scared? Because we don’t have to do this tonight, I just thought that maybe…”

You shake your head furiously. “No! Oh no. I’m not scared.”

He lets go of your arm and shoves his hands in his pockets, the bag dangling at his hip. “Then what is it?”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and look away, letting out a huffy breath. “Sex stores just make me uncomfortable.”

He smirks. “Says the erotica writer.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, says the erotica write who hired an escort-“ you turn and poke him in the chest. “-that’s you, to teach her things.”

He smirks and holds up the bag. “And that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He leans down close and breathes hot on your ear. “But to teach you things… dearie… we have to do a little… shopping.” He kisses your cheek and straightens, walking over to your car.

“Now where are we going? Which hotel?”

You fidget with the straps of your purse and blush, trying to keep your voice steady. “The nearest hotel is half an hour away from here… so I was thinking…”

Just spit it out already, y/n

He turns around and raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Um… I was thinking, we could maybe, if it’s okay with you, to um, go to my place?”

He seems to miss a step for a second before shaking his head and letting out a little laugh.

“If that’s what you want.”

You shrug and follow him. “It’s just closer, that’s all.”

“Well, in that case…” he walks to the passenger side and tugs violently on the handle with his free hand. “Let me in!” he hollers, making the handle of the door thump faster and you laugh, pulling your keys out of your purse.

“You’re a child.”

He smirks as you unlock the car and folds his arms on the top of your car.

“You won’t be thinking that soon, love.” He winks and slides in your car, leaving you cursing him silently and fumbling to find the right key for the ignition.

You make it back home in relative silence… well as silent as it can be as Jin reaches into the bag and begins to untie the rope ends, practicing knots as you drive through the dark.

“This is me,” you say, pulling up to your apartment building and parking.

“You live in an apartment?” Jin asks, stepping out of the car and beginning to swing his bag again. “Why don’t you have a house?”

You shrug. “I don’t like the idea of living alone in a big house. I don’t need it. An apartment is fine.”

He nods as you head up the stairs in silence and lead him to your door at the end of the hall.

“Okay, so this is my place…” you state, awkwardly holding the door open for him.

Of course it is stupid, why would you let him into a random place? Why would you have the key to some random building?

Oh, shut up.

He looks around and unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up. “Cozy.”

You roll your eyes and follow him in. “What were you expecting, a mansion?”

“Nah,” he grins and sets the bag on the kitchen table. “Just for it to be a little messier. Like my place.”

“Oo so the popular escort Jin is a mess?” you tease, setting your purse down next to the bag.

“You have no idea,” he whispers, his eyes going dark for a moment before he gives a brief shake of his head and gives you that flirtatious grin again.

“So,” he kicks off his shoes and reaches for the bag again, shaking it. “Where should we set up?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you laugh, shoving him with your shoulder on your way past him.

“This way.”

You lead him into your bedroom and turn on the lights, gesturing towards your bed. “I assume you’ll want to do this there.”

He laughs and heads over to it, sitting on the end of the bed and bouncing a few times. “This would be preferred, yes.”  

He beings to unbutton his shirt and you yelp.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you doing?!”

He looks at you curiously. “… getting naked?”

You blush furiously and look away. Of course he is.

He smirks. “What’s the matter, doll? Getting nervous?” he chuckles and shrugs his shirt off this shoulders, folding it in his lap. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

“Yes, but…” Never in my bedroom…“Never mind. Let’s do this.”

You pick up the bag from the end of the bed next to him and pull out the rope. “How do you want to be tied?”

His eyes darken and he takes a deep breath. “You have no idea how hard you just made me,” he groans and your eyes widen.

“Better finish getting yourself undressed then I guess,” you smirk back, loving the little rush of power that you got when you saw how that comment affected him so quickly.

He quickly obeys and reaches for the rope. “The easiest way is this knot,” he explains, showing you how to do it. “It will hold me in so I can’t get away while at the same time make it easy for you to untie me when we’re done, see?” he pulls a string and the knot unravels. You nod.

“Okay, here.” He hands it to you and skootches back on the bed, towards your metal headboard. “Do you want me laying down, or sitting up? Or something else?” he asks and you fumble.

“um… I, I don’t know. Um, whatever is the most comfortable for you? What do you usually do?”

You fiddle with the rope and he smiles at you. “That’s okay. How about this? I’ll prop myself up on these pillows, and you can make the rope just loose enough so that it’ll be fine if you decide later that you want me laying down, you can just remove the pillows?” He arranges while he explains and you watch carefully while he does until he settles.

“I think I’m comfortable here. You okay with this?”

You step back and look him over, nodding your approval. “I think that’ll work.”

“Super. Now tie me.” He grins and holds out his wrists.

“So eager to be bound,” you smirk, wrapping the rope around one of his wrists and bringing his arm up to the headboard and he licks his lips, watching you darkly.

You finish tying him up and stand back. “Is that okay?”

He gives the ropes a test try, and gives you an easy smile. “Perfect.”

You stare at each other for a minute before you blush and look away.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper, standing awkwardly at the end of the bed.

He gives you an encouraging smile. “Do whatever you want to do to me, love. That’s how this works. Have your way with me.”

You take a breath and step towards him. Be brave, y/n. You can do this. You smirk and lower your voice as you begin to pull your blouse out of your skirt. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

He watches as you pull it over your head and reach for the zip on your skirt.

“More than anything,” he breathes, his eyes locked on your body.

You feel a rush of heat head towards your core and you quicken your efforts to get out of your clothes. You shimmy out of your skirt and kick off your flats, leaving them where they lie.

“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” he praises, and you blush again.

You still have more clothes to remove, and in a rushed and slightly flustered effort to get out of your tights quickly, you trip and bang your knee against the hard edge of your bed frame.

“Oh, fuck me.” You curse, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off your tights the correct, not-standing-up way.

“I would, but you see, I’m a little tied up here.” Jin grins and gives his hands a tug at the ropes. “So I guess you’re just going to have to do all the work.”

You pull off your tights and straddle him quickly, his eyes widening.

“Is that what you want, baby?” You coo, stroking your finger down his cheek and beginning to grind on his lap, giving him a smirk of satisfaction when his breath hitches.

“See, I told you that you would be good at this…” he groans, then gasps as you grind a little harder and you feel the first shoots of pleasure begin to warm your body.

You feel him hardening beneath you all the way, and you smile, reaching back to unclasp your bra, exposing your breasts to his face, but not moving close enough so he can touch them.

He licks his lips and groans, staring at your chest as you continue to move your hips.

“What is it Jinnie?” you ask, taking your hands off his shoulders and moving them to your chest to begin to play with your nipples. “Did you want to touch?”

He swallows hard and flicks his eyes to yours before nodding hard and letting out an enthusiastic, “Fuck. Yes! Yes. Please. Yes please.”

You tap your chin and pretend to consider it, moving your chest closer to his face. “I mean… I guess you can…”

You slide your hand in his hair and use your other to brace yourself on his shoulder as he immediately latches onto your chest and groans around your nipple, sucking hard.

You moan as he works you, switching between your breasts and moaning at how good you feel in his mouth. You’re getting swept away in the feeling before a trickling thought flows into your mind-

Make him beg for it.

It takes effort, but you push him off you and smirk, moving back so he can’t touch you with his mouth anymore.

He whines in protest, trying to sit up more but being yanked back by the ropes holding him down and at your mercy.

You quirk an eyebrow at him and cluck your tongue, making him quiet immediately and look at you with big eyes and his mouth slightly open, panting.

You trail your fingers lightly down his chest, relishing in the way he shudders beneath you as your hand lowers and you gently stroke up his length.

You continue this soft stroking until he is whining and desperate under your hand, gnawing at his lips and clenching his fists, trying to buck his hips. His efforts are in vain though, as your body is holding his legs down and he can’t force you to go faster or grip him harder.

Soon enough he can’t take it anymore and begins to try to reason with you.

“You’re so good at this baby,” he groans, his voice shaking as he tries to keep himself from falling apart. “But I want to be inside you,” he states, moving one of his legs so his thigh is pressing to your core and you moan, unable to stop yourself from grinding a little against it.

“Do you now,” you smirk, leaning forward until your lips are a hairsbreadth away from his.

“Oh, I do,” he smirks back, though his is brief. “And I know you want me to be inside you too.”

You tsk and ghost your mouth over his, pressing faint brushes against his jawline.

“Mmm.. do you now.” You respond, pressing your mouth lower on his neck.

He tilts his head so you can have better access and continues his reasoning. 

“I do. You see, I know how much you love feeling me deep inside you. Imagine it. Me, stretching you so sweetly, filling you up so good. I know how much you like that pretty little cunt stretched. Especially by me. You love how I fill you and make you feel.” His voice lowers and you shiver, tightening your grip on him before you nip at his neck and suck.

You hear his sharp intake of breath as you flick your thumb over his tip once before pulling away from his neck, leaving a purple bruise in your wake.

You take your hand off his length and brush the pad of your thumb over the little mark you just made on his pretty skin, satisfied. “I wish you could see how pretty this is,” you coo, pulling your hand away. “But I guess you’ll just have to admire it later.”

You let your hand trail down again and move your body until you’re sitting between his legs. You cock your head to the side and trail your fingers lightly over the inside of his thighs, smiling when you see the muscles in his legs clench.

“So tense, baby.” You soothe, rubbing little circles into the tops of his thighs with your fingers before tripping them down again.

“Can you relax for me?”

He takes a deep breath and shudders, trying to do as you ask as you lower your head and place your mouth around the tip of his cock for just an instant, flicking your tongue over him briefly before moving away.

“Y/n…” he groans, bucking his hips, and you’re delighted. This is the first time he’s resorted to using your name instead of a pet name, and you want to milk it for all it’s worth.

You shift where you sit a little uncomfortably, the pressure inside you building up a little too much for your liking. As much as you loved teasing Jin, you wanted some relief too.

Lifting your hips you slip off your underwear and let it fall off the side of the bed, settling yourself down by Jin’s knees.

You use your feet to spread Jin’s legs until you find a comfortable position, hooking your legs over his and settling yourself back on one of your hands.

From where you sat, you had a perfect view of him tied up and looking down at you, and from the way you were spread, he also had a perfect view of you.

You smirk at him as you slowly begin to trail the hand not holding you up across your body, swirling your fingertip around your nipple before pinching it yourself and letting out a moan.

He groans and strains against his ties. “Baby, that’s not fair.” He whines and you see his dick twitch. “Let me touch you. I can make you feel so good.”

You hum and trailed your hand over your stomach, sliding down into your own heat.

“But why would I need you when I can just do it myself?” You croon, rubbing circles around your clit before slipping two of your fingers between your folds. “I’m an independent woman.”

Jin groans again and tugs harder at his ties, shaking the bedframe. “My hands feel better than yours do… and you know it.”

You let out a moan as you increase the pressure on your clit, working yourself harder and feel your juices begin to drip down your thighs.

“That’s… debatable, baby.” You whimper, sliding a finger inside yourself to gather more wetness and bringing it back up to your clit.

You stop talking then, letting your moans speak for themselves as you bring yourself to orgasm by your hand and the sound of Jin’s begging.

He groans so loud when he watches you climax, and whimpers as he watches you smear your own cum around yourself, playing with your body where he wishes he could be instead.

“Did you want to taste?” You ask, sitting up and crawling back over to him, letting your tongue flick out against the angry red tip of him to taste his pre-come before you sit up and brush your slicked fingers against his lips.

He opens his mouth and sucks your fingers into his mouth, moaning at your taste.

“Please…” he whimpers and you pull your fingers out. “Please… I want to come.”

You re-position yourself over his cock and rub yourself against him, letting him pass between your slick folds but not letting him go any further.

“Wanna come… please…” he whines, bucking his hips. You grind onto him a little more, before immediately stopping what you’re doing and sliding down his thighs to grab the base of his cock in your hand and give it a hard squeeze, denying his orgasm and making him cry out.

“Oh, but you’re doing so well baby,” you coo, stroking his damp hair off his forehead.

“Please,” he whispers, bucking his hips beneath you.

“Oh, no no no... baby... see, what’s gonna happen… is you’re going to let me use you to get off.. but you better not come... or else things are only going to get worse.”

You lean up on your knees, pressing a kiss to one of his rope rubbed wrists before sinking down onto him.

He cries out and you lean forward, catching his lower lip between your teeth.

“Don’t come.” You whisper, smirking as you pull away.

You begin to grind your hips on him, relieved to finally feel some friction inside you. You keep an eye on him as you begin to lower yourself up and down his length, smirking when you see his head fall back against the headboard.

“Oh no baby,” you coo, reaching out and grabbing the back of his neck, pulling his forehead to yours. “I want you to watch.”

He lets out a strangled sound and bites his lip so hard to keep himself from coming as you sit back up and brace yourself against his chest, beginning to ride him harder.

“That’s it, baby, so hard for me…” you whimper as you hit him harder, chasing your release.

He’s concentrating so hard there are tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as he tries to breathe through it and not come.

You’re close to your second orgasm and unthinkingly clench around Jin, making him give a startled cry and buck up into you.

“That’s… that’s not playing fair,” he gasps, a tear falling down his face as he struggles to stop his hips… and fails.

You tsk and force yourself off him, moving yourself down his thighs before sliding off onto the sheets next to him.

“Baby, god, please, no” he whimpers as you leave him, and you lean over to kiss him, trailing your hand up his chest, stopping at his jaw to rub the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip.

“You got close there, didn’t you love?” you whisper, leaning over him to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Please,” he whimpers as you move your thumb from his lip to his cheek, brushing away the tears, “Please, y/n, baby, sweetheart, y/n, please…”

You hum softly and bring your thumb wet with his tears to your lips and suck. “Please… what?”

He groans out loud. “Please… suck my cock… let me come, please I’d be so good to you I promise…”

“Please suck my cock baby… I’ll be so good to you baby…’” you murmur and move up the bed, feeling bold and ready to try more new things while you’re in the mood.

You straddle his shoulders and position yourself over his face. “I think I want you to be good to me first.”

His head comes off the bed and he latches his mouth onto your heat eagerly, flattening his tongue to stroke you as you grab the headrest and move your hips over him.

He’s eating you faster than he ever has before, letting you use him to get yourself off, his hands straining at the ropes.

You reach down and grab both of his hands at their tied positions and twine your fingers through his as you work your hips harder.

He begins sucking at your clit and you let go of one of his hands so you can brace yourself against the headboard again, clenching your thighs around his head as you come in a wave of dizzying heat.

He lets out a loud moan between your legs, and you look down, making eye contact with him as you watch him continue to clean and eat you slowly.

It takes you a minute to get out of your post-orgasm haze and still your rocking hips so you can shakily climb off him and maneuver yourself back down his body.

His lips are swollen and covered with your juices, and his eyes so big as they watch you slide your fingers down his chest and over the tops of his thighs as you settle between his legs.

“You did so good for me, handsome,” you praise, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his hip. “I think you deserve a reward for that, yeah?”

He whimpers as you grab the base of him and lick a stripe up his length, swirling your tongue at his leaking, throbbing tip. He bucks his hips and you press a tender kiss to the top.

“I know baby, I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.” You coo, stroking him gently with your fingers as his legs tremble, before latching your mouth to his tip and sucking hard.

He comes immediately with a cry, so worked up he can’t hold back any longer, bucking his hips to get deeper into your mouth. You help him through it, and eventually, his head falls back against the pillow and he lets out a loud sigh of relief.

You watch his chest heave from your position, his cock still in your mouth as you soothe his shaking legs with your hands.

“Thank you,” he whispers, a little breathless, and you smile around him.

Oh baby, you’re not done.

You continue to work him in his mouth and he whimpers, trying to pull away.

“T-too much,” he stutters, and you smirk, flicking your eyes to his face and shooting him a wink.

He’s gone soft in your mouth but you continue to work him with your tongue and suck, and soon he’s starting to harden all over again.

“Fuck baby, how –” he whines and you suck a little harder until he’s coming again on your tongue with a shout.

You swallow everything he gives you and let him fall out of your mouth, pressing tender kisses to his pelvic bone as you kiss your way back up his chest and meet his mouth, praising him as you go.

“That was so good baby, you did so well…” you murmur, reaching up to untie his left hand, pressing a kiss to the rubbed skin and placing it on the bed before untying the right.

“Where… did you learn… to do that?” he asks, sinking down into the bed and rubbing his wrists.

You press a kiss to his forehead, seeing his eyes start to close.

“I told you, I’m an erotica writer… I just became one of my characters.”

“I thought you were… more of an innocent… in bed,” he yawns, closing his eyes.

You brush your fingers through his hair and smile as his body fully relaxes against the sheets and he begins to snore softly.

“Only sometimes,” you whisper, crawling into bed beside him and pulling the comforter over you both.

~

It’s only been a couple of hours when you climb out of bed as carefully as you can, trying to avoid waking Jin as you head over to your laptop on the other side of the room.

You were too wired to sleep anymore. Too many things had happened tonight, and you were feeling the urge to write… now.

You lowered the brightness on your screen and picked up your glasses case, looking over your shoulder as you carefully opened it and tried to close the case as gently as possible.

You fix your glasses and reach for a scrunchie to tie up your hair, opening up the document that held your current work in progress…

“Tell me, Katherine, have you ever tied up a man?” you type, and quickly fall into your written world.

~

Jin wakes up in a panic, blinking blearily in the dark. Something had lured him awake, a furious tapping of sorts. Stretching out his arm, he finds your figure gone and looks around the room.

Shit. I just broke Rule #2. Never fall asleep.

He sits up, his heart pounding as he criticizes himself and his professionalism, and stifles a groan, his body sore from earlier. He smirks as he stretches his arms and rolls his neck, looking around for where you when. He catches a glimpse of your glowing screen on the other side of the room and his gaze softens.

He can barely see your dim outline against the glow, hair pulled up messily, body wrapped in a blanket, but he feels the intense urge to go to you.

Softly, he gets out of bed, dragging the comforter with him, and pads over to your form. You’re concentrating so much you don’t notice until you hear his gravelly voice in your ear.

“Harder, fuck, harder Ryan,” he moans and you yelp, slamming your laptop shut.

“JIN!” you yell, throwing off your glasses and burying your face in your hands. “You scared me!”

He chuckles and wraps his comforter around your shoulders, hugging you as he leans over your body. “Open up, I want to read more.”

You snort and lean back against your chair, your head hitting his shoulder. “In your dreams.”

He pouts against your hair. “But aren’t I the inspiration for this?”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “I mean… yeah… maybe… but you weren’t supposed to read that! At least, not yet.”

“Ooo, not yet? So I will get to read it.”

“Maybe. If you’re good.”

His breath is hot on your ear as he leans his head down and begins pressing kisses to your jawline. “If I’m good…” he murmurs, “Was I not good enough tonight?”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch. “You were very, very good… so good for me Jin.”

He moans softly at your compliment and catches the bottom of your ear in his teeth.

“And since I was very, very good… I think I should get to read this early.”

He pulls away from you lightning-fast and snatches your laptop, letting the comforter fall to the ground.

That motherfucker-

“JIN!” you yell again and run after him as he laughs and bounces onto the bed.

You’re quick to follow, climbing over him and using your entire body to try to wrestle it back. “Give it.” You grit, straddling his lap.

“No,” he smirks and clutches it tight to his chest, pulling you closer to him.

“Why…” you complain. “Jin, I need this for work. It’s my job. I promise you can be the first one to read it when it’s done.”

He hums and tugs it closer, refusing to let go. “Okay… but I wanna read it now…” he whines and you giggle, digging your fingers into the edge and trying to pry his hands from it.

“No.” You say sternly and he pouts, finally letting go.

“Good man,” you smirk and go to climb off him to put it back, but he grabs you and holds you in place.

“No.” he states and reaches to press your laptop down onto the bed. “You have to stay.”

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck. “Aww… is someone feeling cuddly?”

“Yes.” He whispers, and pulls you to him, resting his cheek against your head.

You’re breaking Rule #3 his mind whispers, and he closes his eyes trying to drown it out. Never stay the full night with a client…

“Shut up,” he mumbles to himself and you stir against his chest.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head. “Just talking to myself.”

You hum sleepily and nuzzle into him and he swears you can feel his heart skip a beat. He holds you until your breathing deepens, and tucks you both into the sheets.

But now that he has you here, even though the night has been long, he finds that he can’t sleep anymore.

Jin watches as the clock on the dresser blinks to 3am, and he knows he’ll have to leave in a few hours, where he’ll have to start another day.

Slowly, he unwraps his body from yours and reaches for the dropped comforter on the floor, laying it over your body and tucking you in, the rules racing through his mind.

#1. Never catch feelings for a client.

#2. Never fall asleep.

#3. Never stay the full night with a client. Give them what they paid for and leave.

Breaking the rules will get you in trouble.

Jin’s not one to break the rules, but as he dresses himself and leaves you a note - a simple explanation saying he had to go early and to text him when you can… he considers it... stopping to blow a soft kiss to your sleeping form before he walks out the door.

Part 5

[seekstrivefind]

@sskoku17​ asked for some hamilton/laurens and gets this non-specific, early relationship, friends-finding-out, road trip slice-of-life.

Laurens/Hamilton, 3139 words, cut for length.

Prompt me!

Ahead, the dark line of the highway stretched on and on into the quiet night.

In the backseat of the car, Lafayette and Hercules were either asleep or almost asleep. Lafayette, always picky about these things, had brought a pillow. Hercules' head was simply tipped back against the headrest.

Up front, John was driving. Despite the chill outside, the AC was blasting, John relying on the cold to keep him awake and alert. He was in a t-shirt, and his thumbs were hooked low and idle on the steering wheel.

Next to him, Alexander was using John's abandoned hoodie as a makeshift blanket, fingers running idly over the frayed edges of the letters that spelled out 'University of Oxford'. Something soft and indistinct played through the speakers, melody not quite loud enough to follow along with. On the horizon, for a brief second, lightning illuminated the darkness to a murky purple. They were chasing a storm, but it would be a long while yet before they caught up to it.

Alexander was still awake, though his dark eyes were hooded with exhaustion. They'd been driving all day, and he hadn't exactly managed a restful night's sleep before they left—too hung up the hundred and one things he'd wanted to get done before they set off.

John by rights ought to wake Hercules or Lafayette and have them swap out into the driver's seat, but he seemed content to drive on.

When they'd set off in the morning, they'd been lively and jostling, singing along in a tuneless chorus to Sweet Caroline. By the afternoon they'd been more settled, conversation coming and going in comfortable waves. By early evening, caught in the rush hour traffic, they'd laughed at John's open frustration with the other cars on the road, crowing in amusement at the curse words he'd strung together in new and interesting combinations.

By the time the sun had gone down, only Alexander had been awake to notice John's faraway, curling smile hidden at the corners of his lips as they crossed the state line into South Carolina. Whatever he'd been remembering he hadn't shared, and Alexander hadn't pressed for it.

John's fingers tapped softly against the wheel to no real rhythm in particular. Alexander watched, half-dozing, until he roused himself, shifting until he was more comfortable. John glanced over with a soft smile

"How you doing over there?" he asked, voice low. Neither Lafayette nor Hercules stirred.

"I feel like I should be asking you that," Alexander said. "You've been driving forever."

John shrugged a shoulder, eyes back on the highway stretching out in front of them, a seemingly unbroken line towards their destination.

"I had coffee the last time we stopped for food."

"Five hours ago," Alexander pointed out, glancing at his phone for confirmation. They'd pushed on straight through, only ever stopping for long enough to fill up on gas, hit the bathroom, and pick up food. Alexander was amazed that John still seemed to be going strong, and without complaint.

"It's an easy drive," John said with a shrug, and lifted one hand from the wheel to gesture out at the almost-empty road, illuminated only by the scant pairs of tail lights in the near distance. "I'll swap out in an hour or two.”

Alexander settled back down into watching John for a while, sleepily examining the way that his faced looked in the soft glow of the GPS screen, the curves of his bicep and forearm faintly red-tinged from the dashboard display.

"The point of this vacation was that you got some sleep," John said after a few minutes, faint amusement colouring his words. Alexander realised with a start that he'd been caught staring. He shrugged, and stuck his arm further into the soft lining of John's hoodie to protect it from the cold air blasting from the vent.

"I didn't want to leave you the only one awake."

"Thanks."

It sounded like genuine gratitude, and so Alexander pulled himself upright, seated himself properly and took a moment to pull the hoodie on over his head instead of just draping it over himself. Alexander didn't fail to notice John watching from the corner of his eye, half-distracted from the road.

Alexander smiled, something small and secret, gaze flickering back to check that both Lafayette and Hercules were still asleep. They remained quiet and still. When Alexander reached out his hand to curl it at John's knee, John dropped one of his own hands from the steering wheel, and tangled their fingers together.

They murmured conversation back and forth, talking about nothing in particular with the sole intention of keeping each other awake. They talked about how long they'd be driving for, how many more times they might have to stop for gas, how lucky they were to have gotten the rooms at the resort for cheap because of John's dad's ownership shares.

They didn't talk about the way their hands were curled together, John's warm and Alexander's cold, as always, both too worried that either of their friends in the back might not be entirely asleep.

When the lighter conversation lulled, they moved seamlessly into bigger things - talking about their future, their goals and their aspirations and apartments, always tied up together with each other, the idea of the four of them separating unthinkable.

John lasted another two hours before he began to shift and sigh, and glanced at the mirrors before he flicked on the blinker and pulled out at the next exit. He pulled the car into a lazy half-loop of the parking lot, seamlessly slotting in between the lines of space in front of the now-closed Starbucks. Alexander, who had never learned to drive, was quietly impressed.

They stayed there for a long moment, gathering the quiet around them and relishing in the rare moment of privacy, until Hercules abruptly shifted in the backseat, letting out a long snore. John snorted, and Alexander smiled at the sound.

"I need to stretch my legs," John said, keeping his voice low. The whole point of stopping was to wake the others, to switch out and let John get some sleep; keeping quiet to avoid disturbing them was pointless. Alexander glanced back at their sleeping friends and then at John’s face, lit softly by the dirty yellow glow of the parking lot lights. He nodded.

“I’ll come with you,” he murmured.

Alexander stumbled his way out of the car, stiff from being curled up in one position for so long. John looked like he wasn’t doing much better, rubbing at his lower back before he reached up in a stretch. For a moment, Alexander was distracted by the way his t-shirt rode high and bared a strip of sin to the cool night air, and then John shivered.

“Oh, shit,” Alexander said. “I’m wearing your hoodie, sorry, here—”

He began to wrestle his arms from it, but John only laughed, low and quiet and mellifluous, as he rounded the car and tugged the hoodie back down Alexander’s torso. The sound ricocheted pleasantly down his spine, coiling loosely at its base. John’s hands, as though drawn to it, slid around Alexander’s waist and rested there, warm even through the fabric.

“It’s fine,” John said, voice just as warm as his hands. “Keep it on. I don’t want to listen to your scrawny ass complaining about how cold you are.”

Alexander bristled.

“Who are you calling scrawny?” he demanded. He intended to say more—to make it witty and biting the way they always did when they squabbled like this, all teasing words and no real feelings. But John was close and pressing closer, and there was one of those knowing, secret smiles hooked across his incisors.

Instead, Alexander's gaze flickered back once more to the car, its interior dark and its occupants apparently still sleeping, before he pushed himself up onto his toes and stole a kiss from that smile. John yielded to it, gentle and responsive, a contented sigh slipping out between them.

They hadn't told Lafayette and Hercules. It wasn't like they'd talked about it, particularly, or made an active decision not to. But there was something about this that felt like a secret thing, a private thing that wasn't for sharing. Not yet, anyway.

And so, they stole kisses and looks and held hands when nobody was looking, and when they were alone in their apartment late at night, they curled up on the bed together and cradled easy affection between them.

"Come on," Alexander murmured. "You need some rest."

"Hypocrite," John mumbled against his lips, and pressed one, two, three more kisses against them before relinquishing his hold on Alexander.

Alexander peeled himself away from John's warmth with reluctance, turning his back on him and yanking open the car door before he changed his mind. Reaching out, he shook Hercules roughly by the shoulder, and then tickled his nose gently as he stirred. Hercules rewarded him with a blind slap, catching Alexander half across the face and leaving him spluttering.

"Wh's'it," Hercules said.

"Eloquent as ever." Alexander's tone was dry, his hand rubbing his jaw where Hercules had landed the clumsy hit. "Wake up. Laurens needs a break."

And so began the slow, contained chaos of switching over. Hercules and Lafayette dragged themselves from sleep, rubbing at their eyes and tumbling from the car to stretch stiff arms and legs. Alexander transferred his stuff to the back seat, grumbling under his breath as he shoved Lafayette's bag under the seat to make room for his feet.

John was still outside the car, laughing at something with Hercules. Alexander watched them for a moment with a fond smile, and then flipped up his hood and curled up half on his side, facing the empty seat that John would soon occupy, and felt his eyes drifting closed. His tiredness was finally catching up with him.

He let his thoughts wander to John. Brash, headstrong John who has always been a little too determined to prove something, to himself or to anyone else. John who had always been a little cagey about his past, and unbearably proud about borrowing money, or paying it back. When he'd first joined their little group of friends, Alexander had been inclined to dislike him, just on principle.

But then he'd seen the rest, too—that John was easy to talk to, the first to laugh at himself and to defend his friends, passionate, hardworking, and clever. Despite his determination to dislike John, they'd taken to each other at once and had been practically inseparable ever since. So maybe, all of this had been inevitable. Alexander smiled at that thought, at the idea that the second they'd met, everything had already been set in motion. Ordinarily, the idea of fate or destiny or pre-determination made him uncomfortable, inclined to rally against the idea that he might be unable to change whatever path has been set out for him already. In John's case, he was okay with it.

Alexander heard John finally climb into the seat next to him, pulling the door closed as softly as he could behind him. Something soft brushed against his legs, and Alexander half-opened sleepy eyes to see what it was. John was tucking him in, draping a large fleece blanket across him before curling himself under it, too. John must have noticed the glint of Alexander's eyes in the darkness; he smiled, and under the blanket, their hands found each other without so much as a word passing between them.

Warm and exhausted and utterly content, Alexander slipped into sleep almost at once.

When he woke, sunlight was slanting low through the windows and spilling across his face. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he curled his spine and groaned at the way his muscles protested in response. Shuffling a little closer to John, still breathing slowly and not stirring, Alexander tugged the hand in his a little closer, pressed his lips absently against John’s thumb.

And then, he heard the snickering.

The realisation of where he was and who he was with arrived first, followed closely by the realisation that he could neither hear nor feel the purr of the car’s engine. Blinking up into the light he saw two things—firstly, that the car appeared to be parked in front of a Bojangles, and secondly, that Lafayette and Hercules were both peering at him from the front seat, grinning wide, cat-like smiles.

He dropped John’s hand. In his sleep, John murmured something like a complaint, his fingers curling instead at Alexander’s thigh.

“Morning, lover boys,” Hercules said, his song-song voice firm and loud and enough to send John snuffling from sleep and into the first, confused moment of wakefulness. He blinked up at Hercules and Lafayette.

“Where are we?” John asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“We have stopped for gas and breakfast and to pretend that we don’t notice when you hold hands under the table,” Lafayette said smoothly. Alexander felt heat rising in his neck, the flush only spurred on by the wicked glint in Hercules’ eyes.

“What?” John asked stupidly, after slightly too long a pause to be convincing.

“Hmph,” Lafayette sniffed. “You must think that we are blind, oui?”

“Very cute, by the way,” Hercules said. “The holding hands while you sleep thing. Like a couple baby otters or some shit.”

In the back seat, Alexander and John remained stunned and silent, neither sure what to say. Lafayette practically cackled, apparently delighted to witness the rare phenomenon of a speechless Alexander Hamilton.

“Well, come on then. Breakfast is waiting!” Lafayette hopped out of the car, almost tripping on his way. Hercules, laughing, followed too, pushing himself out of the driver’s seat and swinging the door shut behind him with a slam that would ordinarily have pulled a scowl from John.

Instead, John stared at Alexander with something like bewilderment edging on panic settling around his eyes.

“Well, they had to find out sometime,” Alexander offered weakly.

“Guess so,” John agreed, with the same helpless tone.

Sleep-ruffled and embarrassed, they both climbed out of the car to find Lafayette watching them expectantly, arms crossed and one eyebrow quirked. Hercules was already halfway to the Bojangles, more intent on food than his friends.

“What?” Alexander demanded, tugging self-consciously at the sleeves of the hoodie that could not more obviously belong to John.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lafayette said archly. “Would you prefer that I closed my eyes?”

Theatrically, he covered both eyes with his hands, ruining the effect almost immediately by parting his fingers and opening one eye to peer at them. Alexander’s brow furrowed, and he exchanged a glance with John, who shook his head, just as lost as him.

“Yo, hurry your asses up,” Hercules called from the door, propped open with a foot. Lafayette threw up his arms, frustrated.

“Will you just kiss already,” he demanded, crossly. “And then we may all stop pretending and move on with life.”

Alexander snorted. John rolled his eyes.

“Oh we can, can we?” he muttered, and shifted closer to Alexander, pressing a quick, timid kiss to his temple before pushing him in the direction of Hercules. Lafayette stepped briskly into their path, arms thrown out to stop them going any further.

“Mon dieu, Laurens, this is how I would kiss my mother.”

“That sounds like something to talk to a therapist about,” John said, with mocking sincerity, trying to push past Lafayette. He was prevented once again when Lafayette grabbed his shoulders, turning him forcibly to face Alexander.

“It is like none of you cretins know what romance is,” Lafayette muttered. “It is amazing you ever managed to get to this point.”

Lafayette shoved John towards Alexander hard enough to make them both stumble. Alexander grasped instinctively at John’s t-shirt, fists balling into the fabric; John caught Alexander by the waist in an attempt to steady them both.

“Bien,” Lafayette said. “Do not tell me you need my help for the next part, too.”

“We could do with a little less of it, actually,” Alexander grumbled. Lafayette merely tutted, and took a single step back. After a moment, he waved his hand in a gesture that clearly said hurry up. Hercules chimed in again, calling from the door.

“Sixty seconds and I’m buying breakfast without you!”

“Oh, for—”

Alexander was hungry and still pre-coffee grumpy, a little shaken up from the rude realisation that their little secret wasn’t secret at all. Hands still clutching at John’s shirt, Alexander tugged hard, pulling John down towards him even as he pushed himself up onto the balls of his feet to press a kiss that was brief and rough and probably didn’t meet Lafayette’s standards of romance.

Alexander hasn’t ever been much of a romantic anyway.

John, though—John was a romantic through and through, more than enough for both of them. So even though all of this was just a way to get through Lafayette and into a Bojangles just past Jacksonville, Florida, John brought a hand up and cupped Alexander’s face softly, holding him close for a long moment. And romantic or not, Alexander was weak for the brush of fingers at his cheekbone, the gentling pressure of John’s lips against his—his constant reminder to slow down, to enjoy the moment.

Stealing secret kisses out of view had been its own, heady delight—dangerous and intimate and all their own. Here, in the early morning with Lafayette standing a little too close and Hercules hollering from the door of a mostly-empty Bojangles, Alexander would have expected less of the thrill biting in his veins. But it was still there, spark ignited low in his belly, drawn out by John’s touch.

Something about kissing John without stopping to worry if anyone was watching felt… right.

“Was that so hard?” Lafayette demanded. Alexander opened his eyes, chin tipped upward, to find John’s clear grey-green eyes smiling down at him. He smirked.

“Give it a few minutes and some heavy petting and it might be.”

John snorted, amusement pressing a dimple into one of his cheeks. Lafayette opened his mouth, thought better of it, and turned on his heel to finally stalk off towards Hercules.

There was a lot they could say, standing chest-to-chest and practically alone once more.

“Breakfast?” John said.

“Yeah,” Alexander agreed. “Breakfast.”

As they followed Lafayette and Hercules, John reached out, taking Alexander’s hand. There seemed to be the barest moment of hesitation, an uncharacteristic note of shyness; Alexander squeezed John’s hand once before he tangled their fingers together.

When they ate, it was with their hands tangled together on the table, Lafayette beaming at them over his coffee and Hercules ribbing them every so often through mouthfuls of hash brown, and it felt something like perfect.

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of September 11th, 1019

Best of this Week: Gotham City Monsters #1 - Steve Orlando, Amancay Nahuelpan, Trish Mulvihill and Tom Napolitano

Who wanted this?

Serious, this is a strange team of characters to put together for a story, but it’s so jarring in a way that it makes me really interested to see what their team dynamic is like. This book carries so much of a Universal Monster movie vibe while mixed in with the superheroics of comic books in a manner that it’s already caught my eye.

The book begins with several haunting establishing shots of Monstertown, one of the few neighborhoods in Gotham that is doing well under the control of Bane. These shots set the tone for what the story will be; a grimy, dark outing where the only light to be found is in the darkness. Naheulpan does such an amazing job capturing the essence of Gotham, while at the same time making things feel so...40s and 80s right before we’re introduced to our first hero, Andrew Bennett aka. I, Vampire.

Bennett, having been hunting down vampires that choose to spill the blood of innocents, dispatches a large group of evil vampires and learns of a new vampire king that’s soon to be restored to life. Bennett tears out the lead vampires heart and tries to drink his blood to kill him, but finds that his blood is poisonous to him. He then vows to kill their new leader no matter what. Within only a few pages Bennett is established as a noble vampire unlike some of his kin and those who were previously unaware of him are given all that they need to know about the man. His scene also feels very reminiscent of The Crow or Queen of the Damned in terms of style and color palette.

Soon after, we cut to a newly freed Waylon Jones who’s very excited to leave his past life as a criminal behind to carve out a new life in Monstertown, but sadly he knows that people will still only ever see him as Killer Croc. I can see that his arc will be all about redemption as he tries to make things in his life right after all of the turmoil he’s been forced to go through. Part of me wonders if he’ll ever learn about Roy Harper and his death at Sanctuary, given that he acted as Roy’s sponsor when the archer was getting off of heroin. He’s not seen again after his two pages which does suck quite a bit as I thought he would have a larger role starting out.

Things start to heat up as we run into the actual lead character of the story, Frankenstein, former Agent of SHADE. It has been quite some time since Frankenstein has been seen in any book, I think the last one he was in was a Valentine’s Day special from 2018. Before he is even shown, we see patrons of a local bar running in fear of the chaos that the undead one has wreaked in search of one of the last open cases SHADE had before Leviathan destroyed them. Frankenstein is not here to play games, holding the throat of a man infected with a disease that turns him into a bull-man.

Naheulpan draws this scene with the dourness that Frankenstein is often known for as Orlando scripts him to say that “in a far world you would live, but now more than ever… the world is not fair.” Napolitano’s letting also helps to make this scene even more saddening with Frankenstein’s shaky word balloons even if Frank himself is anything but. He lights the man on fire after smacking him upside the head with a bottle of ”Damn Fine Whiskey”, totally not Jack Daniels’, and watches as the creature tries to crawl away in fear and pain, terror in his burning eyes.

After this short excursion, we are introduced to our last few cast members in The Orca and Lady Clay, the latter of whom I had no clue existed. While I have limited experience with Orca as a character, mostly from Nightwing: Rebirth and the Injustice 2 tie-in comic, I know her story (and have an attraction, don’t judge me) and it’ll be interesting to see if Steve Orlando plays into the romance angle from the latter comic to give Croc the strong beau that he’s been missing since Enchantress was taken from him. Lady Clay, however, is new and exciting to me because she doesn’t know who she is anymore and finds solace in taking on the appearances of others like a Faceless Person. I’m very interested in whether or not she’ll betray the team for a sense of understanding from the main villain.

Throughout the book there had been murmurings of an opera going on in the city. This plays as the hook that will cause all of the plot to go full steam ahead in the next issue. While the crowd thinks they’re watching an amazing show, they are soon sacrificed to bring back Melmoth, an immortal whose blood was used to help in Frankenstein’s creation. Melmoth’s entire motivation is to continue being what he considers the “Last King.” He wants to subjugate all beneath his feet and will kill as many as he needs to do so, yet his followers see him as some sort of savior.

Gotham City Monsters succeeds as a story in the vein of the cheesy horror movies I liked to watch at a younger age. The stories and motivations given for each individual hero are simple, much like to protagonists of those old movies and gives this comic a nice monster movie team up feel. Naheulpan’s art is grim and made even better by Mulvihill’s gritty coloring and great use of dark inks for the moments that need shadows. For a first issue, this one was a blast and I absolutely cannot wait for the next one!

---------------------------------------------------

Runner Up: Wonder Woman #78 - G. Willow Wilson, Tom Derenick, Trevor Scott, Norm Rapmund, Romulo Fajardo Jr. and Pat Brosseau

Love is dead. Cheetah has killed her.

The fallout from Cheetah’s actions continue as Wonder Woman has lost her will to fight and is easily overpowered by her most deadly foe. Things begin in the most bleak way possible as illustrated by Tom Derenick. We cut back and forth from the immediate past to the current present as Cheetah wrests or destroys Wonder Woman’s armaments. 

Her sword is cut in half and her shield is demolished after swipes from Cheetah’s new Godkiller sword. Her tiara is broken and sent flying after a solid punch. The Lasso of Truth is snatched away as Cheetah mocks her, asking who is truly worthy. Even the Gauntlets of Submission are absolutely destroyed after being hit with the sword. 

Cheetah smiles with absolute glee as Diana is driven before her, helpless and unable to defeat her with her new and powerful weapon. She manages to escape into a nearby river and calls Atlantiades to help her. The demigoddess hears her call and with the help of Steve Trevor, they find Wonder Woman, broken and defeated without love.

Superman is commonly thought of as being the main hope in DC and there is a lot of merit to that, but at the same time, Wonder Woman is just as much of an inspiration to some if not more. She has almost never given up hope, even after killing Maxwell Lord in the past or losing her ability to see, hell even after fighting the Amazons after they invaded Man’s World she wasn’t at all fazed. Losing to Cheetah and feeling the crushing weight of the world on her shoulders now that she doesn’t have the hope of love to keep her head up high. It’s even worse when Steve Trevor is also suffering from this lack of love. Even while giving Diana a soothing bath for her injuries and trying to console her, his eyes are empty of the love they had and she can tell. 

Not only is love gone, but so is compassion as we see in a short scene shortly after the bath. A mail carrier on a bike accident hits a car and no one does anything to help him. It's telling that people just either drive around him or stand idly by seeing no reason to try to walk through traffic. We see even later on that people are far more willing to commit crime, especially after Lex has been offering people gifts and changing how they think, bringing out the darkness inside.

Eventually Wonder Woman is left with no other choice than to ask Veronica Cale for help. Veronica Cale, who has nothing but enmity for Wonder Woman, decides to help her as she doesn't even remember the feeling of dread that she had when her daughter was trapped in Themyscira and see this as an opportunity to show the Gods that mortals can see what they cannot.

In a way, Cale and Cheetah are similar in that regard. They have nothing but hate for the Gods and Wonder Woman and will do everything they can to tear them down, Cale with wit and guile and Cheetah with pure rage. 

G. Willow Wilson is absolute bringing out the bloodlust from Cheetah that we haven't seen in some time and is making her a pretty credible threat. If her trajectory continues the way that it jas, then there's no doubt in my mind that this entire run of Wonder Woman will end in one of their deaths and that is exciting.

[platonicone]

Devotion - Story of the Oracle and her Shield

Chapter 13 - Stomping hearts

Is your mind your prison or a palace? I wonder…

As they approached the next outpost, Leon instructed, “Open the armrest compartment.” Luna did as she was directed.

“There are gils in that wallet. If you are out of money, you can take it from there. You can use it for anything you want to buy at our next outpost,” he stated.

“Am I in charge of our finances?” she asked enthusiastically.

“If that’s what makes you happy, then yes,” he replied, looking at the Burbost Souvenir Emporium outpost in the distance. His next delivery was supposed to be there.

“Your future wife is going to be a really lucky one,” she said with a smile. She noticed that she had been smiling a lot lately.

“I won’t be so sure,” he disagreed, slowing down the car.

“You are good-looking, strong, kind-hearted, and generous with your money. What more can a girl want?”

“I am hardly the husband type. You, of all people, should know that,” he said, pulling that car in the parking lot.

“Yes, you do have your flaws, but so do everyone else,” she defended her stand while unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Some of my flaws are irredeemable,” he argued, as he parked the car.

“I don’t think so. You just need to be handled with a lot of patience,” she teased him.

“Whatever,” he said, brushing off his criticism. “I have to make a few deliveries here, fill up gas and finish a few chores. Feel free to browse around.”

“Okay, I’ll make myself busy,” she said, getting out of the car.

They both went their separate ways as the Sun started its descent. When Leon came back after 15 minutes or so, he found Luna playing with a small girl. They were playing tag and running around the car laughing. Leon wasn’t sure which of these two girls had more innocent laughter. Their game came to a halt when Luna saw Leon. Luna picked up the little girl in her arms and twirled her around. She carried her on her hip and said, “I am going to miss you my little monster.”

“I will miss you too, Luny,” the little girl said and followed it up by a hug.

“Aw, you are so sweet, Karen,” she said, returning the hug. Luna walked to her parents who were standing close by and returned their daughter.

“Bye, Karen,” she said with a wave.

Karen and her family wave back with a smile.

“What was all that about?” Leon asked, getting in the car and buckling his seatbelt.

“I was just standing here waiting for you when little Karen came up to me asked if I could play tag with her,” she replied, buckling her seatbelt too.

“Nice,” he said, backing out the car.

“I love kids,” she said enthusiastically. “I wish someday I could have my o--” she did not finish her sentence as her expression suddenly changed again. Fortunately for her, Leon was too busy trying to merge with the traffic to pay attention to what she had just said.

The Sun was setting and the darkness was starting to take over. “Leon, the Sun will set soon, we should consider resting somewhere.”

“I had asked at the Crow’s nest and the guy said Mynbrum Haven, which we passed on the way here, would be the closest. We should be able to camp there,” he replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

“When a girl elopes with someone, she at least expects to have decent lodging. You eloped with a girl and now you are making her stay at the camp? That’s not nice,” she faked a complaint.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he shrugged.

“You are so not romantic,” she said jokingly. To which, Leon just shrugged.

After a few quiet moments, she suddenly remembered something, “Oh, I forget to show you what I got from the local store there.”

“What did you get?” he asked curiously. She proudly showed him the book she had bought.

“A book?” he said disappointingly.

“This is not just any book. This is a limited edition of ‘I Want to Be Your Canary’ by Lord Avon. It is a tragic love story between a princess and a peasant.”

‘A tragic love story between a princess and a peasant, this is too on the nose.’ Leon’s mind chimed in, while Luna continued talking passionately.

“It’s a heart-wrenching story. Lord Avon’s writing style is simply out of this world. He is my favorite author,” she explained enthusiastically. “Not only that, every year on my birthday, my mom would invite ‘Tantalus Theater Troupe’ of old Lestallum to perform this play.”

“You watched the same play every year?” he said in disbelief.

“Yes, this story is THAT good,” she said, sounding like a salesman.

“Nice,” he said, not knowing what else to say. Leon noticed the sudden shift in her tone whenever she talked about books. He figured books were one of her favorite topics to discuss.

“Leon, what is your favorite book?” she asked.

“I don’t have a particular book as a favorite. But I used to love reading Weapons Monthly magazine. In fact, I collected all the existing publications of that magazine. Each magazine contains information about various models of weapons, which can be upgraded with the right material,” it was his turn to speak enthusiastically now.

“That is the most boring piece of literature, if you can even call it that, which you can ever read. Is there anything you do that is not boring?” she teased.

“Hey, I am a practical guy and that magazine is a practical choice,” he defended his stance.

“True. I guess it does fit with your profile,” she admitted.

“How about you? What is your favorite book?” he asked. Honestly, he was not interested in the books, but his purpose for extending this conversation was for Luna. She seems happy whenever she is talking about books.

“My favorite book is ‘Wishing Upon A Star’ by none other than Lord Avon. I have very fond memories associated with that book. My mom used to read it to me every night when I was little. There were only two copies made of that book. One was in our Tenebrae Library, which was burned down during the Empire’s invasion. The second copy is out there with some lucky fellow. No one knows who has the last copy of this book.”

“Interesting,” he said, as he slowed down the car. “What would you do if somehow someone gave you that last copy of that book?”

“I would enamor them. You have no idea how much this book means to me. It's more than just a book to me. It represents the bond between my mother and me. To hold that book once again in my hand would mean the world to me.”

“Never thought you would be one to be attached to objects,” he remarked. “Then again, who am I to say? I have a similar attachment to my Griever ring and necklace,” he said after a bit of self-reflection.

“Sometimes, it’s not the object, but the meaning behind that object which makes it important,” she acknowledged. “So, what is the story behind your Griever?”

“I’ve had this ring and pendant for as long as I can remember. In all my time spent alone, this was my only companion. When I felt like giving up, this gave me the strength to fight on like a lion. To me, this is a symbol of courage and resilience against all odds. I think it might even have been from my parents,” he revealed.

“You are like a lion. Fierce when you fight. Brave and courageous when the odds are against you. And your hair is like a lion’s mane,” she said, ruffling his hair as you would do to a pet.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he said, leaning away from her trying to get away from her reach. She laughed to her heart's content upon seeing his reaction.

“We are here,” he announced shortly after.

“Where?” she asked, confused.

“Mynbrum Haven,” he said, pointing out the glowing ground from the window.

“Oh good, sleeping under the stars tonight,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Let’s go. There is a lot we need to carry there and unpack,” he said, parking the car.

They made their way to the haven. Leon carried all the camping material from the trunk while Luna unpacked everything. He silently thanked Lina for gathering all the camping gear and neatly arranging it all in the trunk.

Leon was busy setting up the tent and starting campfire while Luna was preoccupied with cooking on her portable stove.

Once Leon was done, he asked Luna if she needed any help with the cooking. Although he was not a great cook, he could at least cut vegetables he thought. Luna politely declined his help and insisted that he should sit and relax for a change. She assured him that she had everything under control.

Leon sat by the campfire he had started and took out his phone. He started browsing through all the photos she had taken of them together. A smile crept upon his face as the photo brought back fond memories. He did not realize how time flew by as he sat there looking at his phone.

Luna announced from behind, “Food is ready.” Leon turned around and saw her carrying two plates. She carefully handed one plate to Leon, which he gratefully accepted. She made herself comfortable next to him with her plate in hand. She nervously waited for him to eat. She wasn’t sure if he would like the taste.

He took one bite and said nothing which added to her nervousness. He took another bite and said, “I don’t like it.” Her heart sunk upon hearing those words. Sadness was evident on her face. But it all changed when he said, “I don’t like it because I love it. This is so much better than any of the restaurant food I have ever eaten at Lestallum.”

Her smile came back and she let out a big breath she did not even know she was holding. He arched an eyebrow to that reaction.

“I am so relieved that you liked it. I used to cook frequently for our retainers and staff, but I never had to cook for someone like this. I still don’t know your taste very well, so I wasn’t sure to make it mild or spicy. But since I saw you eating all those peppers during lunch, I went with spicy and I am so happy that you liked it.”

“Correction. Loved it,” he interjected.

“Thank you,” she said, before commencing eating.

“No, thank you, for cooking this wonderful meal. I am not a good cook so any food is good to me, but this is in a class of its own,” he said and followed it up with another bite.

She thought her food was okay, but Leon seemed to love it so that’s all it mattered to her.

As the flames of the fire fought against the wind, the flickering light cast an amber glow to the surroundings. Crickets were chirping in the background on this mildly cold night. They ate their food peacefully under the moonlight and radiant fire. Luna gave all the remaining food to Leon, and he gladly devoured it all.

After all the cleaning was done, they returned to the campfire. “You know, Noctis is a very lucky guy,” Leon confessed, surprising Luna.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he gets to a partner like you. You are beautiful, have a heart of an angel, you are amazing with kids and on top of all that you are an amazing cook. You are a complete package for a wife.”

“You Sir, give me too much credit. I am not perfect. I can be very naïve and idealistic at times, so outside of the providence I don’t know if I have anything to offer to Noctis. Also, I think I will be the aggressor in our relationship as I don’t like to wait passively for this to happen, so I don’t know if Noctis would like that. Lastly, as you often say I can be stubborn and I am rarely honest with myself.”

“Your qualities outshine your perceived flaws.”

Luna blushed at hearing Leon’s compliment.

Not wanting to embarrass herself any further, she changed the topic. “Oh, I am getting so forgetful lately. I forgot the most important thing.” She grabbed her trident in the right hand and stood up. She chanted some sort of spell as Leon eyed her curiously. Soon, golden energy started radiating from her body and slowly it expanded to cover the whole heaven. Spectral particles danced around her as she waved her trident in a circular motion. She closed her eyes as a divine glow surrounded her. She looked nothing short of an angel. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes as the spectral particles descended downwards like rainfall. The ground absorbed all the particles and gave out the blue ethereal radiance. Once all the energy was absorbed in the ground, Luna quietly sat back next to Leon.

Leon noticed that she was breathing heavily and was out of breath. He waited for her to recover before asking her what was on his mind.

“What was that?” Leon asked, no longer able to hold back his curiosity.

“Oracle’s blessing. One of the duties of Oracle is to bless Havens to repel demons so people can rest here peacefully when nightfall,” she replied with a hint of pride in her voice.

“The Oracle conveys Astral’s will to mankind, provide spiritual guidance, heals people, and even repel demons. All very essential things for the stability of this world. It still boggles my mind that someone as important as you travel alone,” he said with a facepalm.

“Who said I was alone? I have you,” she deflected his concerns with a smile.

“That does not count. Do you know what kind of trouble the world would be in if anything were to happen to you?” he restated his concerns.

“The world would be just fine. People are more resilient than we think,” she placed her left hand on Leon’s right hand reassuringly. “When faced with despair people often find courage, they did not know they had. I am just someone who makes things a little easier for them, that’s all.”

“You are too modest. You don’t realize your own worth,” Leon said in disbelief, shaking his head.

‘It’s funny, how you could be important to the whole world, but sometimes all your heart desire is to be important to just that one person whom you love.’ She thought to herself.

It was still too early to go to sleep, and it was starting to get slightly chilly. While Leon stroked the fire, Luna returned from the tent wearing one of Leon’s jacket. They both sat side by side basking in the warmth of the fire.

Ever since they met, it was like some invisible string of fate was pulling them closer to each other. Ever since they first laid eyes on each other, they felt the familiarity that cannot be described in words. They felt as if they had known each other for eternity. When they were together, they felt complete. But now that they knew more about each other’s life, everything feels different.

Their earlier conversation kept playing his mind on a repeat mode.

“Do you love Noctis?”

“Yes, I would like to believe so.”

“I’d rather marry Noctis than anyone else.”

“Luna, will being with Noctis make you happy?” “Yes, it will.”

‘Don’t get too close to her, Squall. She clearly loves Noctis. She will walk away with her prince charming and live happily ever after, and the only thing you would be left with is a broken heart.’

‘So, you are saying that she had absolutely no feeling for me? What about all the time we have spent together? What about everything we have been through together? What about her care and compassion for me?’

Two voices were arguing within him. One he assumed was his mind, and another was his heart.

‘You idiot. She has lived most of her life in isolation. You are probably the closest thing she has to a friend. She is clinging on to you as a friend, not as her lover. She said it herself that she would rather marry Noctis than anyone else. Besides, she is already someone’s fiancé, it is an honorable thing to respect that and back off. She is already taken.’

‘I agree. I will never say that I love her, it’s not honest, but it’s an honorable thing to do.’

‘As a soldier, you have fought, hurt and even killed people. You have committed lots of sins for honor, for the country or for some Astral. But one sin you should never commit is trying to deviate her from her path. She is a noblewoman fighting for a noble cause. The future of this world relies on her shoulders and if she fails to fulfill her calling, then everyone in this world would be doomed and it would all be your fault. That would be your sin to bear. She is carrying lots of burdens and if you cannot help her carry that weight the least you can do is not to add to it.’

‘But... what about me? I think...I love her.’

‘Then tell me, what do you have to offer to her? If she marries Noctis, she will be the queen. She will have a comfortable and royal lifestyle, people will bow down to her, she will have an army to protect her, and on top of all that, she will be with the one she loves. What do you have to offer her in exchange for all this? You are vagrant who does menial chores to make your ends meet, you couldn’t even protect her properly last time, and on top of all that you might disappear forever on a whim of an Astral. What is she left with then? A broken heart and a miserable life. Is that what you want her future to be?’

‘No, I want nothing but happiness for her.’

‘If you truly mean that, then you would do well to realize that her best shot at happiness is with Noctis. Remember what she said? Rather than being with the one you love, doing what’s best for them is better. When you love someone, their happiness is all that matters to you, not your sacrifice for it. If her happiness is all that matters to you then do what's best for her, let her go.’

‘Let her go...’

‘Besides, someone is waiting for you back home. What about her loyalty to you? Does that mean nothing to you? Are you going to just abandon her? If Luna can wait 12 years for her love, then so can you.’

‘Yes, you are right, I must be loyal to her. I cannot let her down. She might still be waiting for me.’

‘Good, then we are in agreement. This madness needs to end.’

They both sat there silently staring at the flames in front of them while trying to calm the flames from within.

Her battle was not much easier than his.

‘Wake up, Luna. You have lived in this fantasy for far too long. Your calling is to be with the King, not with some stranger you met a few days ago. You have a role to play and responsibility to fulfill towards this world. You can’t abandon the whole world for one guy. You can’t plunge the whole world into darkness so you can be with your light.’

‘Yes, I shall never do that. I have sacrificed my body for Noctis, but I guess I am required to sacrifice my heart too.’

‘Yes, that is your duty and your destiny.’

‘But I don’t think I am strong enough to do that. I have feelings for Leon, perhaps even stronger than my feelings for Noctis. I sincerely believe that I love him.’

‘That is foolish. What about your future? If you are with King Noctis, then you will be the queen of Lucis. You will have all the comfort in this world, a kingdom to rule, an army at your disposal.’

‘I don’t care about any of that.’

‘But you should, because being with Noctis would ensure you that you are not required to sacrifice anything ever again.’

‘Except for my heart?’

‘So, you don’t love Noctis?’

‘I do love him too. I think.’

‘You can’t love two people at the same time. It’s not fair to either of them. You have to pick one and let go of the other.’

‘But I don’t want to pick...’

‘You would have to. The longer you delay this, the more you would end up hurting everyone.’

‘I don’t want to hurt either of them.’

‘But you are. I don’t know why you are even struggling with this choice. If you think about it, you only really have one option.’

‘I know. My fate was decided even without my consent.’

‘Being with Noctis, eradicating the plague of darkness and helping people: isn’t that what you always wanted?’

‘Yes, that’s all I ever wanted until recently.’

‘Let me entertain you for a bit. Let’s say you decide to be with Leon. Once you complete your journey, he will disappear and just leave you behind. What will you do then? Live out the rest of your life in his memories? Abandon your duties for a guy who won’t even be there for you?’

‘I am sure we can figure out some way to keep him here.’

‘Hahahahaha you think he will stay?’

‘Yes, I believe he loves me too.’

‘Foolish, foolish, child. He already loves someone. The one he danced with, the one he jumped out into space for, the one he tore the fabric of space-time for, that’s the one he loves. Not you. He is only putting up with you so he can be with her.’

‘But what about everything he does for me? What about all the care he shows for me?’

‘He is just doing his duty; didn’t he say that himself?

"My mission is to protect you and everything I did was to advance my mission.”

“I would do it in a heartbeat for you. It’s my duty to protect you so I’ll do anything to for you.”

'You are nothing more a means to an end. Sooner he can help you, the sooner he can get away from you.’

‘No, I refuse to believe that. I think he truly loves me.’

‘He loves you because he sees her in you. He is not good with people, yet he is very comfortable with you. Why do you think that is? When you were unconscious for days, he would take care of you, talk to you, always stayed with you. He barely knew you back then so why do you think he did that? I always thought that it was odd, but now I know why. It was because he saw her in you.’

His words from earlier in the day playing in her mind:

“It wasn’t until she was in a coma that I realized how much I missed her. I had fallen for her and I didn’t even know about it. I would talk to her all the time, even though she was in a coma.”

‘Every time he fought for you, every time he fought with you, every time he blushed, every time he cared, even him being here with you is because he sees her in you. It was all for her. He is just filling up the void in his heart with you. Is that the kind of man you want to leave everything for? You are nothing more than a substitute to him.’

‘Besides, have you stopped and thought about Noctis? He has lost his father, his kingdom, and if he loses you imagine his suffering. You being with Noctis is the best thing for you, the people of our countries and the fate of this world. Do not mess this up.’

‘I guess you are right. I would do best to keep my distance from Leon going forward.’

They sat there by the fire, stealing glances at each other. When their eyes meet, they looked away quickly either from shyness or to hide their pain.

After a long silence, Luna finally spoke, “Leon, about us.” She gathered her thought once again to make sure what she was going to say came out right. “I don’t think we should…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. But Leon understood what she meant and replied, “Yes, I agree.”

It amazed her how much they could communicate in so few words. She was thankful that Leon understood what she was trying to say because saying it out loud would have been painful.

He got up and went back to the tent with pain evident on his face. She sat there alone as tears streamed down from her eyes. They both knew things would never be the same again between them.

Author's notes:

This chapter's question: Who is Karen (FFVIII)? What the connection between 'Tantalus Theater Troupe,' 'Wishing Upon A Star,' and 'I Want to Be Your Canary’ and Lord Avon? (easy)

Please leave a comment if you've enjoyed the story so far. I would love to hear your thoughts. Or at least say 'Hi' so I know you are reading this. Thanks :)

[childofthenight2035]

Protect You (Part 1)

A/N: this is so damn long i aint ever gonna finish this am i featuring everybody and Ji Chang Wook

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x gn!Reader, Ji ChangWook x gn!Reader, Jung Jaehyun x gn!Reader

Summary/Prompt: Your new bodyguard doesn’t seen the friendly type.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Bodyguard!AU

Word Count: i wish i knew, its really really long

Warnings: None?

Links to the other parts can be found in my masterlist!

-

“Y/N-ssi?”

“Ey, why this formality, Hyunwoo? Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean that we’re going to be strangers from now on, right?”

“You’ll be okay?”

“Of course I will. I’m a strong person. Besides, the agency found a replacement, haven’t they? I’m sure I won’t ever be alone.”

“When is he starting?”

“In a few days, I think. They’ve cast me in ‘As The River Flows’. So I’m sure that they won’t even let me out without someone.”

“Congratulations on that. Who was directing that?”

“Park Sunho-ssi. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Well. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Hyunwoo. Take care. Keep in touch, yeah? If I’m ever in New York, I’ll call you. Tell Minhyuk I said hello.”

“I will.”

 -

“Channie! What’s up?” I propped my phone up to my ear with my shoulder as I washed out the bowl I had eaten lunch in.  

“You might want to check your email right now,” he suggested, a note of amusement in his voice. “Might be something useful there.”

“Wait, what?” I set the plate down in the sink and wiped my soapy hands on a spare washcloth, taking the phone. “What do you mean?”

Beep. Beep. The idiot had hung up. I sighed, scrolling through my apps and opening my email account. The first thing I saw was the sequence of emails regarding the drama I was cast in. I opened it, curious. It had been forwarded to everyone who had something to do with it.

I scanned the email, a huge smile breaking out on my face. The minute I finished reading it, I phoned Chanyeol.

“Chan!” I yelled when he picked up. “Kai’s been cast?!”

I could hear his smile. “Yep. Thought you’d like to know.”

“Wow!” I could hardly believe it. So my friends were going to be with me. Don’t worry, Hyunwoo, wherever you are right now. I’ll be safe. “Wait.” I thought struck me. “It said the last casting. But there are two main leads. If one is Kai, who’s the other one?”

“Ah. I don’t know.” I sensed something in his tone that seemed suspicious, as if he knew who it was but didn’t want to tell me. I decided not to press.

“So will I see you for the meeting tomorrow?” I asked.

“Sure thing.”

“No, wait, don’t hang up! Could you give me a ride?” I made my voice as pouty as it would get, trying my luck. Chan seemed in a good mood.

“Ah, Hyunwoo left, didn’t he?” He paused, considering my request. “Alright. Fine.”

“Thanks, Channie!” I hung up and went back into the kitchen to finish washing out the dishes. A small smile graced my face. I couldn’t wait to start.

-

 “Can this traffic get any slower?” I groaned, sliding down against the seat and shielding my eyes against the light.

Chanyeol scoffed. “We would have gotten there already if someone hadn’t taken way too long to get dressed.”

I pouted but didn’t reply. I knew I deserved it.

We got there half an hour late. I took off down the hall, Chanyeol on my heels. I rounded corner after corner, all the while thinking that gosh, if anyone was to come around the corner, I would smash right into them and then this would be the complete drama scene but at the same time I was noting the lack of people in the hallways and I knew, I knew, that the meeting had long since started and that was why no one was here. I was in trouble. I knew it.

I burst into the conference hall, to be met with sudden silence. I winced.

“I’m sorry, Sunho-ssi.” I tried hard to catch my breath. “Traffic was horrible.”

His unimpressed gaze fell on me. “Of course it was. Come inside.”

I bowed low in apology, Chanyeol imitating me. I walked over to where Kai stood with the other actors, leaving Chanyeol with his studio artists. Each step I took seemed like a gunshot in the silence. The director’s eyes followed. I hated this. The lead role and the music director late for their own drama. Once I had smushed myself near Kai, he turned back to the group. Kai’s hand found mine and squeezed reassuringly. I managed a smile.

“As I was saying before we were interrupted—“ the emphasis on interrupted, “—we need to arrange our travel—“

The door flew open, drowning out the rest of his words. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. At this rate, he would never finish his sentence. I was going to tell that to Kai when my eyes found the tall young man who had just walked inside. My jaw dropped.

“Ji Chang Wook?” I breathed out softly, awed. I heard Kai chuckling beside me. I searched for Chanyeol, to find that he was already looking at me and smirking. I felt my face turn red. I knew very well what had brought this on, why he hadn’t told me who the other lead was.

It was barely anything of a story. The three of us had got together to have some drinks and ended up playing a tipsy game of Truth or Dare. I didn’t quite remember what had happened, but apparently I had mentioned that the actor I wanted to hook up with was Ji Chang Wook. But in my defense, I wasn’t in my right mind. Sane, I saw him and respected him as my sunbaenim. And maybe had a tiny crush on him. I mean, the man was gorgeous and was an amazing actor. But I probably wouldn’t try anything. Ever. Those two idiots had never let me hear the end of it.

But now I was facing him. I could almost feel Chanyeol’s eyes boring a hole into my skull as I watched Ji Chang Wook’s apologetic expression morph into happiness on seeing the director. I couldn’t hear any noise around me. My vision was focused only on this man I looked up to so much. I registered that he whispered something in Sunho-ssi’s ear, the director’s face fell, and the two of them abruptly walked to the door. The meeting was apparently over.

I was still in a daze as the people filtered out of the room when Chanyeol clapped me on my back, hard. I twisted away from him, face scrunching up in pain.

“Like your present?” Chanyeol’s smirk made my hands ball up into fists. I knew better than to try hitting him, though. The man was built like a bull. I seized his shirt and shook it.

“What am I going to do?” I wailed. “I can’t act normally around him! I’m just going to embarrass myself!” I buried my face in his jacket, pitying myself as he wrapped an arm around me.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured. “He probably won’t even look twice at you.”

I felt an impact and Kai’s voice. “Hyung, that might not be the best way to make her feel better. Don’t be stupid.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“Y/N-ssi?”

My head shot up.  Someone had called my name and it wasn’t either of them.

I turned around. One of the younger camera operators stood in front of us. Despite his tender age, he was quite tall, as tall as Chan. He bowed to the three of us and spoke nervously. “Uh, Y/N-ssi, Director-nim is asking for you and Kai-ssi.”

Chanyeol gently pushed me forward. “You two go on, I should get to the studio and see my peeps.” He pushed Kai too. “Go. Don’t make him mad.”

 -

 “What’s your name?” Kai asked the camera assistant kindly while he led us to the director’s office.

“Oh. Lucas,” he said, smiling awkwardly.

“He reminds me of Minho, doesn’t he, Kai?” I remarked. Kai peered into Lucas’ flushed face.

“He does.” Patting Lucas’ shoulder, he continued, “Minho is my sunbaenim. He’s an idol.”

Lucas nodded respectfully and bowed again. “Thank you, Kai-ssi, Y/N-ssi.”

I smiled at his gestures. The boy needed to loosen up a little bit, but I wouldn’t be the one to say that. From what I knew, most of the camera assistants were students studying cinematography.

“Good luck, Lucas,” I wished him as we reached the office. “Work hard.”

He bowed. “I will. Thank you.”

 -

Kai knocked on the director’s door without hesitation, before I could snatch his arm back. We heard a muffled ‘Come in!’ and Kai smartly opened the door.

Park Sunho-ssi was seated quite comfortably in his swivelling chair, rocking slowly from side to side, slight frustration and worry on his face, but he was smiling, he was laughing with the man seated in the left of the three plush chairs in front of his desk.

Kai and I bowed to the director. “Good morning, Director-nim,” we crowed in unison.

“Ah yes, good morning. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the remaining two chairs. Kai immediately drew out the right chair. I thanked his sense. At least he wasn’t going to subject me to humiliating myself in front of Ji Chang Wook and the director. I sat down as he occupied the central one.

“We have a slight dilemma,” the director began. “You are aware of the storyline, I hope. We have yet to find an actor for the role of Lee.”

“Oh, the boyfriend in the States?” I asked.

He nodded. “The actor who had originally agreed to take up the role, suddenly backed out. Chang Wook is aware of that, I presume?”

“Aishh, is it Taejoon?” Chang Wook-ssi’s deep voice rang out, a twinge of annoyance in it. “That punk.” I glanced over past Kai. Chang Wook-ssi seemed quite relaxed. Of course, I thought. They’ve worked together before. “Should I talk to him?”

Sunho-ssi shook his head. “Forget it. Let him be. We’ve set up auditions again.” He set his elbows on the desk and pressed his fingertips together. “Without casting that role, I can’t afford to shoot in the States. So what we’re going to do is finish the shooting at the border and Bukhan river and hopefully by the time we’ll have a lead.”

I nodded in agreement.

He smiled at me. “Chang Wook-ssi, you haven’t met our other leads, have you?”

I heard Chang Wook shifting in his seat and in my peripheral vision, I could make out his keen gaze roaming over me. I pressed my lips into a thin line nervously.

“Y/N-ssi, nice to meet you.” Surprised that he knew me, I twisted in my seat to face him. As his flawless face came into focus, I felt my heartbeat rise. He had on his characteristic smirk that he was famous for in his dramas. I’m going to faint.

I inclined my head. “Thank you, sunbaenim. It’s an honour to meet you.”

His lips parted in a broad smile. “Ah, so polite. And Kai-ssi,” he added, turning to him, “pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Thank you, sunbaenim.”

Chang Wook-ssi shook his head in amusement.

“Wook-ssi, I hope you’ll take care of our maknaes, eh?” The director remarked. I knew my face had turned pink by now.

“Oh, I will, director-nim. Don’t worry.”

-

  As soon as the director’s door closed behind the two of us, I seized Kai’s hand and pulled him with me, wanting to get as far away from there as possible. Kai was all but two seconds away from laughing at me.

“Y/N, if you don’t get used to him, how are you going to shoot this drama?” he asked, his cackle echoing in the hallway.

“Shut up!” I hissed. “He doesn’t need to know anything!”

“Doesn’t need to know what?”

Both of us swivelled around with neutral innocent expressions on our faces. I dropped Kai’s hand. Ji Chang Wook planted his hands on his hips.

“Were you talking about me by chance?” His eyes narrowed playfully.

“Oh! No, sunbaenim, we were—“ Kai began.

“Relax, both of you,” he interrupted. “You don’t need to be so formal. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

Kai and I looked at each other. “Really?”

Chang Wook-ssi nodded. “Of course. Don’t be scared of me, please. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you are.” He placed a hand over his heart and pouted. My heart broke. Aigoo, he’s so cute. Wait, what am I thinking? I grabbed Kai’s hand again.

“Thank you, sunbaenim, but we really have to go.” I bowed quickly and dragged Kai as fast as I could, leaving Chang Wook in the hallway, confused.

“Y/N, you’re really crazy, you know that?” Kai scolded.

“I know I’m crazy!” I cried. “I don’t know what to do!”

-

 “Y/N, we’ve found a replacement for Hyunwoo.” My manager informed me over the phone as I walked over to the elevators, on my way to the music department.

“Oh. That’s good, manager-nim,” I replied, digging around in my handbag for Chanyeol’s car keys. “What’s his name?”

“Lee Taeyong. He’ll be starting in two days. I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you…” I dragged out the last syllable and hung up. “Aishh, where are those keys? Channie’s going to kill me.”

The ‘ping’ sound of the elevator bell sounded and, without looking up, I walked inside, head still in my bag. My head promptly collided with a firm surface.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, jolting. My eyes found a young man in the lift, a hand over his chest. Did I just walk into someone? “I’m so sorry!” I bowed low before straightening up, finally getting a good look at the person.

His hair was dyed blonde and carefully styled so some fell over his forehead and framed his face. It looked very well done. He was tall and lean and had a sculpted face. Young. He looked young and regal. I was almost speechless for a moment. He was absolutely breathtaking. In that minute, I totally forgot that Ji Chang Wook existed. He stood aside for me and I shuffled inside awkwardly. I noticed that he was wearing a Metallica t-shirt.

I pressed the button for the 17the floor and let five floors pass by before I burst out, “Are you an idol?”

He looked surprised. “Idol?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “No. I’m not.”

“Are you an actor?”

He seemed at loss for words. “Um. No, I’m not an actor.”

“Then what—“ The elevator ‘ping’ed and opened. He looked apologetic.

“This is my floor. I’m sorry. Nice meeting you!” He stepped out swiftly. I stuck my hand out in front of the sensors.

“At least tell me your name?” I called out, knowing that I had to remove my hand from the doors as they were blocking service. I reluctantly pulled my hand away.

He stopped two paces away. “Taeyong,” he said, turning around and staring at me dead in the eye. “Lee Taeyong.”

The doors closed.

 -

 The story was simple enough, really.

It was only inspired by the book by Lynne Reid Banks. Only inspired. No space to make up a whole controversy about plagiarism. Credit where it was due. One More River was a book I had grown up reading and it was about a young girl emigrating to war-stricken Israel and learning to adjust among the people there. The story of the drama was similar, the story of a person whose circumstances caused them to leave the United States, their friends and the one they had thought they would spend the rest of their life with. But no. The country failed them, their friends were sympathetic but helpless and the lover was never there when they needed support. Fair weather friends, all of them. Not willing to face challenges, having been brought up in nothing but comfort.

So they return to a country they have no memory of, to a province near the border of two worlds at war with each other. Their only solace is the river. They struggle to grasp the language, the culture, the fear of the people around them. They meet two young men in different ways, in different situations and they find the voice of their heart harder to hear, harder to understand.

In its essence, that was the plot. Sunho-ssi’s direction would make all the difference.

  -

 I folded my arms and stared at the blonde head in front of me. It was two days later, and my new bodyguard was taking charge.

“Y/N, this is Lee Taeyong,” my manager informed me.

“Yeah, I know. We’ve met.”

I half-expected him to reply, but he remained stoic, his expression hard and stern. I turned away, pouting a little to myself. From what I saw, he seemed like a contrast of Hyunwoo. Needless to say, I knew who I preferred.

“Are you always so stiff?” I asked him, staring straight ahead as he followed me down the hall. I spun around, walking a few steps backward. “Don’t you smile? I think my manager is scared of you. That would be a first.” He didn’t reply. “Don’t you talk, either?”

“Don’t walk backward, you’re going to fall.”

I scoffed. “Wow. Okay.” I turned back around, footsteps echoing slightly in the empty hall. I could just make out the murmur of voices in the rooms adjacent to it. “You’re good at ruining the mood, you know that?” Again, silence. “Hyunwoo and I got to know each other right away. Do we have to be so formal?”

“This is professional, if I’m not wrong.”

I shrugged. “Well, so was Hyunwoo an—“

“I’m not Hyunwoo. So please stop this comparison. I’m here to do my job. The means are irrelevant.”

That was the longest he had spoken since I first saw him. I stopped walking, guilt riding up in me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to compare the two of you. I was only asking if we could be friends.”

He stopped a pace behind me. “I’m only your bodyguard. You have plenty of friends.” I didn’t know what to say. I was hurt, to say the least. “Keep walking, Y/N-ssi.”

-

“Sunho’s going to have a heart attack,” Kai muttered. “Where is he?” I watched him, amused, as he sat on the steps of the bus. Almost the entire crew was bundled into three buses that would take us from Seoul to the Bukhan river and the locations we would be shooting at. Obviously we weren’t allowed into the DMZ. But we were going to film some of the barriers and the soldiers that were stationed there. The story was set in the time of the Korean War in 1950, so we had to make it seem real. The DMZ didn’t exist at the time. We had already been delayed some, and Park Sunho was currently going around pulling out his hair because time was limited and Ji Chang Wook was nowhere to be seen.

I leaned forward from my seat in front, reaching over the bar and ruffling his hair. “Calm down, Kai. Chang Wook-ssi will be here soon.”

As if on cue, Kai let out an exclamation, pointing towards the gates of the agency. Chang Wook was jogging towards our bus, a rucksack bouncing against his back, muscles flexing within his t-shirt. I bit my lip at the sight. His bodyguard was not far behind.

“Jesus, Y/N, stop drooling,” Kai hissed as he got up from the steps, hitting the bottom of my chin. I quickly closed my mouth. When had it fallen open? I was glad that Chanyeol hadn’t seen it. He would never let it slide like Kai would. I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Get a grip on yourself, okay? It’s not going to happen.” He squeezed my shoulder and slipped past me to his seat behind mine. As Sunho-ssi chewed Chang Wook out for being late, I thought about what Kai said. Of course nothing was going to happen. It’s just a tiny crush. It’s like idol worship. I don’t love him. I just really admire him.

A large body slid into the last remaining seat next to me and I seized up, straightening suddenly in my place. I scooted over as near the window as possible, lips pressed tightly together. I could feel it. He was looking at me. His shoulder bumped into mine and I jolted, face turning upward to look at him. He was smiling endearingly at me and I thought I would melt.

“Still afraid of me, Y/N?” he teased.

“N-no, I’m—“ I tried to say.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, bumping playfully into me again. I hung my head, suddenly shy, my hair falling in front of my eyes. I felt heat crawl up my cheeks and I hastily covered my face with my hands. “Yah, what happened?” I heard him ask, his tone now concerned. I sat up, pushing my hair away from my face.

“Aishh, why are you like this, Chang Wook-ssi?” I muttered lowly, my bottom lips stuck out slightly in a pout.

He must have heard me, because he asked, “But what did I do?”

“You’re my sunbaenim, aren’t you? Why are you being so friendly?” I whined. “Now I don’t know whether to respect you or be friends with you.”

“Be friends, obviously,” he replied, a smile dancing across his perfect lips. “Do you know how tiring it is to hear people talk to you as if you’re a judge that’s going to sentence them to death?”

“Ah.” I hadn’t thought of that. “I’m sorry. How should I call you?”

“Chang Wook. Do you want to call me Wookie?”

I blushed. “No. Please, no, I’ll call you Chang Wook.”

He stared at me for what seemed like ages. His gaze was so intense. I couldn’t blame the people who made him an actor. They weren’t wrong at all. I’d seen his performances and wished ever so many times that I could be his co-star. So I let myself look back into those eyes. Then his face broke out into a cute little shy smile that forced the corners of my mouth upward. When he opened his mouth, I was expecting something else to come out.

“Do you like dogs?”

My eyebrows must have disappeared into my hair from my surprise. “Oh. I….yeah. I suppose I do. Like dogs.” If I listened carefully, I was sure that I could hear Kai sniggering from the seat behind me. I bit back a scowl and refocused on Chang Wook’s shining face. He snapped his fingers at me and squirmed in his seat, his hands digging into the pocket of his jeans. When they withdrew, he was holding his phone. Unlocking it, he leaned closer.

“My sister has a dog,” he said. “The cutest little poodle.”

“Oh? Really?” I responded eagerly, leaning closer to him to get a better view. He scrolled through his gallery and, face lighting up, held out a photo. I couldn’t help but gasp in delight at the fluffy white dog that had draped itself over Chang Wook’s lap. “Aigoo, so cute!” Even the dog has great taste in men, I thought privately. What wouldn’t I give to do that? No! Y/N, you’re not supposed to think things like that. Stop it.

We spent quite some time looking through the pictures on his phone and before long, our conversation had surpassed poodles and hobbies. He described funny incidents that had happened during the shoots of his previous dramas, a memorable one being that he and Taejoon had poured glue into Nara’s hair during Suspicious Partner. She hadn’t spoken to either of them off set for a week.

I laughed so hard that I almost fell off the seat. Suddenly I caught sight of Taeyong staring at the both of us with something only a little less than murder in his eyes. Utter disapproval. I abruptly stopped laughing and looked down at my phone. Chang Wook, confused at my sudden halt, turned his head to follow my gaze. Evidently he had seen Taeyong’s expression as well, because he cleared his throat and leaned away from me. The rest of the ride was silent. I spent much of it staring out the window, fascinated at the beauty of the countryside.

-

 “Wahh,” Kai breathed as he stepped out of the bus behind me. That simple sound summed up my feelings too. The wide Bukhan river stretched out in front of us, winding its way to where I knew the border was. The sun had just begun to set, the sky glowing in a thousand shades of red and orange. It seemed like the doors of heaven had been thrown open.

Kai squeezed my shoulder and I let out a huge sigh, letting the serenity of my surroundings seep into me. Even Sunho-ssi seemed at ease.

“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered to no one in particular. “I can’t wait to start.”

-

 We bunked at a hotel for the night in the nearby town. But I could barely sleep. I was far too excited. Had I read the whole script? No. Did I know which scene we were going to shoot tomorrow? No. All I knew was that I was playing the unfortunate victim of financial crisis who returns ‘home’. Chang Wook was playing the young man from across the border and Kai the boy who lived nearby, the boy who my character was depending on. I sighed and snuggled deeper into my pillow. Whatever came, I would face it.

-

 “Can you believe this?” I asked, coming up behind Kai. He glanced up from where his stylist was fussing over his hair. Temporary tents had been put up near the trailers for hair and makeup and last minute adjustments. I was tired and sweaty after the shoot. Kai was about to do his scenes and thankfully, I wasn’t in them. All I wanted to do was rest my feet. “I’m literally about to die and he wants the photoshoot done right now?”

“Wait, he wants the photoshoot now?” Kai choked out, rising from his seat. “I thought-“

“Calm down.” I forced him back down. “Yours is after your scenes are done. Sunho-ssi’s in a permanent panic mode.” I ducked a little to see myself in his mirror and fixed my hair. “Wook and I are doing ours now. We’ll wait for you. Don’t screw up your scenes.”

“Wook?” Kai raised an eyebrow. “You seem to have completely skipped the formalities. You got to know him so well in two days?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. There was no way I would admit to Kai that we had exchanged numbers and spent half the night texting. Kai would tell Chan and Chan would….well, what wouldn’t he do? Instead, I shrugged innocently. “Must be good chemistry.”

He smirked, seeing through my façade immediately. “Chemistry, huh? Don’t forget that you end up with me at the climax.”

I pursed my lips. “Gross. Who wants to be with you?”

“Y/N, it’s time to go.” Chang Wook’s voice filtered into the tent. “Where are you-Oh.” His tall frame bent to pass through the low opening. “You ran away from me to see him, huh? Kai-ssi…let her have a minute, yeah?”

From Kai‘s utterly bewildered face, I knew he was about to say something. “Ah, Wook-ssi, we should go, the photoshoot…” I slid up to him, my fingers curling around his wrist and dragging him out of the tent.

-

“Can you two please get closer?” the photographer begged. “You are lovers, can’t you show that here?” I glanced sideways at Kai, who had finished his scenes in a heartbeat. I suspected that he was desperate to see me make a fool of myself. I felt Chang Wook’s hand on my lower back and I let him adjust me close to him. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my shoulder. But then, he pressed his lips to the base of my neck and I jumped out of my skin, my shoulder connecting harshly with his jaw. He let out an exclamation of pain and withdrew, covering his mouth.

I smacked my forehead in frustration. “Chang Wook-ssi, I’m so sorry!” I reached up, ignoring Kai who was clearly having a field day in the back. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, removing his hand and smiled at me. “I should have asked your permission first. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s okay, I was just surprised.” I turned back around and he fit his body behind mine again. I swallowed, determinedly avoiding the back of the room. Chang Wook’s hands slid around my waist. His lips brushed over the skin on my shoulder before firmly kissing my neck. My eyes fluttered closed. Gosh, I’m enjoying this way too much. His grip on me tightened and for a split second, I let myself believe that he was too.

-

 “What the heck is wrong with you?” Kai hissed in my ear after the photoshoot. I had certainly been more comfortable with him than with Chang Wook. He was my best friend, after all. We had already passed the awkward stage and now he could literally do anything and I wouldn’t flinch.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked him, following Taeyong and Kai’s bodyguard (what was his name? I forget) to our car. Seeing the back of Taeyong’s head, I remembered that he had been cool for the past few days. Maybe I could be friends with him after all.

“Did you even see the way he was looking at us?” Kai asked as we climbed in the vehicle. “Jesus, I’ve never had someone look at me with murder in his eyes.” He shuddered, clicking his seatbelt into its lock. “Why couldn’t you have been more touchy with him and not me? Aishhh.” He hit his head against the glass of the window. “You’re really stupid.”

“I second that.” The voice came from the passenger seat up front. What?!

“Yah!” I burst out. He looked sharply at me through the rearview mirror. “I mean, Taeyong-ssi. Why are you calling me stupid?” He looked at us. Was that a smile he had on his face? Sure, a smile that was making fun of me. But dang, he was smiling?! “I can’t believe this. You two are ganging up against me now?”

“It’s because you go around completely oblivious of life and make everything worse,” Kai interjected. “You’re just dense. That’s all.”

“Wow. Thanks.” I muttered. “At least I’m not a coward.” I folded my arms. “How’s Sehun, by the way? You, uh, talk to him recently?”

Kai promptly turned red. “Oh. Um. No.”

“And why is that?”

“Yah, you know I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

-

  “Yah, where do you think you’re going?” Stiff calloused fingers wrapped around my wrist and yanked me back. “Are you crazy? That’s the border.” I glared up at Kai and wrestled my arm free.

“Why do you care?” I shot back. “None of you give a damn about me anyway. Let me cross it. With luck, I’ll get killed.” I turned back around to gaze fiercely at the river, wind whipping through my hair.

“Why are you being like this?” He shouted. “Can’t you understand? Don’t you know what they’ll do to you?” He reached out and gripped my arm again.

“They’re not dangerous,” I whispered, my voice barely heard over the wind. Kai froze.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He spat.

I closed my eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re going to see him, aren’t you? Your boyfriend from across the river?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I yelled.

“Then why do you care?” Kai steered me away from the river.

“He’s in danger!” I cried, pulling as hard as I could to get away. “I need to help him!”

Kai roughly grabbed my shoulders and shook me. I was stunned into silence. “Listen. There’s nothing you can do for him. If you go to see him now, he’ll only be in even more danger. So if you want him safe, listen to me. Don’t cross the river.”

I burst into tears and fell, limp. Kai stood over me, unsure of what to do for a moment, but then lifted me to my feet.

“It’s for your own good,” he whispered. “Stay away from the river.”

“CUT!”

Kai immediately let go of me and I fell to the ground. “Ow!” I whined. “What was that for?”

He pointed at his arm, where my fingernails had cut through his skin. “For that.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Y/N, Kai, please clear out.” The director’s gruff voice reached us and I scrambled to my feet, bowing and rushing out of frame. I stood beside Kai, watching the others act, when suddenly my stylist came over with my phone. Chanyeol was calling. I thanked her and tiptoed to a distance away to answer it. The director hated it when we slacked off during a shoot.

“Chan?”

“Y/N, can you come see me now? Is your shoot over?”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Now? Why?”

“Just come to my room. Please. But only if you’re done.”

I glanced quickly at the director and cameramen. I spotted Lucas and waved him over. “Chan, hold on a second.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Lucas, could you find out whether my scenes for today are over?” He nodded and dashed off to the assistant directors. I watched anxiously as he conversed with them. At last, he looked over at me and gave me a thumbs up. I smiled. “Yeah, Chan, I’m done for the day.”

“Then get your ass over here.” He hung up.

I sighed, scouring the area for Taeyong. I held my hand over my eyes, shielding myself from the light. I couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Looking for someone?” A voice spoke directly behind me. I jumped. Taeyong.

“Hey, don’t do that,” I pleaded, a hand over my heart. “You scared me.” He smirked. I’m going to ignore you. “Hey, can you drive me to the hotel? Chan asked for me.”

Taeyong shrugged. “It’s my job. Come on then.”

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Not awkward, just quiet. As if Taeyong was aware that I wanted peace and quiet. I was grateful, anyway, but I was fully intending to start conversation.

“Have you been watching the shooting every day?” I asked curiously.

“Yes.”

“What do you think of the drama? Have you read the script?”

He shook his head. “I’ve heard the outline. I think it’s pretty interesting.”

“It’s inspired by a book. One More River by Lynne Reid Banks.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

I smiled. “Not many people have. I have a copy. You want to read it?”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Sure. Why not?”

When he pulled up in front of the hotel, I bounced right out, eager to give him the book. “Y/N-ssi, wait!” I heard him calling and slowed down only a moment.

I unlocked my room and kicked off my shoes, running to my suitcase to find the book. When I found it, I thumbed at the worn edges before turning around. Taeyong hadn’t come inside, choosing to respect that this room was my space.

“You can come inside, you know,” I remarked, handing the book to him. “I’m going next door to see Chan. You can wait here if you want. I don’t think he lets people into his studio.” He inclined his head and watched warily as I padded over to the adjacent room and knocked.

“Come in!” I turned the knob, but it didn’t budge.

I hit the door with my fist. “Yah! Idiot! Don’t tell me to come in after you locked it.”

“Crap, I’m sorry!” I heard him shuffling around. “Wait a sec.” I heard thuds on the other side of the door. I was aware that Taeyong was watching me from outside my room. And I also knew that he must be looking at me with that amused smile of his. With a sharp click, the door opened.

“What is it?” I asked, walking inside and plopping down on the sofa. “What couldn’t wait until I got back—Oh. Wendy?” I raised my eyebrows at the young woman who had just stepped out of the bathroom. Chanyeol slammed the door shut. “Chan…why am I here?”

“Don’t misunderstand, you pervert,” he snapped. “She’s working on the soundtrack with me. We called you here because we want you to sing for the album.”

I must not have heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?”

Wendy laughed aloud. “You’re going to sing. We called you here to listen to the track.”

“You want me to sing?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Why me?”

“Good point.” Chanyeol’s phone rang suddenly. “Ah. What a coincidence.” He slid his finger over the answer button. “Yeah, Kai? Yeah, she’s here with me….Who?....Ah, hello, Chang Wook-ssi. Could you come over for a while?....no, nothing serious….Yeah, she’s fine. Could you—oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“What was that?” I asked furiously as he tossed his phone onto the bed.

He smirked teasingly. “Someone was pretty concerned that you weren’t there.”

“Why did you ask him over?”

“Both of you are singing a duet.”

My eyes popped. “Why with him? Why not with Kai?”

“Because that would be boring for me.” He shrugged.

“I can’t believe this,” I wailed. “The entire world is against me.”

“Oh shut up, drama queen.” Chan flicked my forehead. “Literally.” The doorknob turned gently and Taeyong poked his head inside.

“I heard someone crying,” He explained. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

I nodded and gave him an A-OK sign. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just…rehearsing.” He forced a smile and withdrew, the door snapping shut behind him.

Chanyeol started laughing. “Takes his work a bit too seriously, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah he does, and that’s a good thing,” I defended. “If something happened to me, you would blame him first, you hypocrite.”

Chan stared at me. “No. I would blame myself.”

Both of us glared at each other until Wendy broke the tension in the room.

“So, is anyone hungry?…”

-

 Around two weeks later, I found myself completely unable to sleep one night. Sighing, I rolled over to switch on the light. Might as well get in some practice rehearsing the dialogues for tomorrow. I found my script and sat down on the sofa to look through it, highlighting my dialogues and mouthing them.

I was almost nodding off when I heard a knock at the door. I sat up, checking the time on my phone. It was almost midnight. Who was it at this hour?

I crept to the door and opened it slowly, just a crack. Chang Wook’s face smiled at me. I let him inside, confused, but glad to see him nevertheless.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained before I could ask. “I saw your light on and thought I could keep you company.” I smiled.

“I was rehearsing tomorrow’s scenes,” I offered.

He brightened. “That’s cool. Maybe we could practice together?” I nodded.

-

“I’ll be okay,” Chang Wook whispered to me, sliding a hand under my jaw. “You don’t need to worry.”

“How can I not?” I answered his silent plea. “You mean too much to me.”

“Nothing is worth your life.” He brushed back a lock of my hair. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

“But you are,” I murmured, my fingers finding his shirt and gripping it. “You’re worth everything. I would do anything if it meant saving you.”

“You can do anything.” His face contorted in pain. “Anything except cross the river.”

“Then why do you return?” I asked, despair in my voice. “Stay with me.”

“My family,” he replied, sorrowfully. “They need me.” He moved my hair away from my face. “You’re so beautiful. But they would never accept you. You would be miserable there.”

“What do you want me to do?” I pleaded.

“Wait for me.” He sighed. “When this war is over, I will come back to you. I promise.”

“And until then?” I couldn’t keep the desperation out of my tone. “Until then?”

He glanced briefly at my lips. “Until then?” He leaned forward. My heart leapt. His lips pressed against mine and a shudder ran through my body. I responded meekly, trying hard to remain in character.

He broke away quickly but didn’t move away, his eyes searching mine.

What was my line?

“I will wait for you,” I murmured. “I promise.”

There was a long pause. I thought that he had forgotten his dialogue.

“Wook—“ The rest of my sentence faded into nothingness as Chang Wook tugged the script from my hands and tossed it onto the coffee table. “What—“

And then he was kissing me. Really kissing me. As if his life depended on it. His broad hands ran up the sides of my body, sending shivers through me, before finally coming to rest cupping my face. His fingers ran through my hair, pushing me higher through the clouds, dizzy. I whimpered involuntarily. The kiss was insistent, forcing through my defences, ripping my sanity apart. His lips never stopped moving against mine, breaking apart only to draw in a breath, kissing me over and over and over….

I gasped, pulling away. His eyes were hooded, pupils dilated, bedroom eyes. Pure seduction. I found that I couldn’t help but swoon at the strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, the way his lips were red and slightly parted, how his chest was heaving up and down. I couldn’t bear to look at him for long.

“What are we doing?” I managed to ask, heart still racing. He seemed to ponder his answer.

“I like you,” he said simply.

The words went straight to my gut. “What?” I asked faintly.

He wet his lips. “I’m sorry if I….I’m sorry. But I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot.”

Where did words go? How to speak? What is my thought process right now?

I swallowed thickly. “I…I really like you, Chang Wook, but….” I hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether….whether I like you as an idol or as a man. I….I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “I shouldn’t have….I’m really sorry, Y/N. Take your time. I should go….um. Good night.” He stood up hastily, bowed and let himself out.

And me? I cried myself to sleep, hugging my knees to my chest.

What was I doing? I didn’t have a clue.

-

A/N: What am I doing? I don’t have a clue either. i promise you that this is a Taeyong fic and not Ji Chang Wook but honestly if you don’t like Ji Chang Wook, go home we aint friends the man is fine af

[aion-rsa]

Oscars 2021: Ignore the Cynics, the Ceremony is Already a Win

https://ift.tt/3dI3ynK

There was a time when folks wondered if there even would be an Oscars in 2021. It’s easy to forget this now. After all, 12 months suddenly feels like several lifetimes, and the anxiety which accompanied theaters going dark in March 2020 was replaced by abject schadenfreude when one studio tried to open a blockbuster six months later. But the state of the industry—from theatrical releases to streaming, to, yes, awards shows—was shrouded in uncertainty for what seemed like an eternity.

Apprehension even seemed to reach the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences when they announced last June that the next Oscars ceremony would be held on April 25, 2021—the latest calendar date ever for the show since they began broadcasting on television in 1953. Yet with theaters still closed and a second wave then imminent, some speculated… would the show really go on?

“There was a time when it looked like no films were being released at all, even on streaming, much less in theaters,” TCM host Dave Karger tells me when we sit down to discuss Oscar history, and the kind of history that’s now being made by the 93rd Annual Academy Awards. “I was worried that they were going to do away with the Oscars or just postpone it for even more months. And then, once I realized there was actually going to be a telecast and be a ceremony, my larger concern was that there weren’t going to be many movies at all that were eligible.”

It was a common concern. It also luckily turned out to be unfounded. In 2021, there were more films eligible for Oscar nominations than ever before, and Karger personally argues the year’s eight Best Picture nominees—including Nomadland, Promising Young Woman, and Mank—are as good or better than any lineup he can recall from the past decade.

All of which is worth keeping in mind ahead of Sunday night’s Oscar ceremony. Steven Soderbergh, the Oscar winning director of Contagion and Ocean’s 11, has even been making the rounds to remind audiences the night is as much a celebration for the movies that did come out and captivate during the COVID era as it is a chance to applaud award winners. “Joyous” is the word the Traffic director used to describe the tone of Sunday night. But then, he may be feeling the need to preempt the cynics who’ve already come out ahead of the Oscars with knives drawn.

Indeed, there’s been a growing wave of cynicism about this year’s nominees, perhaps most loudly articulated by Bill Maher, the iconoclast host of HBO’s Real Time with Bill Maher. Recently on that program, Maher criticized the Academy and industry for nominating only “downers,” taking special aim at spoiling Nomadland, Minari, and Promising Young Woman for potential audiences while noting their subject matters are too depressing to be popular with mainstream audiences.

Karger, who notes he’s a fan of Maher and would love to see him appear on TCM again, disagrees with this assessment.

“I think it’s very easy to cherry pick aspects of some of these films,” says Karger. “What’s hard about this year’s Oscars is that—and this happens a lot of the time, but particularly this year—the movies are on the sad side. You could even say somewhat depressing, although I think they’re also uplifting. But if you just hear the subject matter of some of the nominated films—a woman who loses her baby in childbirth; a man suffering with dementia; a young man who loses his hearing suddenly and catastrophically; a woman who loses her job and is forced to live in her van—I can imagine that to a casual moviegoer it would make them want to tear their hair out.”

He continues, “But I think if you actually watch the movies, there’s a lot more to them than just the initial description. The fact of the matter is these films did provide a lot of us with some happiness and some escapism during a time when we largely were sitting at home. So if the Oscars can feel even more celebratory and joyful than they already usually do, I think they’re serving their purpose.”

As for the point of there not being any “popular” movies nominated for Best Picture, Karger is quick to point out that these movies didn’t come out in a vacuum; there were still action movies on Netflix, Kaiju flicks on HBO Max, and Coming 2 America on Amazon. He also reminds us that Hollywood studios were delaying films intended to have populist and prestige crossover appeal—movies like Dune or Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story remake—out of 2020.

Says Karger, “If there are some people decrying the fact that no blockbusters were nominated at the Oscars this year, I would just say, well, there weren’t that many to choose from. There wasn’t a Black Panther or a Once Upon a Time in Hollywood or Lord of the Rings or an Avatar to anoint.” Not that he necessarily minds. As he’s quick to also say, “I don’t think you can look at a single Best Picture nominee this year and say that it doesn’t deserve to be there.”

Oscars, and the type of movies nominated for them, are things Karger has long been passionate about. A self-described lifelong “Oscar nerd,” Karger was studying the intricacies of the races and changing Academy dynamics well before becoming the Academy’s official red carpet greeter in 2012 and 2013, where he acted as the red carpet’s first welcoming voice (with a microphone) to nominees and presenters. Since then he’s become a Turner Classic Movies host, appearing on the cable network as presenter and historian to recount Hollywood days gone by, including during the network’s annual 31 Days of Oscar.

Perhaps unsurprisingly then, 31 Days of Oscar is Karger’s favorite recurring series on TCM, and one that’s allowed him to appreciate parallels between the Oscars during COVID and previous ceremonies held in times of crisis.

“I do think there are some parallels [with the World War II years],” Karger says, “where there were similar discussions had. ‘Should there be a ceremony? And if we have one, what should be different about it? What are the optics of having an Oscar ceremony at all in a time of crisis?’ Of course the difference is that in 1942, the question was more what does it look like and what does it feel like for us to be having this celebratory event? Whereas in 2021, the question is, is it physically safe to have this event?”

Still, the solutions remain strikingly familiar. As Karger adds, “I think the fact that you’re seeing the ceremony be completely reinvented and rethought definitely reminds me of what did happen in 1942 where the Oscar ceremony was scaled down and formal dress was discouraged, and it wasn’t the show it normally was. It was a quieter affair.”

As for the actual awards themselves, Karger is thrilled two of his favorite movies of the year, Sound of Metal and The Father, were able to be the “surprise” nominees for Best Picture. Although, much like everyone else, he thinks it’s improbable anything stops Nomadland from winning Best Picture.

“I think there’s a slight chance that something like Minari or The Trial of the Chicago 7 could win,” Karger says, “but the operative word there is slight. I don’t see Nomadland losing. I think it’s going to do very well with multiple awards, including Best Picture and Director.”

The Best Actress category, however, has never seemed more open in all Karger’s years of Oscar-watching.

“I was trying to think about [a time] where you had four different people who won the Critics Choice, the Golden Globe, the BAFTA, and the SAG Award,” Karger considers, referring to how each of the major proceeding awards have gone, respectively, to Carey Mulligan, Andra Day, Frances McDormand, and Viola Davis. “I don’t know if that’s ever happened before.”

Read more

Movies

How Saving Private Ryan’s Best Picture Loss Changed the Oscars Forever

By David Crow

Movies

Why Turner Classic Movies is Reframing Problematic Hollywood Favorites

By David Crow

With that said, Karger suspects the SAG and BAFTA winners are the best indicators for the Oscars, as they’re the only ones with a significant number of voting members also in the Academy.

“A few weeks ago, I was more bullish on Carey Mulligan’s chances for Best Actress,” he says. “Now I feel like it’s more between Viola Davis and Frances McDormand, with Carey Mulligan as a possible Adrian Brody-style spoiler.”

Meanwhile Karger has 31 Days of Oscar at TCM to get him through the anticipation of Sunday night, and well past it. Usually held in the month of February (and part of March), the TCM series is now spread across the whole of April. It’s an exciting time for hosts like Karger, as it’s an opportunity to widen the tent a little with what plays on the network. Their “bread and butter” remains Hollywood’s Golden Age from the 1930s through the 1960s, but 31 Days of Oscar allows them to also show movies from as recently as a few years ago, as seen with Carol (2015) or Nebraska (2013). Yet it still leaves room for Singin’ in the Rain to play on Sunday night at 6pm EST, ahead of the Oscar telecast for those so inclined.

Traditionally, 31 Days of Oscar has also been a time where the network could get highly creative with its programming, such as when each Oscar nominated film TCM aired shared an actor with the film proceeding it on the line-up. “It’s a whole Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game for a month,” Karger laughs. But in 2021? The layout is clean and to the point: the movies are being aired in alphabetical order.

“This year, it’s probably as simple as you can get, alphabetical,” Karger explains. “Because why not? The world is very complex right now. So why shouldn’t there be one thing that’s easy? And that’s 31 Days of Oscar.” Still, he adds with a chuckle, the programmers managed to ensure that Easter Parade played on Easter.

“It was the primetime spot on Easter Sunday at eight o’clock,” Karger points out. “So my hat is off to them, as it always is.”

After a year like 2020, that also is probably worth a standing ovation.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post Oscars 2021: Ignore the Cynics, the Ceremony is Already a Win appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/32Ef3pZ

[pcurrytravels]

Las Vegas - A Love Hate Thang (Chapter II: The Ultimate Paradox)

Something I’ve noticed about my hometown: This place really thrives off of paradoxes and oxymorons. 

Our outlook? Perpetually stuck in the future (*points at the innumerable mothballed construction sites dotting our local landscape*). Our attitude? Perpetually stuck in the past (You know, it would have been a good idea to start diversifying our local economy after how hard we were hit by the recession, but instead we went right back to putting all of our eggs in the tourism, gaming, nightlife and real estate industries)

Our demographics (in just about every area imaginable) look like gumbo these days. But don’t hold your breath on that explosion of flavors you were expecting, because culture-wise? We still taste like chicken noodle soup. 

“Minors are not to be anywhere near the slots, alcohol, nightclubs or any of the other sinful stuff!” Is that right? Then explain why all of the movie theaters, bowling alleys, video arcades and even high school graduations are located within casinos please.

“We have so much love for our local community!” Yeah, you speak so highly of us when the “needs” of tourists, conventioneers, celebrities and, well, literally everyone except the city’s residents are fulfilled first, effectively rendering us as second-class citizens within our own city. 

None of these things sound like they make any sense, do they? Welcome to Las Vegas baby!

I could come up with numerous examples to be honest. I mean, I have lived here for nearly my whole life, so I think I can talk, but the paradox I personally find the most disturbing is this: We love to act like we’re this world class, progressive and forward-thinking metropolitan area on par with places like NYC and L.A. when the truth of that matter is, we’re essentially an overgrown Western hick town that just so happens to have a giant theme park for adults in the middle, a lot of traffic, some fancy houses and more diversity than usual. 

When I first went to San Francisco back in 2011, I was in awe. There were so many things that shocked and caught me off guard.....in a good way. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say they were all things that I KNOW would never fly here in Vegas, and yet we’re supposed to be “Sin City.” (And, although I didn’t see much of it myself during my excursions to these places, some of the people in this thread from Quora are saying that even NYC and LA are more lenient about a lot of these “sinful” things than we are these days. Can’t say I’d doubt it)

Yes, we are Sin City in terms of gambling and sports betting, alcohol, tobacco and now marijuana consumption, sex-related entertainment and services (and even then it’s all so sanitized and PG-13 these days it barely even qualifies), quickie marriage/divorce and a history with organized crime. Beyond that, however? Let’s just say we have a lot more in common with Arizona and Mississippi than we do with Amsterdam. 

Remember how in the first chapter of this series I told you all that I felt it was best to keep my thoughts and feelings about Las Vegans in general to myself? Okay, let me give you a tiny little sample: When talking to the typical Las Vegan, you’re more likely to be treated to the stereotypical thought process of either a flyover country redneck, a resident of a southern small town or a suburban high school student than you are that of someone who resides in a city with a global presence. Odd as it may seem, especially when this place’s international influence is taken into account, believe me, tis’ true. 

Having to constantly deal with such a smug, judgmental, provincial, insular and occasionally, dare I say it, behind the times populace is already exasperating enough on its own, but this is only further complicated by the relentless insistence that we aren’t. Not at all to say such a mindset is ever okay (nor am I saying that EVERYONE in these types of locales thinks and/or behaves in this manner), but at least towns and cities in flyover country, the old west and the deep south are HONEST about being stuck in their narrow-minded and prejudicial ways. 

Vegas on the other hand takes part in a charade wherein an image of being a forward-thinking and cosmopolitan metropolis is played up only to turn around and gag at the thought of actually embracing those same progressive ideals and values when no one’s looking. (Meta-Tangent: Mind you, we actually do have most of the ingredients to be that type of city already. The things we’re missing come as a result of having a populace that’s insistent on talking the talk but not walking the walk) Although I certainly don’t agree with it, I can at least respect the former to a point, compared to the latter which is just annoying, frustrating, and doesn’t make any damn sense. In layman’s terms, we’re total latte liberals. 

.......okay, maybe it’s not THAT bad. (Hey, this is called a “Love Hate Thang,” remember?)

There are certain pockets that are slowly evolving into the sort of environment that reminds me of SF and LA where things are more laid back and “free” if you will. See: DTLV/East Fremont, 18b Arts District, The Naked City, Huntridge, Winchester, the “Central” East Side if that makes sense, Charleston Heights, West Sahara (for the Las Vegans reading this: sounds general AF, I know), the Fruit Loop/Harmon Corridor, the University District, Paradise Palms/Maryland Parkway Corridor and (to a lesser extent) Chinatown/Asiatown. 

The rest of the city and the suburbs on the other hand leave quite a bit to be desired in the department of open-mindedness in my not so humble opinion. So it should be no surprise that I spend nearly all of my time in the aforementioned neighborhoods these days. I feel much closer to my element in these places than I do even in my home neighborhood/suburb of Spring Valley, most of which I don’t even touch with a ten foot pole ever since moving away. 

Meta-Tangent: Having grown up in Spring Valley and the Western suburbs, I know from experience that most people out there are DEATHLY afraid of venturing into any of these areas. A lot of it has to do with the perceived danger of them, despite all the evidence to the contrary (I know, I know, pretty general article, but given that I live here, I can tell ya: these murders, robberies, violent and sexual assaults have been occurring EVERYWHERE. However, a large amount of residents as well as our local media would be insistent in having you believe it’s all taking place Downtown or in the long-maligned northern, eastern and central portions of the city/metro area).

On the other hand, there’s also a lot of people who condescendingly put these parts of the city down just because they’re old, even though those horrible old houses they’re talking about are actually of far better aesthetic quality and much more structurally sound. Meanwhile, these same snobs are living in cheaply-built, cookie-cutter homes that were probably slapped together in a week and will likely start falling apart in five years. 

As for my honest opinion? These are only half-truths. I know for a fact that a lot of them are just being low-key racist and high-key classist/elitist. I also have a pretty strong theory that the strong hatred, fear and/or disdain people in the western suburbs have for these areas is because they know it’s a different world from the provincial, suburban bubbles they choose to live in. Oh well, that’s fine by me. Let those of us who actually are forward-thinking and progressive have all the fun. /tangent over.

Truth be told, none of this should really come as a surprise if you take a deeper look into this city’s history. Although, eschewing the thousand year legacy of the Paiutes, the modern-day origins of Las Vegas can be traced to Spaniards; being along the Old Spanish Trail and even being named “The Meadows” in Spanish due to the abundance of grassy meadows, hot springs and rivers in the area back then (all of which have long disappeared thanks to urbanization), the first permanent settlement here was a fort built by Mormon missionaries. 

That’s right, “Sin City” owes it’s existence to the same people with a stance on women that’s perpetually stuck in the 19th century, have beliefs that not-so-subtly imply black people are afflicted by the curse of Cain and wear very prudish undergarments (although the whole polygamy thing is probably what we have to thank for our quickie marriage/divorce culture). On top of that, while hidden from the naked eye, Mormons still have an active influence on the politics and overall society of this city with some very vocal moral guardians, always letting themselves be heard when things get “too” sinful. 

Oh, another thing: In the early/mid-20th century there was a place that was known as the Mississippi of The West. Where do you think it was? Utah? Arizona? Nope! It was right here in Nevada. They really did go hard with the Jim Crow thing here back in the day. Why, Sammy Davis Jr. couldn’t even walk through or have a drink in the same casinos where he performed to rave audiences for goodness sake. Now, that level of injustice and segregation is unheard of nowadays, but there’s many lingering signs of this era that can still be felt. They’re subtle, but they’re there. (Psst! The mascot of our local university was originally a confederate soldier. Seriously. In more recent years he’s been made to look like a cowboy instead but still)

Lastly, we grew from a small town in the desert where people from California and the Midwest came to gamble and watch showgirls to a rapidly growing metro area which plays host to a world-renowned resort, nightlife and fine dining destination that attracts people from all over the world. Almost literally overnight. Just about any Vegas native born before the late nineties can tell you stories of playing in the desert as a kid, including yours truly. All of us can remember when that housing development, Walmart, school, park, or whatever was a vacant lot. In turn, despite the growth, this leads to a fairly large portion of natives who are very much stubbornly stuck in their small town ways, many of whom are insistent on teaching their ways to their offspring unfortunately. 

The ingredients and the potential. We already have it. In terms of demographics, we’re a total melting pot. We’re located in one of the nine states where recreational cannabis use is legal and the only one where prostitution is legal (even though it’s not allowed in our county for whatever strange, puritanical reason). We have all the makings of a sexually-liberated, alternative/counterculture/subculture/generally non-conformist paradise. There is a growing and active community of creatives. And yet, a lot of this growth in the realm of free-thinking is borderline stunted thanks to the Mormon influence, the Mississippi-esque history and the small town attitude.

Alas, even though Vegas may be living proof that a  physical city can grow and change overnight, culture and community are two things that can’t change overnight, no matter how you slice or dice it. I regularly find myself pining for the Vegas of my childhood during the nineties; when it was far larger than a town but barely a city. I’d also love to experience Vegas during the 60s, 70s and 80s (minus the racism part, obviously), but at the end of the day, these are just frivolous ideologies. A more substantial wish would be that the local attitude and mindset finally catches up with the rapid population growth, urban development and all of the related side effects. My fondness for the neighborhoods listed above is a direct result of this desire I have. They represent what I wish all of Vegas could be.

As a new age and generation comes into play, perhaps this wish will be reality one day soon. Until next time. 

[mysynthfetish]

ONDEKOZA again.

So lemme just start by saying this is the second attempt at thumbfucking this post out on my phone in the Stumblr app. First time I was almost all the way through the post when I dipped out to grab a link to a video and when I flipped back to this app guess what, fucking post had fucked off into fuck knows where. Pissed. Me. Off. Anyway.

Exactly one month ago I was visited by opportunity in the form of a Saturday work day which I was told at the last minute (on Friday) that I didn’t actually need to attend. Mental wheels started frantically spinning. What was it that I had thought about doing or going to but in the end gave up on the idea because of travel time and difficulty finding a place to stay... oh shit yeah, Ondekoza is playing kinda sorta nearby. Righty-O then. I immediately got busy contacting the boss (this woman I live with who is the mother of our children) and asked her if she minded if I took the car and fugged off for the weekend. She was like “how soon can you be gone?” Hahaha no not really. She just said sure go ahead just be careful. Then I got in touch with Naoto, the one member of Ondekoza who I talk with regularly, and asked if it’d be ok for me to drive out and stay with them and help set up and tear down for their show and whatever. A positive reply came rather quickly so a last minute plan came together and Saturday morning off I went.

They were doing workshops and fun things, as well as playing a full concert (outdoors, on a stage set up in the middle of a terraced rice field area) to bring a week-long artsyfartsy event to a close. What was the event called again? Something like Umi-no-Stage 2019 (Umi means ocean, sea or beach), featuring workshops and performances by mostly off the wall/weirdo/wacky artists (right up my alley) held in a wee rustic hamlet (so small it’s almost not on maps) called Tagarasu (literally means Rice Field Crow, I dig it) near Obama City (yes, they made a big deal outta that when Drumpf’s predecessor was in office), in Fukui Prefecture (not “fuckyouey” hahaha no, “fooh-kooh-wee”) on the Sea of Japan side. Enough parentheses in that last sentence for you? Hehe. So as you can see on the map, google maps said it would be a two hour drive if I took the non-toll roads. Lemme tell you, freeways are anything but free here. The routes on the left and right on that map had tolls of $40 and $50 each, one way, so I was like the hell with that. It was an easy drive anyway once I got out of the urban sprawl and traffic jam factory of Kyoto City itself. Then it was twisty mountain roads, fresh, cool air, and scenic routes through mountain forests and alongside rivers in valleys. I thought it quite ironic and a helluva coincidence that I ended up driving the westernmost length of a road which I had ran the easternmost part of a few weeks prior on an overnighter with the third graders for work. Here’s a shot of the road sign:

ACCIIIIIIIIIIEEED!!!!!! So before I knew it I arrived in one piece, parked at a beach access parking lot that said “$10 a day, pay at the front” but I was like “I’m with Ondekoza, can I park here? Oh by the way do you know which house they’re in right now?” And the confused looking lady in charge grabbed a guy who was event staff and had him take me to where I needed to go, and in the end I found out that the fee is for people who want to go fishing out on the breakwaters there so whatever.

No sooner had I walked in the door and exchanged greetings than they tell me “we’ve got a job for you today.” Cool. I thought they’d ask me to write up something in English, or maybe do some lettering like make a sign or something, chalk art, whatever. Nope. “We want you to play shime-daiko for a five minute or so attention-getter we’re gonna play to fire people up for tomorrow’s show. It’s a mashup of Utsu Hachijo and Yatai Bayashi. Cool?” Jeeeeezus are you kidding me? Yeah ok I’m familiar with those pieces but it’s been ages, literally 27 years since I practiced them with the then-members of Ondekoza when they came to my hometown and stayed a few weeks during the latter part of their America Marathon Tour (I think maybe it was called the Odyssey tour?). Anyway. Moro-kun (the newest/youngest member?) and I sit down and start brainstorming. We talk out the arrangement of the piece and how it will progress, then do a “rehearsal” drumming out our parts on the table there. All was good. He was sweating bullets, really nervous about the whole thing. I was like “when are we supposed to do this?” And he said “in about half an hour.” HOLY SHIT FOR REAL?! Yikes. Ok ok ok, let’s run through this one more time, cool? We did. No problem. Moro-kun was still a bundle of nerves. I was like “Right. We got this. Let’s go! It’ll all work out in the end.”

Before we were on though, a small, quite out-there modern dance outfit called Monochrome Circus put on a performance at the hamlet’s shrine, so we hit that on our way. Here’s a photo of the entrance as seen from the street:

Fantastic atmosphere. The director of the group gave a short introduction, then explained what the first performance would be. In Japan, there’s a super popular style of comic called the yon-koma-manga (four-frame comic strip). Quite like the funnies in the daily newspapers back home actually. They would set a scene somewhere within the shrine grounds, then one person at a time would enter the scene, strike a pose and freeze, until four people had entered and then the audience would be prompted to say “FINISHED!” For the first one, the group members showed what the deal was so everyone would get it. From the second one on, they asked members of the audience to join in. I ran over to the stairs you can see in the photo, whipped out my iPhone and sat down, pretending to be messing with it—an homage to the modern mindless moron that today’s society overflows with so profusely. The second person came and stood behind me looking over my shoulder. I couldn’t see where the third or fourth people ended up. FINISHED!!! This kept on for a few more rounds, then the group did a few dances, which were really nice actually, and not SO out there. Then it was time to go. Righty-O. Let’s go!

Yeah so when we got to the seawall there, I didn’t get stage fright until it was time to take off my shoes and socks and sit down in front of the drum. Biggest goof? Forgetting to take off my damn sunglasses. Duhhhhhh. At least I managed to keep in time and didn’t fuck up disastrously, though the sticks were a helluva lot thicker and longer than the sticks I’m used to (Ondekoza makes all their drumsticks by hand). But it ain’t everyday you get to play with Ondekoza, so I’m glad I had the chance.

After that we just hung out, did dinner, then walked around checking out the sunset.

Not too shabby. In the evening, a wacko but fun group called something like the Tōhoku Six Prefecture Rock-n-rollers gave a show at the same stage Ondekoza would be using the next day so we went and saw that. Fun, crazy shit. Then off to bed.

The next morning we were up by 5:45, and then it was off on the daily 6am run. Everyone split up and went off on their own though and I was like WHAAAT?! So instead of going solo and getting completely the fuck lost, I tagged along with Naoto. What a scenic run! Through tunnels and down twisty roads that hugged the coastal sides of the smallish mountains there. The view was fantastic. We reached a turnaround point and Naoto said “I’ve got breakfast duty so I need to head back.” No problem. I followed him back, then ran an extra 1km and a bit. Still it totalled about 7km, three short of their daily 10km run (they don’t strictly adhere to this distance though, they’ve become a bit more flexible and I don’t think it’s a bad thing—when they were founded and when they ran in the US when I spent time with them they all ran together as a group but not anymore). Shower, breakfast, then a full-on day of setting up. After the setting up part was done, they had a soundcheck and mini rehearsal. I snapped this photo while that was going on.

What a place. Beautiful. Absolute nightmare for music though, as far as acoustics are concerned. But it all worked out. Two o’clock arrived and concertgoers started mozying in. We retreated to a large tent that was set up as a dressing room. They changed into their performing outfits, and I just zoned out for a bit. Before they go on, they always do this ritual of making a circle and doing warmup exercises, then adjacent members hold hands, and they do a little pre-game cheer of sorts. I was invited to join in all this so I was pleasantly surprised. Then it was GAME ON!!! I shot video of the whole show, and here’s a photo from Instagram of them playing Ōdaiko with me at the right shooting video.

Hahaa a cameo. Gimme a break. Anyway I’ll put a link to the video here in a sec but I just want to say they told the audience that video and photos were prohibited, so I set the video to “unlisted” and the only way to see it is if you have the link. They don’t really mind people seeing the video, it’s more a concern about people taking photos or video and then trying to sell it. Right then, here you go:

It’s about an hour twenty minutes or so. Hope you have nice speakers too. Yeah. So it was a fantastic show in an idyllic, beautiful environment. Then it was time to tear down and pack up. We had quite a bit of help this time so it was over within about an hour. Then they were gonna drive north along the Sea of Japan, heading to catch a ferry way up in Aomori, on their way to their annual Hokkaidō camp and concert, before heading off to a two week stint in China. I said a sincere thanks for being allowed to tag along, let them know that I really appreciated it, and then the director (Mr Matsuda) said “C’mon, you’re family! And besides that, you get shit done! Having you here was a huge help and it’s you who should be thanked.” I was floored. Did not expect to be told that. Wow. So it was in very high spirits thst I made the drive back home, arriving safely, but still full of adrenaline. What a weekend.

The next time I’ll get to fool around with them will be in September when they’ll be in Nagoya for a concert. I’m cooking up a plan to design and have vinyl stickers made for them to sell at shows and events while I’m back in the US this summer. 123stickers.com man, vinyl fucking stickers for reasonable prices and the damn things last forever. I’ve slapped a shitload of small ones here and there around Osaka and Kyoto over the years and they’re still there, in great shape. Graffiti background bared for all to see huh? Hahaha. Anyway. That’s all I have to say about that!

[1dhomeroom]

Harry Styles’ New Direction A year in the life of the One Direction star as he leaves behind his boy-band past, heads to Jamaica and comes of age By Cameron Crowe

January 2016. There’s a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you’d passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below.

The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as “tousled,” he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetly threw up, the spot became a fan shrine. It’s said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of “Harry Styles.” A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. (“Didn’t read it,” comments the nonfiction Styles, “but I hope he gets more than me.”)

But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash’s Paul Simonon: “Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.”) Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head.

“Honest,” he says, a year later, driving through midcity Los Angeles in a dusty black Range Rover. He’s lived here off and on for the past few years, always returning to London. Styles’ car stereo pumps a mix of country and obscure classic rock. “I didn’t want to write ‘stories,‘ ” he says. “I wanted to write my stories, things that happened to me. The number-one thing was I wanted to be honest. I hadn’t done that before.” There isn’t a yellow light he doesn’t run as he speaks excitedly about the band he’s put together under the tutelage of producer Jeff Bhasker (The Rolling Stones, Kanye West, “Uptown Funk”). He’s full of stories about the two-month recording session last fall at Geejam, a studio and compound built into a mountainside near Port Antonio, a remote section of Jamaica. Drake and Rihanna have recorded there, and it’s where Styles produced the bulk of his new LP, which is due out May 12th. As we weave through traffic today, the album no one has heard is burning a hole in his iPhone.

We arrive at a crowded diner, and Styles cuts through the room holding a black notebook jammed with papers and artifacts from his album, looking like a college student searching for a quiet place to study. He’s here to do something he hasn’t done much of in his young career: an extended one-on-one interview. Often in the past there was another One D member to vector questions into a charmingly evasive display of band camaraderie. Today, Styles is a game but careful custodian of his words, sometimes silently consulting the tablecloth before answering. But as he recounts the events leading up to his year out of the spotlight, the layers begin to slip away.

It was in a London studio in late 2014 that Styles first brought up the idea of One Direction taking a break. “I didn’t want to exhaust our fan base,” he explains. “If you’re shortsighted, you can think, 'Let’s just keep touring,’ but we all thought too much of the group than to let that happen. You realize you’re exhausted and you don’t want to drain people’s belief in you.”

After much discussion, the band mutually agreed to a hiatus, which was announced in August 2015 (Zayn Malik had abruptly left One D several months earlier). Fans were traumatized by the band’s decision, but were let down easy with a series of final bows, including a tour that ran through October. Styles remains a One D advocate: “I love the band, and would never rule out anything in the future. The band changed my life, gave me everything.”

Harry Styles reveals the inspiration behind his new music. Here’s five things we learned about Harry Styles’ new album.

Still, a solo career was calling. “I wanted to step up. There were songs I wanted to write and record, and not just have it be 'Here’s a demo I wrote.’ Every decision I’ve made since I was 16 was made in a democracy. I felt like it was time to make a decision about the future  …  and maybe I shouldn’t rely on others.”

As one of the most well-known 23-year-olds in the world, Styles himself is still largely unknown. Behind the effervescent stage persona, there is more lore than fact. He likes it that way. “With an artist like Prince,” he says, “all you wanted to do was know more. And that mystery – it’s why those people are so magical! Like, fuck, I don’t know what Prince eats for breakfast. That mystery  …  it’s just what I like.”

Styles pauses, savoring the idea of the unknown. He looks at my digital recorder like a barely invited guest. “More than 'do you keep a mystery alive?’ – it’s not that. I like to separate my personal life and work. It helps, I think, for me to compartmentalize. It’s not about trying to make my career longer, like I’m trying to be this 'mysterious character,’ because I’m not. When I go home, I feel like the same person I was at school. You can’t expect to keep that if you show everything. There’s the work and the personal stuff, and going between the two is my favorite shit. It’s amazing to me.”

Soon, we head to the Beachwood Canyon studio of Jeff Bhasker. As we arrive, Styles bounds up the steps to the studio, passing a bored pool cleaner. “How are ya,” he announces, unpacking a seriously cheerful smile. The pool cleaner looks perplexed, not quite sharing Styles’ existential joy.

Inside, the band awaits. Styles opens his notebook and heads for the piano. He wants to finish a song he’d started earlier that day. It’s obvious that the band has a well-worn frat-house dynamic, sort of like the Beatles in Help!, as directed by Judd Apatow. Styles is, to all, “H.” Pomegranate-scented candles flicker around the room. Bhasker enters, with guru-length hair, multicolored shirt, red socks and sandals. He was initially busy raising a new baby with his partner, the singer and songwriter Lykke Li, so he guided Styles to two of his producer-player protégés, Alex Salibian and Tyler Johnson, as well as engineer and bassist Ryan Nasci. The band began to form. The final piece of the puzzle was Mitch Rowland, Styles’ guitarist, who had worked in a pizza joint until two weeks into the sessions. “Being around musicians like this had a big effect on me,” Styles says. “Not being able to pass an instrument without sitting down and playing it?” He shakes his head. It was Styles’ first full immersion into the land of musos, and he clearly can’t get enough.

Styles starts singing some freshly written lyrics. It’s a new song called “I Don’t Want to Be the One You’re Waiting On.” His voice sounds warm, burnished and intimate, not unlike early Rod Stewart. The song is quickly finished, and the band assembles for a playback of the album.

“Mind if I play it loud?” asks Bhasker. It’s a rhetorical question. Nasci cranks “Sign of the Times,” the first single, to a seismic level. The song began as a seven-minute voice note on Styles’ phone, and ended up as a sweeping piano ballad, as well as a kind of call to arms. “Most of the stuff that hurts me about what’s going on at the moment is not politics, it’s fundamentals,” Styles says. “Equal rights. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. …  'Sign of the Times’ came from 'This isn’t the first time we’ve been in a hard time, and it’s not going to be the last time.’ The song is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a child and there’s a complication. The mother is told, 'The child is fine, but you’re not going to make it.’ The mother has five minutes to tell the child, 'Go forth and conquer.’” The track was a breakthrough for both the artist and the band. “Harry really led the charge with that one, and the rest of the album,” says Bhasker.

“I wish the album could be called Sign of the Times,” Styles declares.

“I don’t know,” says Bhasker. “I mean, it has been used.”

They debate for a bit. Nasci plays more tracks. The songs range from full-on rock (“Kiwi”) to intricate psychedelic pop (“Meet Me in the Hallway”) to the outright confessional (“Ever Since New York,” a desperate meditation on loss and longing). The lyrics are full of details and references – secrets whispered between friends, doomed declarations of love, empty swimming pools – sure to set fans scrambling for the facts behind the mystery.

“Of course I’m nervous,” Styles admits, jingling his keys. “I mean, I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m happy I found this band and these musicians, where you can be vulnerable enough to put yourself out there. I’m still learning …  but it’s my favorite lesson.”

The album is a distinct departure from the dance pop that permeates the airwaves. “A lot of my influences, and the stuff that I love, is older,” he says. “So the thing I didn’t want to do was, I didn’t want to put out my first album and be like, 'He’s tried to re-create the Sixties, Seventies, Eighties, Nineties.’ Loads of amazing music was written then, but I’m not saying I wish I lived back then. I wanted to do something that sounds like me. I just keep pushing forward.”

“It’s different from what you’d expect,” Bhasker says. “It made me realize the Harry [in One D] was kind of the digitized Harry. Almost like a character. I don’t think people know a lot of the sides of him that are on this album. You put it on and people are like, 'This is Harry Styles?' ”

Styles is aware that his largest audience so far has been young – often teenage – women. Asked if he spends pressure-filled evenings worried about proving credibility to an older crowd, Styles grows animated. “Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act 'too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.”

Styles drives to a quiet dinner spot in Laurel Canyon, at the foot of Lookout Mountain Avenue, onetime home to many of his Seventies songwriting heroes. He used to have a place around the corner. As the later tours of One Direction grew larger, longer and more frenetic, he offers with irony, “It was very rock & roll.” He’s not a heavy drinker, he says, maybe some tequila on ice or wine with friends after a show, but by the band’s last tour there wasn’t much time even for that. John Lennon once told Rolling Stone that behind the curtain, the Beatles’ tours were like Fellini’s Satyricon. Styles counters that the One D tours were more like “a Wes Anderson movie. Cut. Cut. New location. Quick cut. New location. Cut. Cut. Show. Shower. Hard cut. Sleep.”

Finding a table, Styles leans forward and discusses his social-media presence, or lack thereof. Styles and his phone have a bittersweet, mature relationship – they spend a lot of time apart. He doesn’t Google himself, and checks Twitter infrequently. “I’ll tell you about Twitter,” he continues, discussing the volley of tweets, some good, some cynical, that met his endorsement of the Women’s March on Washington earlier this year. “It’s the most incredible way to communicate closely with people, but not as well as in person.” When the location of his London home was published a few years ago, he was rattled. His friend James Corden offered him a motto coined by British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli: “Never complain, never explain.”

I mention a few of the verbal Molotov cocktails Zayn Malik has tossed at the band in recent interviews. Here’s one: “[One D is] not music that I would listen to. If I was sat at a dinner date with a girl, I would play some cool shit, you know what I mean? I want to make music that I think is cool shit. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.”

Styles adjusts himself in his chair. “I think it’s a shame he felt that way,” he says, threading the needle of diplomacy, “but I never wish anything but luck to anyone doing what they love. If you’re not enjoying something and need to do something else, you absolutely should do that. I’m glad he’s doing what he likes, and good luck to him.”

Perched on his head are the same-style white sunglasses made famous by Kurt Cobain, but the similarities end right there. Styles, born two months before Cobain exited Earth, doesn’t feel tied to any particular genre or era. In the car, he’ll just as easily crank up the country music of Keith Whitley as the esoteric blues-and-soul of Shuggie Otis. He even bought a carrot cake to present to Stevie Nicks at a Fleetwood Mac concert. (“Piped her name onto it. She loved it. Glad she liked carrot cake.”)

This much is clear: The classic role of tortured artist is not one he’ll be playing. “People romanticize places they can’t get to themselves,” he says. “That’s why it’s fascinating when people go dark – when Van Gogh cuts off his ear. You romanticize those people, sometimes out of proportion. It’s the same with music. You want a piece of that darkness, to feel their pain but also to step back into your own [safer] life. I can’t say I had that. I had a really nice upbringing. I feel very lucky. I had a great family and always felt loved. There’s nothing worse than an inauthentic tortured person. 'They took my allowance away, so I did heroin.’ It’s like – that’s not how it works. I don’t even remember what the question was.”

Styles wanders into the Country Store next door. It’s a store he knows well. Inspecting the shelves, he asks if I’ve had British rice pudding. He finds a can that looks ancient. He collects a roll of Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles (“since 1881”), Lindor Swiss chocolates (“irresistibly smooth”) and a jar of Branston Pickles. “There’s only two shops in L.A. that stock all the British snacks. This area’s kind of potluck,” he says, spreading the collection on the counter.

The clerk rings up the snacks. In the most careful, deferential way, the young worker asks the question. “Would you  … happen to be …  Harry Styles?”

“Yep.”

“Could I get a selfie?” Styles obliges, and leans over the counter. Click. We exit into the Laurel Canyon evening.

“Hey,” shouts a grizzled-looking dude on the bench outside the store. “Do you know who you look like?”

Styles turns, expecting more of the same, but this particular night denizen is on a different track.

“River Phoenix,” the man announces, a little sadly. “You ever heard of him? If he hadn’t have passed, I would have said that was you. Talented guy.”

“Yes, he was,” agrees Styles, who is in many ways the generational opposite of Phoenix. “Yes, he was.”

They share a silent moment, before Styles walks to his car. He hands me the bag filled with English snacks. “This is for you,” he says. “This was my youth …”

Harry Edward Styles was born in Worcestershire, England, in true classic-rock form, on a Tuesday Afternoon. The family moved to Cheshire, a quiet spot in Northern England, when he was a baby. His older sister, Gemma, was the studious one. (“She was always smarter than me, and I was always jealous of that.”)

His father, Desmond, worked in finance. He was a fan of the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, a lot of Queen, and Pink Floyd. Young Harry toddled around to The Dark Side of the Moon. “I couldn’t really get it,” he says, “but I just remember being like – this is really fucking cool. Then my mom would always have Shania Twain, and Savage Garden, Norah Jones going on. I had a great childhood. I’ll admit it.”

But in fact, all was not perfection, scored to a cool, retro soundtrack. When Harry was seven, his parents explained to him that Des would be moving out. Asked about that moment today, Styles stares straight ahead. “I don’t remember,” he says. “Honestly, when you’re that young, you can kind of block it out. … I can’t say that I remember the exact thing. I didn’t realize that was the case until just now. Yeah, I mean, I was seven. It’s one of those things. Feeling supported and loved by my parents never changed.”

His eyes moisten a little, but unlike the young man who wept over an early bout with Internet criticism, a powerful moment in the early One Direction documentary A Year in the Making, Styles tonight knocks back the sentiment. Styles is still close with his father, and served as best man to his mom when she remarried a few years ago. “Since I’ve been 10,” he reflects, “it’s kind of felt like – protect Mom at all costs. … My mom is very strong. She has the greatest heart. [Her house in Cheshire] is where I want to go when I want to spend some time.”

In his early teens, Styles joined some school friends as the singer in a mostly-covers band, White Eskimo. “We wrote a couple of songs,” he remembers. “One was called 'Gone in a Week.’ It was about luggage. 'I’ll be gone in a week or two/Trying to find myself someplace new/I don’t need any jackets or shoes/The only luggage I need is you.’” He laughs. “I was like, 'Sick.’”

It was his mother who suggested he try out for the U.K. singing competition The X Factor to compete in the solo “Boy” category. Styles sang Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely.” The unforgiving reaction from one of the judges, Louis Walsh, is now infamous. Watching the video today is to watch young Harry’s cheery disposition take a hot bullet.

“In that instant,” he says, “you’re in the whirlwind. You don’t really know what’s happening; you’re just a kid on the show. You don’t even know you’re good at anything. I’d gone because my mum told me I was good from singing in the car …  but your mum tells you things to make you feel good, so you take it with a pinch of salt. I didn’t really know what I was expecting when I went on there.”

Styles didn’t advance in the competition, but Simon Cowell, the show’s creator, sensed a crowd favorite. He put Styles together with four others who’d failed to advance in the same category, and united the members of One D in a musical shotgun marriage. The marriage worked. And worked. And worked.

You wonder how a young musician might find his way here, to these lofty peaks, with his head still attached to his shoulders. No sex tapes, no TMZ meltdowns, no tell-all books written by the rehab nanny? In a world where one messy scandal can get you five seasons of a hit reality show …  how did Harry Styles slip through the juggernaut?

“Family,” answers Ben Winston. “It comes from his mom, Anne. She brought him and his sister up incredibly well. Harry would choose boring over exciting … There is more chance of me going to Mars next week than there is of Harry having some sort of addiction.”

We’re in Television City, Hollywood. Winston, 35, the Emmy-winning executive producer of The Late Late Show With James Corden, abandons his desk and retreats to a nearby sofa to discuss his good friend. More than a friend, Styles became an unlikely family member – after he became perhaps the world’s most surprising houseguest.

Their friendship was forged in the early stages of One D’s success, when the band debuted on The X Factor. Winston, then a filmmaker and production partner with Corden, asked for a meeting, and instantly hit it off with the group. He became a friendly mentor to Styles, though the friendship was soon tested. Styles had just moved out of his family home in Cheshire, an inconvenient three hours north of London. He found a home he liked near the Winstons in Hampstead Heath. The new house needed two weeks of work. Styles asked if he could briefly move in with Winston and his wife, Meredith. “She agreed,” Winston says, “but only for two weeks.”

Styles parked his mattress in the Winstons’ attic. “Two weeks later and he hadn’t bought his house yet,” continues Winston. “It wasn’t going through. Then he said, 'I’m going to stay until Christmas, if you don’t mind.’ Then Christmas came, and …”

For the next 20 months, one of the most desired stars on the planet slept on a small mattress in an attic. The only other bit of house-dressing was the acoustic guitar that would rattle into the Winstons’ bedroom. While fans gathered at the empty house where he didn’t live, Styles lived incognito with a couple 12 years his senior. The Winstons’ Orthodox Jewish lifestyle, with a strong family emphasis, helped keep him sane.

“Those 20 months were when they went from being on a reality show, X Factor, to being the biggest-selling artists in the world,” recalls Winston. “That period of time, he was living with us in the most mundane suburban situation. No one ever found out, really. Even when we went out for a meal, it’s such a sweet family neighborhood, no one dreamed it was actually him. But he made our house a home. And when he moved out, we were gutted.”

Styles jauntily appears at the Late Late office. He’s clearly a regular visitor, and he and Winston have a brotherly shorthand.

“Leaving Saturday?” asks Winston.

“Yeah, gotta buy a cactus for my friend’s birthday,” says Styles.

“My dad might be on your flight,” says Winston.

“The 8:50? That’d be sick.”

Winston continues the tales from the attic. “So we had this joke. Meri and I would like to see the girls that you would come back with to the house. That was always what we enjoyed, because we’d be in bed like an old couple. We’d have our spot cream on our faces and we’d be in our pajamas and the door would go off. The stairwell was right outside our door, so we’d wait to see if Harry was coming home alone or with people.”

“I was alone,” notes Styles. “I was scared of Meri.”

“He wasn’t always alone,” corrects Winston, “but it was exciting seeing the array of A-listers that would come up and sleep in the attic. Or he’d come and lounge with us. We’d never discuss business. He would act as if he hadn’t come back from playing to 80,000 people three nights in a row in Rio de Janeiro.”

“Let’s go to the beach,” says Styles, pulling the Range Rover onto a fog-soaked Pacific Coast Highway. Last night was his tequila-fueled birthday party, filled with friends and karaoke and a surprise drop-in from Adele. He’s now officially 23. “And not too hung over,” he notes.

Styles finds a spot at a sushi place up the coast. As he passes through the busy dining room, a businessman turns, recognizing him with a face that says: My kids love this guy! I ask Styles what he hears most from the parents of young fans. “They say, 'I see your cardboard face every fucking day.' ” He laughs. “I think they want me to apologize.”

The subject today is relationships. While Styles says he still feels like a newcomer to all that, a handful of love affairs have deeply affected him. The images and stolen moments tumble extravagantly through the new songs: And promises are broken like a stitch is … I got splinters in my knuckles crawling 'cross the floor/Couldn’t take you home to mother in a skirt that short/But I think that’s what I like about it … I see you gave him my old T-shirt, more of what was once mine … That black notebook, you sense, is filled with this stuff.

“My first proper girlfriend,” he remembers, “used to have one of those laughs. There was also a little bit of mystery with her because she didn’t go to our school. I just worshipped the ground she walked on. And she knew, probably to a fault, a little. That was a tough one. I was 15.

“She used to live an hour and a half away on the train, and I worked in a bakery for three years. I’d finish on Saturdays at 4:30 and it was a 4:42 train, and if I missed it there wasn’t one for another hour or two. So I’d finish and sprint to the train station. Spent 70 percent of my wages on train tickets. Later, I’d remember her perfume. Little things. I smell that perfume all the time. I’ll be in a lift or a reception and say to someone, 'Alien, right?’ And sometimes they’re impressed and sometimes they’re a little creeped out. 'Stop smelling me.’”

If Styles hadn’t yet adapted to global social-media attention, he was tested in 2012, when he met Taylor Swift at an awards show. Their second date, a walk in Central Park, was caught by paparazzi. Suddenly the couple were global news. They broke up the next month, reportedly after a rocky Caribbean vacation; the romance was said to have ended with at least one broken heart.

The relationship is a subject he’s famously avoided discussing. “I gotta pee first. This might be a long one,” he says. He rises to head to the bathroom, then adds, “Actually, you can say, 'He went for a pee and never came back.' ”

He returns a couple of minutes later. “Thought I’d let you stew for a while,” he says, laughing, then takes a gulp of green juice. He was surprised, he says, when photos from Central Park rocketed around the world. “When I see photos from that day,” he says, “I think: Relationships are hard, at any age. And adding in that you don’t really understand exactly how it works when you’re 18, trying to navigate all that stuff didn’t make it easier. I mean, you’re a little bit awkward to begin with. You’re on a date with someone you really like. It should be that simple, right? It was a learning experience for sure. But at the heart of it – I just wanted it to be a normal date.”

He’s well aware that at least two of Swift’s songs – “Out of the Woods” and “Style” – are considered to be about their romance. (“You’ve got that long hair slicked back, white T-shirt,” she sang in “Style.”) “I mean, I don’t know if they’re about me or not …” he says, attempting gallant discretion, “but the issue is, she’s so good, they’re bloody everywhere.” He smiles. “I write from my experiences; everyone does that. I’m lucky if everything [we went through] helped create those songs. That’s what hits your heart. That’s the stuff that’s hardest to say, and it’s the stuff I talk least about. That’s the part that’s about the two people. I’m never going to tell anybody everything.” (Fans wondered whether “Perfect,” a song Styles co-wrote for One Direction, might have been about Swift: “And if you like cameras flashing every time we go out/And if you’re looking for someone to write your breakup songs about/Baby, I’m perfect.”)

Was he able to tell her that he admired the songs? “Yes and no,” he says after a long pause. “She doesn’t need me to tell her they’re great. They’re great songs … It’s the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever.”

Is there anything he’d want to say to Swift today? “Maybe this is where you write down that I left!” He laughs, and looks off. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “Certain things don’t work out. There’s a lot of things that can be right, and it’s still wrong. In writing songs about stuff like that, I like tipping a hat to the time together. You’re celebrating the fact it was powerful and made you feel something, rather than 'this didn’t work out, and that’s bad.’ And if you run into that person, maybe it’s awkward, maybe you have to get drunk … but you shared something. Meeting someone new, sharing those experiences, it’s the best shit ever. So thank you.”

He notes a more recent relationship, possibly over now, but significant for the past few years. (Styles has often been spotted with Kendall Jenner, but he won’t confirm that’s who he’s talking about.) “She’s a huge part of the album,” says Styles. “Sometimes you want to tip the hat, and sometimes you just want to give them the whole cap …  and hope they know it’s just for them.”

In late February 2016, Styles landed a plum part in Christopher Nolan’s upcoming World War II epic, Dunkirk. In Nolan, Styles found a director equally interested in mystery. “The movie is so ambitious,” he says. “Some of the stuff they’re doing in this movie is insane. And it was hard, man, physically really tough, but I love acting. I love playing someone else. I’d sleep really well at night, then get up and continue drowning.”

When Styles returned to L.A., an idea landed. The idea was: Get out of Dodge. Styles called his manager, Jeffrey Azoff, and explained he wanted to finish the album outside London or L.A., a place where the band could focus and coalesce. Four days after returning from the movie, they were on their way to Port Antonio on Jamaica’s remote north coast. At Geejam, Styles and his entire band were able to live together, turning the studio compound into something like a Caribbean version of Big Pink. They occupied a two-story villa filled with instruments, hung out at the tree-house-like Bush Bar, and had access to the gorgeous studio on-site. Many mornings began with a swim in the deserted cove just down the hill.

Life in Jamaica was 10 percent beach party and 90 percent musical expedition. It was the perfect rite of passage for a musician looking to explode the past and launch a future. The anxiety of what’s next slipped away. Layers of feeling emerged that had never made it past One Direction’s group songwriting sessions, often with pop craftsmen who polished the songs after Styles had left. He didn’t feel stifled in One D, he says, as much as interrupted. “We were touring all the time,” he recalls. “I wrote more as we went, especially on the last two albums.” There are songs from that period he loves, he says, like “Olivia” and “Stockholm Syndrome,” along with the earlier song “Happily.” “But I think it was tough to really delve in and find out who you are as a writer when you’re just kind of dipping your toe each time. We didn’t get the six months to see what kind of shit you can work with. To have time to live with a song, see what you love as a fan, chip at it, hone it and go for that  … it’s heaven.”

The more vulnerable the song, he learned, the better. “The one subject that hits the hardest is love,” he says, “whether it’s platonic, romantic, loving it, gaining it, losing it  …  it always hits you hardest. I don’t think people want to hear me talk about going to bars, and how great everything is. The champagne popping  …  who wants to hear about it? I don’t want to hear my favorite artists talk about all the amazing shit they get to do. I want to hear, 'How did you feel when you were alone in that hotel room, because you chose to be alone?’”

To wind down in Jamaica, Styles and Rowland, the guitarist, began a daily Netflix obsession with sugary romantic comedies. Houseworkers would sometimes leave at night and return the next morning to see Styles blearily removing himself from a long string of rom-coms. He declares himself an expert on Nicholas Sparks, whom he now calls “Nicky Spee.” After almost two months, the band left the island with a bounty of songs and stories. Like the time Styles ended up drunk and wet from the ocean, toasting everybody, wearing a dress he’d traded with someone’s girlfriend. “I don’t remember the toast,” he says, “but I remember the feeling.”

Harry Styles’ New Direction

A year in the life of the One Direction star as he leaves behind his boy-band past, heads to Jamaica and comes of age

5 hours ago

One Direction’s Harry Styles goes deep on love, family and his heartfelt new solo debut in our revealing feature. Theo Wenner for Rolling Stone January 2016. There’s a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you’d passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below.

Theo Wenner for Rolling Stone The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as “tousled,” he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetly threw up, the spot became a fan shrine. It’s said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of “Harry Styles.” A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. (“Didn’t read it,” comments the nonfiction Styles, “but I hope he gets more than me.”)

But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash’s Paul Simonon: “Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.”) Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head.

“Honest,” he says, a year later, driving through midcity Los Angeles in a dusty black Range Rover. He’s lived here off and on for the past few years, always returning to London. Styles’ car stereo pumps a mix of country and obscure classic rock. “I didn’t want to write 'stories,' ” he says. “I wanted to write my stories, things that happened to me. The number-one thing was I wanted to be honest. I hadn’t done that before.” There isn’t a yellow light he doesn’t run as he speaks excitedly about the band he’s put together under the tutelage of producer Jeff Bhasker (The Rolling Stones, Kanye West, “Uptown Funk”). He’s full of stories about the two-month recording session last fall at Geejam, a studio and compound built into a mountainside near Port Antonio, a remote section of Jamaica. Drake and Rihanna have recorded there, and it’s where Styles produced the bulk of his new LP, which is due out May 12th. As we weave through traffic today, the album no one has heard is burning a hole in his iPhone.

We arrive at a crowded diner, and Styles cuts through the room holding a black notebook jammed with papers and artifacts from his album, looking like a college student searching for a quiet place to study. He’s here to do something he hasn’t done much of in his young career: an extended one-on-one interview. Often in the past there was another One D member to vector questions into a charmingly evasive display of band camaraderie. Today, Styles is a game but careful custodian of his words, sometimes silently consulting the tablecloth before answering. But as he recounts the events leading up to his year out of the spotlight, the layers begin to slip away.

It was in a London studio in late 2014 that Styles first brought up the idea of One Direction taking a break. “I didn’t want to exhaust our fan base,” he explains. “If you’re shortsighted, you can think, 'Let’s just keep touring,’ but we all thought too much of the group than to let that happen. You realize you’re exhausted and you don’t want to drain people’s belief in you.”

After much discussion, the band mutually agreed to a hiatus, which was announced in August 2015 (Zayn Malik had abruptly left One D several months earlier). Fans were traumatized by the band’s decision, but were let down easy with a series of final bows, including a tour that ran through October. Styles remains a One D advocate: “I love the band, and would never rule out anything in the future. The band changed my life, gave me everything.”

Harry Styles reveals the inspiration behind his new music. Here’s five things we learned about Harry Styles’ new album.

Still, a solo career was calling. “I wanted to step up. There were songs I wanted to write and record, and not just have it be 'Here’s a demo I wrote.’ Every decision I’ve made since I was 16 was made in a democracy. I felt like it was time to make a decision about the future  …  and maybe I shouldn’t rely on others.”

As one of the most well-known 23-year-olds in the world, Styles himself is still largely unknown. Behind the effervescent stage persona, there is more lore than fact. He likes it that way. “With an artist like Prince,” he says, “all you wanted to do was know more. And that mystery – it’s why those people are so magical! Like, fuck, I don’t know what Prince eats for breakfast. That mystery  …  it’s just what I like.”

Styles pauses, savoring the idea of the unknown. He looks at my digital recorder like a barely invited guest. “More than 'do you keep a mystery alive?’ – it’s not that. I like to separate my personal life and work. It helps, I think, for me to compartmentalize. It’s not about trying to make my career longer, like I’m trying to be this 'mysterious character,’ because I’m not. When I go home, I feel like the same person I was at school. You can’t expect to keep that if you show everything. There’s the work and the personal stuff, and going between the two is my favorite shit. It’s amazing to me.”

Soon, we head to the Beachwood Canyon studio of Jeff Bhasker. As we arrive, Styles bounds up the steps to the studio, passing a bored pool cleaner. “How are ya,” he announces, unpacking a seriously cheerful smile. The pool cleaner looks perplexed, not quite sharing Styles’ existential joy.

Inside, the band awaits. Styles opens his notebook and heads for the piano. He wants to finish a song he’d started earlier that day. It’s obvious that the band has a well-worn frat-house dynamic, sort of like the Beatles in Help!, as directed by Judd Apatow. Styles is, to all, “H.” Pomegranate-scented candles flicker around the room. Bhasker enters, with guru-length hair, multicolored shirt, red socks and sandals. He was initially busy raising a new baby with his partner, the singer and songwriter Lykke Li, so he guided Styles to two of his producer-player protégés, Alex Salibian and Tyler Johnson, as well as engineer and bassist Ryan Nasci. The band began to form. The final piece of the puzzle was Mitch Rowland, Styles’ guitarist, who had worked in a pizza joint until two weeks into the sessions. “Being around musicians like this had a big effect on me,” Styles says. “Not being able to pass an instrument without sitting down and playing it?” He shakes his head. It was Styles’ first full immersion into the land of musos, and he clearly can’t get enough.

Styles starts singing some freshly written lyrics. It’s a new song called “I Don’t Want to Be the One You’re Waiting On.” His voice sounds warm, burnished and intimate, not unlike early Rod Stewart. The song is quickly finished, and the band assembles for a playback of the album.

“Mind if I play it loud?” asks Bhasker. It’s a rhetorical question. Nasci cranks “Sign of the Times,” the first single, to a seismic level. The song began as a seven-minute voice note on Styles’ phone, and ended up as a sweeping piano ballad, as well as a kind of call to arms. “Most of the stuff that hurts me about what’s going on at the moment is not politics, it’s fundamentals,” Styles says. “Equal rights. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. …  'Sign of the Times’ came from 'This isn’t the first time we’ve been in a hard time, and it’s not going to be the last time.’ The song is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a child and there’s a complication. The mother is told, 'The child is fine, but you’re not going to make it.’ The mother has five minutes to tell the child, 'Go forth and conquer.’” The track was a breakthrough for both the artist and the band. “Harry really led the charge with that one, and the rest of the album,” says Bhasker.

“I wish the album could be called Sign of the Times,” Styles declares.

“I don’t know,” says Bhasker. “I mean, it has been used.”

They debate for a bit. Nasci plays more tracks. The songs range from full-on rock (“Kiwi”) to intricate psychedelic pop (“Meet Me in the Hallway”) to the outright confessional (“Ever Since New York,” a desperate meditation on loss and longing). The lyrics are full of details and references – secrets whispered between friends, doomed declarations of love, empty swimming pools – sure to set fans scrambling for the facts behind the mystery.

“Of course I’m nervous,” Styles admits, jingling his keys. “I mean, I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m happy I found this band and these musicians, where you can be vulnerable enough to put yourself out there. I’m still learning …  but it’s my favorite lesson.”

The album is a distinct departure from the dance pop that permeates the airwaves. “A lot of my influences, and the stuff that I love, is older,” he says. “So the thing I didn’t want to do was, I didn’t want to put out my first album and be like, 'He’s tried to re-create the Sixties, Seventies, Eighties, Nineties.’ Loads of amazing music was written then, but I’m not saying I wish I lived back then. I wanted to do something that sounds like me. I just keep pushing forward.”

“It’s different from what you’d expect,” Bhasker says. “It made me realize the Harry [in One D] was kind of the digitized Harry. Almost like a character. I don’t think people know a lot of the sides of him that are on this album. You put it on and people are like, 'This is Harry Styles?' ”

Styles is aware that his largest audience so far has been young – often teenage – women. Asked if he spends pressure-filled evenings worried about proving credibility to an older crowd, Styles grows animated. “Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act 'too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.”

“Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie,” Styles says. Styles drives to a quiet dinner spot in Laurel Canyon, at the foot of Lookout Mountain Avenue, onetime home to many of his Seventies songwriting heroes. He used to have a place around the corner. As the later tours of One Direction grew larger, longer and more frenetic, he offers with irony, “It was very rock & roll.” He’s not a heavy drinker, he says, maybe some tequila on ice or wine with friends after a show, but by the band’s last tour there wasn’t much time even for that. John Lennon once told Rolling Stone that behind the curtain, the Beatles’ tours were like Fellini’s Satyricon. Styles counters that the One D tours were more like “a Wes Anderson movie. Cut. Cut. New location. Quick cut. New location. Cut. Cut. Show. Shower. Hard cut. Sleep.”

Finding a table, Styles leans forward and discusses his social-media presence, or lack thereof. Styles and his phone have a bittersweet, mature relationship – they spend a lot of time apart. He doesn’t Google himself, and checks Twitter infrequently. “I’ll tell you about Twitter,” he continues, discussing the volley of tweets, some good, some cynical, that met his endorsement of the Women’s March on Washington earlier this year. “It’s the most incredible way to communicate closely with people, but not as well as in person.” When the location of his London home was published a few years ago, he was rattled. His friend James Corden offered him a motto coined by British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli: “Never complain, never explain.”

I mention a few of the verbal Molotov cocktails Zayn Malik has tossed at the band in recent interviews. Here’s one: “[One D is] not music that I would listen to. If I was sat at a dinner date with a girl, I would play some cool shit, you know what I mean? I want to make music that I think is cool shit. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.”

Styles adjusts himself in his chair. “I think it’s a shame he felt that way,” he says, threading the needle of diplomacy, “but I never wish anything but luck to anyone doing what they love. If you’re not enjoying something and need to do something else, you absolutely should do that. I’m glad he’s doing what he likes, and good luck to him.”

Perched on his head are the same-style white sunglasses made famous by Kurt Cobain, but the similarities end right there. Styles, born two months before Cobain exited Earth, doesn’t feel tied to any particular genre or era. In the car, he’ll just as easily crank up the country music of Keith Whitley as the esoteric blues-and-soul of Shuggie Otis. He even bought a carrot cake to present to Stevie Nicks at a Fleetwood Mac concert. (“Piped her name onto it. She loved it. Glad she liked carrot cake.”)

This much is clear: The classic role of tortured artist is not one he’ll be playing. “People romanticize places they can’t get to themselves,” he says. “That’s why it’s fascinating when people go dark – when Van Gogh cuts off his ear. You romanticize those people, sometimes out of proportion. It’s the same with music. You want a piece of that darkness, to feel their pain but also to step back into your own [safer] life. I can’t say I had that. I had a really nice upbringing. I feel very lucky. I had a great family and always felt loved. There’s nothing worse than an inauthentic tortured person. 'They took my allowance away, so I did heroin.’ It’s like – that’s not how it works. I don’t even remember what the question was.”

Styles wanders into the Country Store next door. It’s a store he knows well. Inspecting the shelves, he asks if I’ve had British rice pudding. He finds a can that looks ancient. He collects a roll of Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles (“since 1881”), Lindor Swiss chocolates (“irresistibly smooth”) and a jar of Branston Pickles. “There’s only two shops in L.A. that stock all the British snacks. This area’s kind of potluck,” he says, spreading the collection on the counter.

The clerk rings up the snacks. In the most careful, deferential way, the young worker asks the question. “Would you  … happen to be …  Harry Styles?”

“Yep.”

“Could I get a selfie?” Styles obliges, and leans over the counter. Click. We exit into the Laurel Canyon evening.

“Hey,” shouts a grizzled-looking dude on the bench outside the store. “Do you know who you look like?”

Styles turns, expecting more of the same, but this particular night denizen is on a different track.

“River Phoenix,” the man announces, a little sadly. “You ever heard of him? If he hadn’t have passed, I would have said that was you. Talented guy.”

“Yes, he was,” agrees Styles, who is in many ways the generational opposite of Phoenix. “Yes, he was.”

They share a silent moment, before Styles walks to his car. He hands me the bag filled with English snacks. “This is for you,” he says. “This was my youth …”

Styles at age three. Courtesy of Harry Styles Harry Edward Styles was born in Worcestershire, England, in true classic-rock form, on a Tuesday Afternoon. The family moved to Cheshire, a quiet spot in Northern England, when he was a baby. His older sister, Gemma, was the studious one. (“She was always smarter than me, and I was always jealous of that.”)

His father, Desmond, worked in finance. He was a fan of the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, a lot of Queen, and Pink Floyd. Young Harry toddled around to The Dark Side of the Moon. “I couldn’t really get it,” he says, “but I just remember being like – this is really fucking cool. Then my mom would always have Shania Twain, and Savage Garden, Norah Jones going on. I had a great childhood. I’ll admit it.”

But in fact, all was not perfection, scored to a cool, retro soundtrack. When Harry was seven, his parents explained to him that Des would be moving out. Asked about that moment today, Styles stares straight ahead. “I don’t remember,” he says. “Honestly, when you’re that young, you can kind of block it out. … I can’t say that I remember the exact thing. I didn’t realize that was the case until just now. Yeah, I mean, I was seven. It’s one of those things. Feeling supported and loved by my parents never changed.”

His eyes moisten a little, but unlike the young man who wept over an early bout with Internet criticism, a powerful moment in the early One Direction documentary A Year in the Making, Styles tonight knocks back the sentiment. Styles is still close with his father, and served as best man to his mom when she remarried a few years ago. “Since I’ve been 10,” he reflects, “it’s kind of felt like – protect Mom at all costs. … My mom is very strong. She has the greatest heart. [Her house in Cheshire] is where I want to go when I want to spend some time.”

In his early teens, Styles joined some school friends as the singer in a mostly-covers band, White Eskimo. “We wrote a couple of songs,” he remembers. “One was called 'Gone in a Week.’ It was about luggage. 'I’ll be gone in a week or two/Trying to find myself someplace new/I don’t need any jackets or shoes/The only luggage I need is you.’” He laughs. “I was like, 'Sick.’”

It was his mother who suggested he try out for the U.K. singing competition The X Factor to compete in the solo “Boy” category. Styles sang Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely.” The unforgiving reaction from one of the judges, Louis Walsh, is now infamous. Watching the video today is to watch young Harry’s cheery disposition take a hot bullet.

“In that instant,” he says, “you’re in the whirlwind. You don’t really know what’s happening; you’re just a kid on the show. You don’t even know you’re good at anything. I’d gone because my mum told me I was good from singing in the car …  but your mum tells you things to make you feel good, so you take it with a pinch of salt. I didn’t really know what I was expecting when I went on there.”

Styles didn’t advance in the competition, but Simon Cowell, the show’s creator, sensed a crowd favorite. He put Styles together with four others who’d failed to advance in the same category, and united the members of One D in a musical shotgun marriage. The marriage worked. And worked. And worked.

You wonder how a young musician might find his way here, to these lofty peaks, with his head still attached to his shoulders. No sex tapes, no TMZ meltdowns, no tell-all books written by the rehab nanny? In a world where one messy scandal can get you five seasons of a hit reality show …  how did Harry Styles slip through the juggernaut?

“Family,” answers Ben Winston. “It comes from his mom, Anne. She brought him and his sister up incredibly well. Harry would choose boring over exciting … There is more chance of me going to Mars next week than there is of Harry having some sort of addiction.”

We’re in Television City, Hollywood. Winston, 35, the Emmy-winning executive producer of The Late Late Show With James Corden, abandons his desk and retreats to a nearby sofa to discuss his good friend. More than a friend, Styles became an unlikely family member – after he became perhaps the world’s most surprising houseguest.

Their friendship was forged in the early stages of One D’s success, when the band debuted on The X Factor. Winston, then a filmmaker and production partner with Corden, asked for a meeting, and instantly hit it off with the group. He became a friendly mentor to Styles, though the friendship was soon tested. Styles had just moved out of his family home in Cheshire, an inconvenient three hours north of London. He found a home he liked near the Winstons in Hampstead Heath. The new house needed two weeks of work. Styles asked if he could briefly move in with Winston and his wife, Meredith. “She agreed,” Winston says, “but only for two weeks.”

One Direction on 'The X Factor,’ 2010 Ken McKay/TalkbackThames/REX/Shutterstock Styles parked his mattress in the Winstons’ attic. “Two weeks later and he hadn’t bought his house yet,” continues Winston. “It wasn’t going through. Then he said, 'I’m going to stay until Christmas, if you don’t mind.’ Then Christmas came, and …”

For the next 20 months, one of the most desired stars on the planet slept on a small mattress in an attic. The only other bit of house-dressing was the acoustic guitar that would rattle into the Winstons’ bedroom. While fans gathered at the empty house where he didn’t live, Styles lived incognito with a couple 12 years his senior. The Winstons’ Orthodox Jewish lifestyle, with a strong family emphasis, helped keep him sane.

“Those 20 months were when they went from being on a reality show, X Factor, to being the biggest-selling artists in the world,” recalls Winston. “That period of time, he was living with us in the most mundane suburban situation. No one ever found out, really. Even when we went out for a meal, it’s such a sweet family neighborhood, no one dreamed it was actually him. But he made our house a home. And when he moved out, we were gutted.”

Styles jauntily appears at the Late Late office. He’s clearly a regular visitor, and he and Winston have a brotherly shorthand.

“Leaving Saturday?” asks Winston.

“Yeah, gotta buy a cactus for my friend’s birthday,” says Styles.

“My dad might be on your flight,” says Winston.

“The 8:50? That’d be sick.”

Winston continues the tales from the attic. “So we had this joke. Meri and I would like to see the girls that you would come back with to the house. That was always what we enjoyed, because we’d be in bed like an old couple. We’d have our spot cream on our faces and we’d be in our pajamas and the door would go off. The stairwell was right outside our door, so we’d wait to see if Harry was coming home alone or with people.”

“I was alone,” notes Styles. “I was scared of Meri.”

“He wasn’t always alone,” corrects Winston, “but it was exciting seeing the array of A-listers that would come up and sleep in the attic. Or he’d come and lounge with us. We’d never discuss business. He would act as if he hadn’t come back from playing to 80,000 people three nights in a row in Rio de Janeiro.”

“Let’s go to the beach,” says Styles, pulling the Range Rover onto a fog-soaked Pacific Coast Highway. Last night was his tequila-fueled birthday party, filled with friends and karaoke and a surprise drop-in from Adele. He’s now officially 23. “And not too hung over,” he notes.

Styles finds a spot at a sushi place up the coast. As he passes through the busy dining room, a businessman turns, recognizing him with a face that says: My kids love this guy! I ask Styles what he hears most from the parents of young fans. “They say, 'I see your cardboard face every fucking day.' ” He laughs. “I think they want me to apologize.”

The subject today is relationships. While Styles says he still feels like a newcomer to all that, a handful of love affairs have deeply affected him. The images and stolen moments tumble extravagantly through the new songs: And promises are broken like a stitch is … I got splinters in my knuckles crawling 'cross the floor/Couldn’t take you home to mother in a skirt that short/But I think that’s what I like about it … I see you gave him my old T-shirt, more of what was once mine … That black notebook, you sense, is filled with this stuff.

“My first proper girlfriend,” he remembers, “used to have one of those laughs. There was also a little bit of mystery with her because she didn’t go to our school. I just worshipped the ground she walked on. And she knew, probably to a fault, a little. That was a tough one. I was 15.

"She used to live an hour and a half away on the train, and I worked in a bakery for three years. I’d finish on Saturdays at 4:30 and it was a 4:42 train, and if I missed it there wasn’t one for another hour or two. So I’d finish and sprint to the train station. Spent 70 percent of my wages on train tickets. Later, I’d remember her perfume. Little things. I smell that perfume all the time. I’ll be in a lift or a reception and say to someone, 'Alien, right?’ And sometimes they’re impressed and sometimes they’re a little creeped out. 'Stop smelling me.’”

With Taylor Swift in Central Park, 2012 David Krieger/Bauer-Griffin If Styles hadn’t yet adapted to global social-media attention, he was tested in 2012, when he met Taylor Swift at an awards show. Their second date, a walk in Central Park, was caught by paparazzi. Suddenly the couple were global news. They broke up the next month, reportedly after a rocky Caribbean vacation; the romance was said to have ended with at least one broken heart.

The relationship is a subject he’s famously avoided discussing. “I gotta pee first. This might be a long one,” he says. He rises to head to the bathroom, then adds, “Actually, you can say, 'He went for a pee and never came back.' ”

He returns a couple of minutes later. “Thought I’d let you stew for a while,” he says, laughing, then takes a gulp of green juice. He was surprised, he says, when photos from Central Park rocketed around the world. “When I see photos from that day,” he says, “I think: Relationships are hard, at any age. And adding in that you don’t really understand exactly how it works when you’re 18, trying to navigate all that stuff didn’t make it easier. I mean, you’re a little bit awkward to begin with. You’re on a date with someone you really like. It should be that simple, right? It was a learning experience for sure. But at the heart of it – I just wanted it to be a normal date.”

He’s well aware that at least two of Swift’s songs – “Out of the Woods” and “Style” – are considered to be about their romance. (“You’ve got that long hair slicked back, white T-shirt,” she sang in “Style.”) “I mean, I don’t know if they’re about me or not …” he says, attempting gallant discretion, “but the issue is, she’s so good, they’re bloody everywhere.” He smiles. “I write from my experiences; everyone does that. I’m lucky if everything [we went through] helped create those songs. That’s what hits your heart. That’s the stuff that’s hardest to say, and it’s the stuff I talk least about. That’s the part that’s about the two people. I’m never going to tell anybody everything.” (Fans wondered whether “Perfect,” a song Styles co-wrote for One Direction, might have been about Swift: “And if you like cameras flashing every time we go out/And if you’re looking for someone to write your breakup songs about/Baby, I’m perfect.”)

Was he able to tell her that he admired the songs? “Yes and no,” he says after a long pause. “She doesn’t need me to tell her they’re great. They’re great songs … It’s the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever.”

Is there anything he’d want to say to Swift today? “Maybe this is where you write down that I left!” He laughs, and looks off. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “Certain things don’t work out. There’s a lot of things that can be right, and it’s still wrong. In writing songs about stuff like that, I like tipping a hat to the time together. You’re celebrating the fact it was powerful and made you feel something, rather than 'this didn’t work out, and that’s bad.’ And if you run into that person, maybe it’s awkward, maybe you have to get drunk … but you shared something. Meeting someone new, sharing those experiences, it’s the best shit ever. So thank you.”

He notes a more recent relationship, possibly over now, but significant for the past few years. (Styles has often been spotted with Kendall Jenner, but he won’t confirm that’s who he’s talking about.) “She’s a huge part of the album,” says Styles. “Sometimes you want to tip the hat, and sometimes you just want to give them the whole cap …  and hope they know it’s just for them.”

In late February 2016, Styles landed a plum part in Christopher Nolan’s upcoming World War II epic, Dunkirk. In Nolan, Styles found a director equally interested in mystery. “The movie is so ambitious,” he says. “Some of the stuff they’re doing in this movie is insane. And it was hard, man, physically really tough, but I love acting. I love playing someone else. I’d sleep really well at night, then get up and continue drowning.”

When Styles returned to L.A., an idea landed. The idea was: Get out of Dodge. Styles called his manager, Jeffrey Azoff, and explained he wanted to finish the album outside London or L.A., a place where the band could focus and coalesce. Four days after returning from the movie, they were on their way to Port Antonio on Jamaica’s remote north coast. At Geejam, Styles and his entire band were able to live together, turning the studio compound into something like a Caribbean version of Big Pink. They occupied a two-story villa filled with instruments, hung out at the tree-house-like Bush Bar, and had access to the gorgeous studio on-site. Many mornings began with a swim in the deserted cove just down the hill.

Life in Jamaica was 10 percent beach party and 90 percent musical expedition. It was the perfect rite of passage for a musician looking to explode the past and launch a future. The anxiety of what’s next slipped away. Layers of feeling emerged that had never made it past One Direction’s group songwriting sessions, often with pop craftsmen who polished the songs after Styles had left. He didn’t feel stifled in One D, he says, as much as interrupted. “We were touring all the time,” he recalls. “I wrote more as we went, especially on the last two albums.” There are songs from that period he loves, he says, like “Olivia” and “Stockholm Syndrome,” along with the earlier song “Happily.” “But I think it was tough to really delve in and find out who you are as a writer when you’re just kind of dipping your toe each time. We didn’t get the six months to see what kind of shit you can work with. To have time to live with a song, see what you love as a fan, chip at it, hone it and go for that  … it’s heaven.”

The more vulnerable the song, he learned, the better. “The one subject that hits the hardest is love,” he says, “whether it’s platonic, romantic, loving it, gaining it, losing it  …  it always hits you hardest. I don’t think people want to hear me talk about going to bars, and how great everything is. The champagne popping  …  who wants to hear about it? I don’t want to hear my favorite artists talk about all the amazing shit they get to do. I want to hear, 'How did you feel when you were alone in that hotel room, because you chose to be alone?’”

To wind down in Jamaica, Styles and Rowland, the guitarist, began a daily Netflix obsession with sugary romantic comedies. Houseworkers would sometimes leave at night and return the next morning to see Styles blearily removing himself from a long string of rom-coms. He declares himself an expert on Nicholas Sparks, whom he now calls “Nicky Spee.” After almost two months, the band left the island with a bounty of songs and stories. Like the time Styles ended up drunk and wet from the ocean, toasting everybody, wearing a dress he’d traded with someone’s girlfriend. “I don’t remember the toast,” he says, “but I remember the feeling.”

Styles in Jamaica. Styles recorded much of his album there, turning his studio complex into a Caribbean version of Big Pink. Courtesy of Harry Styles Christmas 2016. Harry Styles was parked outside his childhood home, sitting next to his father. They were listening to his album. After lunch at a pub, they had driven down their old street and landed in front of the family home. Staring out at the house where Styles grew up listening to his father’s copy of The Dark Side of the Moon, there was much to consider. It was a long way he’d traveled in those fast few years since “Isn’t She Lovely.” He’d previously played the new album for his mother, on a stool, in the living room, on cheap speakers. She’d cried hearing “Sign of the Times.” Now he sat with his father – who liked the new song “Carolina” best – both having come full circle.

Styles is moved as he describes how he felt. We’re sitting in Corden’s empty office, talking over a few last subjects before he returns to England. “I think, as a parent, especially with the band stuff, it was such a roller coaster,” he says. “I feel like they were always thinking, 'OK, this ride could stop at any point and we’re going to have to be there when it does.’ There was something about playing the album and how happy I was that told them, 'If all I get is to make this music, I’m content. If I’m never on that big ride again, I’m happy and proud of it.’

"I always said, at the very beginning, all I wanted was to be the granddad with the best stories …  and the best shelf of artifacts and bits and trinkets.”

Tomorrow night he’ll hop a flight back to England. Rehearsals await. Album-cover choices need to be made. He grabs his black notebook and turns back for a moment before disappearing down the hallway, into the future.

“How am I going to be mysterious,” he asks, only half-joking, “when I’ve been this honest with you?”

Rolling Stone issue #1286 May 4, 2017

[cute1dsecrets]

Cameron Crowe details a year in the life of the One Direction star as he leaves behind his boy-band past, heads to Jamaica and comes of age

By Cameron Crowe

January 2016. There's a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you'd passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below.

The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as "tousled," he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetly threw up, the spot became a fan shrine. It's said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of "Harry Styles." A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. ("Didn't read it," comments the nonfiction Styles, "but I hope he gets more than me.")

But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash's Paul Simonon: "Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.") Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head.

"Honest," he says, a year later, driving through midcity Los Angeles in a dusty black Range Rover. He's lived here off and on for the past few years, always returning to London. Styles' car stereo pumps a mix of country and obscure classic rock. "I didn't want to write 'stories,' " he says. "I wanted to write my stories, things that happened to me. The number-one thing was I wanted to be honest. I hadn't done that before." There isn't a yellow light he doesn't run as he speaks excitedly about the band he's put together under the tutelage of producer Jeff Bhasker (The Rolling Stones, Kanye West, "Uptown Funk"). He's full of stories about the two-month recording session last fall at Geejam, a studio and compound built into a mountainside near Port Antonio, a remote section of Jamaica. Drake and Rihanna have recorded there, and it's where Styles produced the bulk of his new LP, which is due out May 12th. As we weave through traffic today, the album no one has heard is burning a hole in his iPhone.

We arrive at a crowded diner, and Styles cuts through the room holding a black notebook jammed with papers and artifacts from his album, looking like a college student searching for a quiet place to study. He's here to do something he hasn't done much of in his young career: an extended one-on-one interview. Often in the past there was another One D member to vector questions into a charmingly evasive display of band camaraderie. Today, Styles is a game but careful custodian of his words, sometimes silently consulting the tablecloth before answering. But as he recounts the events leading up to his year out of the spotlight, the layers begin to slip away.

It was in a London studio in late 2014 that Styles first brought up the idea of One Direction taking a break. "I didn't want to exhaust our fan base," he explains. "If you're shortsighted, you can think, 'Let's just keep touring,' but we all thought too much of the group than to let that happen. You realize you're exhausted and you don't want to drain people's belief in you."

After much discussion, the band mutually agreed to a hiatus, which was announced in August 2015 (Zayn Malik had abruptly left One D several months earlier). Fans were traumatized by the band's decision, but were let down easy with a series of final bows, including a tour that ran through October. Styles remains a One D advocate: "I love the band, and would never rule out anything in the future. The band changed my life, gave me everything."

Still, a solo career was calling. "I wanted to step up. There were songs I wanted to write and record, and not just have it be 'Here's a demo I wrote.' Every decision I've made since I was 16 was made in a democracy. I felt like it was time to make a decision about the future  ...  and maybe I shouldn't rely on others."

As one of the most well-known 23-year-olds in the world, Styles himself is still largely unknown. Behind the effervescent stage persona, there is more lore than fact. He likes it that way. "With an artist like Prince," he says, "all you wanted to do was know more. And that mystery – it's why those people are so magical! Like, fuck, I don't know what Prince eats for breakfast. That mystery  ...  it's just what I like."

Styles pauses, savoring the idea of the unknown. He looks at my digital recorder like a barely invited guest. "More than 'do you keep a mystery alive?' – it's not that. I like to separate my personal life and work. It helps, I think, for me to compartmentalize. It's not about trying to make my career longer, like I'm trying to be this 'mysterious character,' because I'm not. When I go home, I feel like the same person I was at school. You can't expect to keep that if you show everything. There's the work and the personal stuff, and going between the two is my favorite shit. It's amazing to me."

Soon, we head to the Beachwood Canyon studio of Jeff Bhasker. As we arrive, Styles bounds up the steps to the studio, passing a bored pool cleaner. "How are ya," he announces, unpacking a seriously cheerful smile. The pool cleaner looks perplexed, not quite sharing Styles' existential joy.

Inside, the band awaits. Styles opens his notebook and heads for the piano. He wants to finish a song he'd started earlier that day. It's obvious that the band has a well-worn frat-house dynamic, sort of like the Beatles in Help!, as directed by Judd Apatow. Styles is, to all, "H." Pomegranate-scented candles flicker around the room. Bhasker enters, with guru-length hair, multicolored shirt, red socks and sandals. He was initially busy raising a new baby with his partner, the singer and songwriter Lykke Li, so he guided Styles to two of his producer-player protégés, Alex Salibian and Tyler Johnson, as well as engineer and bassist Ryan Nasci. The band began to form. The final piece of the puzzle was Mitch Rowland, Styles' guitarist, who had worked in a pizza joint until two weeks into the sessions. "Being around musicians like this had a big effect on me," Styles says. "Not being able to pass an instrument without sitting down and playing it?" He shakes his head. It was Styles' first full immersion into the land of musos, and he clearly can't get enough.

Styles starts singing some freshly written lyrics. It's a new song called "I Don't Want to Be the One You're Waiting On." His voice sounds warm, burnished and intimate, not unlike early Rod Stewart. The song is quickly finished, and the band assembles for a playback of the album.

"Mind if I play it loud?" asks Bhasker. It's a rhetorical question. Nasci cranks "Sign of the Times," the first single, to a seismic level. The song began as a seven-minute voice note on Styles' phone, and ended up as a sweeping piano ballad, as well as a kind of call to arms. "Most of the stuff that hurts me about what's going on at the moment is not politics, it's fundamentals," Styles says. "Equal rights. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. ...  'Sign of the Times' came from 'This isn't the first time we've been in a hard time, and it's not going to be the last time.' The song is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a child and there's a complication. The mother is told, 'The child is fine, but you're not going to make it.' The mother has five minutes to tell the child, 'Go forth and conquer.'" The track was a breakthrough for both the artist and the band. "Harry really led the charge with that one, and the rest of the album," says Bhasker.

"I wish the album could be called Sign of the Times," Styles declares.

"I don't know," says Bhasker. "I mean, it has been used."

They debate for a bit. Nasci plays more tracks. The songs range from full-on rock ("Kiwi") to intricate psychedelic pop ("Meet Me in the Hallway") to the outright confessional ("Ever Since New York," a desperate meditation on loss and longing). The lyrics are full of details and references – secrets whispered between friends, doomed declarations of love, empty swimming pools – sure to set fans scrambling for the facts behind the mystery.

"Of course I'm nervous," Styles admits, jingling his keys. "I mean, I've never done this before. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm happy I found this band and these musicians, where you can be vulnerable enough to put yourself out there. I'm still learning ...  but it's my favorite lesson."

The album is a distinct departure from the dance pop that permeates the airwaves. "A lot of my influences, and the stuff that I love, is older," he says. "So the thing I didn't want to do was, I didn't want to put out my first album and be like, 'He's tried to re-create the Sixties, Seventies, Eighties, Nineties.' Loads of amazing music was written then, but I'm not saying I wish I lived back then. I wanted to do something that sounds like me. I just keep pushing forward."

"It's different from what you'd expect," Bhasker says. "It made me realize the Harry [in One D] was kind of the digitized Harry. Almost like a character. I don't think people know a lot of the sides of him that are on this album. You put it on and people are like, 'This is Harry Styles?' "

Styles is aware that his largest audience so far has been young – often teenage – women. Asked if he spends pressure-filled evenings worried about proving credibility to an older crowd, Styles grows animated. "Who's to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That's not up to you to say. Music is something that's always changing. There's no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they're not serious? How can you say young girls don't get it? They're our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don't lie. If they like you, they're there. They don't act 'too cool.' They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick."

Styles drives to a quiet dinner spot in Laurel Canyon, at the foot of Lookout Mountain Avenue, onetime home to many of his Seventies songwriting heroes. He used to have a place around the corner. As the later tours of One Direction grew larger, longer and more frenetic, he offers with irony, "It was very rock & roll." He's not a heavy drinker, he says, maybe some tequila on ice or wine with friends after a show, but by the band's last tour there wasn't much time even for that. John Lennon once told Rolling Stone that behind the curtain, the Beatles' tours were like Fellini's Satyricon. Styles counters that the One D tours were more like "a Wes Anderson movie. Cut. Cut. New location. Quick cut. New location. Cut. Cut. Show. Shower. Hard cut. Sleep."

Finding a table, Styles leans forward and discusses his social-media presence, or lack thereof. Styles and his phone have a bittersweet, mature relationship – they spend a lot of time apart. He doesn't Google himself, and checks Twitter infrequently. "I'll tell you about Twitter," he continues, discussing the volley of tweets, some good, some cynical, that met his endorsement of the Women's March on Washington earlier this year. "It's the most incredible way to communicate closely with people, but not as well as in person." When the location of his London home was published a few years ago, he was rattled. His friend James Corden offered him a motto coined by British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli: "Never complain, never explain."

I mention a few of the verbal Molotov cocktails Zayn Malik has tossed at the band in recent interviews. Here's one: "[One D is] not music that I would listen to. If I was sat at a dinner date with a girl, I would play some cool shit, you know what I mean? I want to make music that I think is cool shit. I don't think that's too much to ask for."

Styles adjusts himself in his chair. "I think it's a shame he felt that way," he says, threading the needle of diplomacy, "but I never wish anything but luck to anyone doing what they love. If you're not enjoying something and need to do something else, you absolutely should do that. I'm glad he's doing what he likes, and good luck to him."

Perched on his head are the same-style white sunglasses made famous by Kurt Cobain, but the similarities end right there. Styles, born two months before Cobain exited Earth, doesn't feel tied to any particular genre or era. In the car, he'll just as easily crank up the country music of Keith Whitley as the esoteric blues-and-soul of Shuggie Otis. He even bought a carrot cake to present to Stevie Nicks at a Fleetwood Mac concert. ("Piped her name onto it. She loved it. Glad she liked carrot cake.")

This much is clear: The classic role of tortured artist is not one he'll be playing. "People romanticize places they can't get to themselves," he says. "That's why it's fascinating when people go dark – when Van Gogh cuts off his ear. You romanticize those people, sometimes out of proportion. It's the same with music. You want a piece of that darkness, to feel their pain but also to step back into your own [safer] life. I can't say I had that. I had a really nice upbringing. I feel very lucky. I had a great family and always felt loved. There's nothing worse than an inauthentic tortured person. 'They took my allowance away, so I did heroin.' It's like – that's not how it works. I don't even remember what the question was."

Styles wanders into the Country Store next door. It's a store he knows well. Inspecting the shelves, he asks if I've had British rice pudding. He finds a can that looks ancient. He collects a roll of Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles ("since 1881"), Lindor Swiss chocolates ("irresistibly smooth") and a jar of Branston Pickles. "There's only two shops in L.A. that stock all the British snacks. This area's kind of potluck," he says, spreading the collection on the counter.

The clerk rings up the snacks. In the most careful, deferential way, the young worker asks the question. "Would you  ... happen to be ...  Harry Styles?"

"Yep."

"Could I get a selfie?" Styles obliges, and leans over the counter. Click. We exit into the Laurel Canyon evening.

"Hey," shouts a grizzled-looking dude on the bench outside the store. "Do you know who you look like?"

Styles turns, expecting more of the same, but this particular night denizen is on a different track.

"River Phoenix," the man announces, a little sadly. "You ever heard of him? If he hadn't have passed, I would have said that was you. Talented guy."

"Yes, he was," agrees Styles, who is in many ways the generational opposite of Phoenix. "Yes, he was."

They share a silent moment, before Styles walks to his car. He hands me the bag filled with English snacks. "This is for you," he says. "This was my youth ..."

Harry Edward Styles was born in Worcestershire, England, in true classic-rock form, on a Tuesday Afternoon. The family moved to Cheshire, a quiet spot in Northern England, when he was a baby. His older sister, Gemma, was the studious one. ("She was always smarter than me, and I was always jealous of that.")

His father, Desmond, worked in finance. He was a fan of the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, a lot of Queen, and Pink Floyd. Young Harry toddled around to The Dark Side of the Moon. "I couldn't really get it," he says, "but I just remember being like – this is really fucking cool. Then my mom would always have Shania Twain, and Savage Garden, Norah Jones going on. I had a great childhood. I'll admit it."

But in fact, all was not perfection, scored to a cool, retro soundtrack. When Harry was seven, his parents explained to him that Des would be moving out. Asked about that moment today, Styles stares straight ahead. "I don't remember," he says. "Honestly, when you're that young, you can kind of block it out. ... I can't say that I remember the exact thing. I didn't realize that was the case until just now. Yeah, I mean, I was seven. It's one of those things. Feeling supported and loved by my parents never changed."

His eyes moisten a little, but unlike the young man who wept over an early bout with Internet criticism, a powerful moment in the early One Direction documentary A Year in the Making, Styles tonight knocks back the sentiment. Styles is still close with his father, and served as best man to his mom when she remarried a few years ago. "Since I've been 10," he reflects, "it's kind of felt like – protect Mom at all costs. ... My mom is very strong. She has the greatest heart. [Her house in Cheshire] is where I want to go when I want to spend some time."

In his early teens, Styles joined some school friends as the singer in a mostly-covers band, White Eskimo. "We wrote a couple of songs," he remembers. "One was called 'Gone in a Week.' It was about luggage. 'I'll be gone in a week or two/Trying to find myself someplace new/I don't need any jackets or shoes/The only luggage I need is you.'" He laughs. "I was like, 'Sick.'"

It was his mother who suggested he try out for the U.K. singing competition The X Factor to compete in the solo "Boy" category. Styles sang Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely." The unforgiving reaction from one of the judges, Louis Walsh, is now infamous. Watching the video today is to watch young Harry's cheery disposition take a hot bullet.

"In that instant," he says, "you're in the whirlwind. You don't really know what's happening; you're just a kid on the show. You don't even know you're good at anything. I'd gone because my mum told me I was good from singing in the car ...  but your mum tells you things to make you feel good, so you take it with a pinch of salt. I didn't really know what I was expecting when I went on there."

Styles didn't advance in the competition, but Simon Cowell, the show's creator, sensed a crowd favorite. He put Styles together with four others who'd failed to advance in the same category, and united the members of One D in a musical shotgun marriage. The marriage worked. And worked. And worked.

You wonder how a young musician might find his way here, to these lofty peaks, with his head still attached to his shoulders. No sex tapes, no TMZ meltdowns, no tell-all books written by the rehab nanny? In a world where one messy scandal can get you five seasons of a hit reality show ...  how did Harry Styles slip through the juggernaut?

"Family," answers Ben Winston. "It comes from his mom, Anne. She brought him and his sister up incredibly well. Harry would choose boring over exciting ... There is more chance of me going to Mars next week than there is of Harry having some sort of addiction."

We're in Television City, Hollywood. Winston, 35, the Emmy-winning executive producer of The Late Late Show With James Corden, abandons his desk and retreats to a nearby sofa to discuss his good friend. More than a friend, Styles became an unlikely family member – after he became perhaps the world's most surprising houseguest.

Their friendship was forged in the early stages of One D's success, when the band debuted on The X Factor. Winston, then a filmmaker and production partner with Corden, asked for a meeting, and instantly hit it off with the group. He became a friendly mentor to Styles, though the friendship was soon tested. Styles had just moved out of his family home in Cheshire, an inconvenient three hours north of London. He found a home he liked near the Winstons in Hampstead Heath. The new house needed two weeks of work. Styles asked if he could briefly move in with Winston and his wife, Meredith. "She agreed," Winston says, "but only for two weeks."

Styles parked his mattress in the Winstons' attic. "Two weeks later and he hadn't bought his house yet," continues Winston. "It wasn't going through. Then he said, 'I'm going to stay until Christmas, if you don't mind.' Then Christmas came, and ..."

For the next 20 months, one of the most desired stars on the planet slept on a small mattress in an attic. The only other bit of house-dressing was the acoustic guitar that would rattle into the Winstons' bedroom. While fans gathered at the empty house where he didn't live, Styles lived incognito with a couple 12 years his senior. The Winstons' Orthodox Jewish lifestyle, with a strong family emphasis, helped keep him sane.

"Those 20 months were when they went from being on a reality show, X Factor, to being the biggest-selling artists in the world," recalls Winston. "That period of time, he was living with us in the most mundane suburban situation. No one ever found out, really. Even when we went out for a meal, it's such a sweet family neighborhood, no one dreamed it was actually him. But he made our house a home. And when he moved out, we were gutted."

Styles jauntily appears at the Late Late office. He's clearly a regular visitor, and he and Winston have a brotherly shorthand.

"Leaving Saturday?" asks Winston.

"Yeah, gotta buy a cactus for my friend's birthday," says Styles.

"My dad might be on your flight," says Winston.

"The 8:50? That'd be sick."

Winston continues the tales from the attic. "So we had this joke. Meri and I would like to see the girls that you would come back with to the house. That was always what we enjoyed, because we'd be in bed like an old couple. We'd have our spot cream on our faces and we'd be in our pajamas and the door would go off. The stairwell was right outside our door, so we'd wait to see if Harry was coming home alone or with people."

"I was alone," notes Styles. "I was scared of Meri."

"He wasn't always alone," corrects Winston, "but it was exciting seeing the array of A-listers that would come up and sleep in the attic. Or he'd come and lounge with us. We'd never discuss business. He would act as if he hadn't come back from playing to 80,000 people three nights in a row in Rio de Janeiro."

"Let's go to the beach," says Styles, pulling the Range Rover onto a fog-soaked Pacific Coast Highway. Last night was his tequila-fueled birthday party, filled with friends and karaoke and a surprise drop-in from Adele. He's now officially 23. "And not too hung over," he notes.

Styles finds a spot at a sushi place up the coast. As he passes through the busy dining room, a businessman turns, recognizing him with a face that says: My kids love this guy! I ask Styles what he hears most from the parents of young fans. "They say, 'I see your cardboard face every fucking day.' " He laughs. "I think they want me to apologize."

The subject today is relationships. While Styles says he still feels like a newcomer to all that, a handful of love affairs have deeply affected him. The images and stolen moments tumble extravagantly through the new songs: And promises are broken like a stitch is ... I got splinters in my knuckles crawling 'cross the floor/Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short/But I think that's what I like about it ... I see you gave him my old T-shirt, more of what was once mine ... That black notebook, you sense, is filled with this stuff.

"My first proper girlfriend," he remembers, "used to have one of those laughs. There was also a little bit of mystery with her because she didn't go to our school. I just worshipped the ground she walked on. And she knew, probably to a fault, a little. That was a tough one. I was 15.

"She used to live an hour and a half away on the train, and I worked in a bakery for three years. I'd finish on Saturdays at 4:30 and it was a 4:42 train, and if I missed it there wasn't one for another hour or two. So I'd finish and sprint to the train station. Spent 70 percent of my wages on train tickets. Later, I'd remember her perfume. Little things. I smell that perfume all the time. I'll be in a lift or a reception and say to someone, 'Alien, right?' And sometimes they're impressed and sometimes they're a little creeped out. 'Stop smelling me.'"

If Styles hadn't yet adapted to global social-media attention, he was tested in 2012, when he met Taylor Swift at an awards show. Their second date, a walk in Central Park, was caught by paparazzi. Suddenly the couple were global news. They broke up the next month, reportedly after a rocky Caribbean vacation; the romance was said to have ended with at least one broken heart.

The relationship is a subject he's famously avoided discussing. "I gotta pee first. This might be a long one," he says. He rises to head to the bathroom, then adds, "Actually, you can say, 'He went for a pee and never came back.' "

He returns a couple of minutes later. "Thought I'd let you stew for a while," he says, laughing, then takes a gulp of green juice. He was surprised, he says, when photos from Central Park rocketed around the world. "When I see photos from that day," he says, "I think: Relationships are hard, at any age. And adding in that you don't really understand exactly how it works when you're 18, trying to navigate all that stuff didn't make it easier. I mean, you're a little bit awkward to begin with. You're on a date with someone you really like. It should be that simple, right? It was a learning experience for sure. But at the heart of it – I just wanted it to be a normal date."

He's well aware that at least two of Swift's songs – "Out of the Woods" and "Style" – are considered to be about their romance. ("You've got that long hair slicked back, white T-shirt," she sang in "Style.") "I mean, I don't know if they're about me or not ..." he says, attempting gallant discretion, "but the issue is, she's so good, they're bloody everywhere." He smiles. "I write from my experiences; everyone does that. I'm lucky if everything [we went through] helped create those songs. That's what hits your heart. That's the stuff that's hardest to say, and it's the stuff I talk least about. That's the part that's about the two people. I'm never going to tell anybody everything." (Fans wondered whether "Perfect," a song Styles co-wrote for One Direction, might have been about Swift: "And if you like cameras flashing every time we go out/And if you're looking for someone to write your breakup songs about/Baby, I'm perfect.")

Was he able to tell her that he admired the songs? "Yes and no," he says after a long pause. "She doesn't need me to tell her they're great. They're great songs ... It's the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever."

Is there anything he'd want to say to Swift today? "Maybe this is where you write down that I left!" He laughs, and looks off. "I don't know," he finally says. "Certain things don't work out. There's a lot of things that can be right, and it's still wrong. In writing songs about stuff like that, I like tipping a hat to the time together. You're celebrating the fact it was powerful and made you feel something, rather than 'this didn't work out, and that's bad.' And if you run into that person, maybe it's awkward, maybe you have to get drunk ... but you shared something. Meeting someone new, sharing those experiences, it's the best shit ever. So thank you."

He notes a more recent relationship, possibly over now, but significant for the past few years. (Styles has often been spotted with Kendall Jenner, but he won't confirm that's who he's talking about.) "She's a huge part of the album," says Styles. "Sometimes you want to tip the hat, and sometimes you just want to give them the whole cap ...  and hope they know it's just for them."

In late February 2016, Styles landed a plum part in Christopher Nolan's upcoming World War II epic, Dunkirk. In Nolan, Styles found a director equally interested in mystery. "The movie is so ambitious," he says. "Some of the stuff they're doing in this movie is insane. And it was hard, man, physically really tough, but I love acting. I love playing someone else. I'd sleep really well at night, then get up and continue drowning."

When Styles returned to L.A., an idea landed. The idea was: Get out of Dodge. Styles called his manager, Jeffrey Azoff, and explained he wanted to finish the album outside London or L.A., a place where the band could focus and coalesce. Four days after returning from the movie, they were on their way to Port Antonio on Jamaica's remote north coast. At Geejam, Styles and his entire band were able to live together, turning the studio compound into something like a Caribbean version of Big Pink. They occupied a two-story villa filled with instruments, hung out at the tree-house-like Bush Bar, and had access to the gorgeous studio on-site. Many mornings began with a swim in the deserted cove just down the hill.

Life in Jamaica was 10 percent beach party and 90 percent musical expedition. It was the perfect rite of passage for a musician looking to explode the past and launch a future. The anxiety of what's next slipped away. Layers of feeling emerged that had never made it past One Direction's group songwriting sessions, often with pop craftsmen who polished the songs after Styles had left. He didn't feel stifled in One D, he says, as much as interrupted. "We were touring all the time," he recalls. "I wrote more as we went, especially on the last two albums." There are songs from that period he loves, he says, like "Olivia" and "Stockholm Syndrome," along with the earlier song "Happily." "But I think it was tough to really delve in and find out who you are as a writer when you're just kind of dipping your toe each time. We didn't get the six months to see what kind of shit you can work with. To have time to live with a song, see what you love as a fan, chip at it, hone it and go for that  ... it's heaven."

The more vulnerable the song, he learned, the better. "The one subject that hits the hardest is love," he says, "whether it's platonic, romantic, loving it, gaining it, losing it  ...  it always hits you hardest. I don't think people want to hear me talk about going to bars, and how great everything is. The champagne popping  ...  who wants to hear about it? I don't want to hear my favorite artists talk about all the amazing shit they get to do. I want to hear, 'How did you feel when you were alone in that hotel room, because you chose to be alone?'"

To wind down in Jamaica, Styles and Rowland, the guitarist, began a daily Netflix obsession with sugary romantic comedies. Houseworkers would sometimes leave at night and return the next morning to see Styles blearily removing himself from a long string of rom-coms. He declares himself an expert on Nicholas Sparks, whom he now calls "Nicky Spee." After almost two months, the band left the island with a bounty of songs and stories. Like the time Styles ended up drunk and wet from the ocean, toasting everybody, wearing a dress he'd traded with someone's girlfriend. "I don't remember the toast," he says, "but I remember the feeling."

Christmas 2016. Harry Styles was parked outside his childhood home, sitting next to his father. They were listening to his album. After lunch at a pub, they had driven down their old street and landed in front of the family home. Staring out at the house where Styles grew up listening to his father's copy of The Dark Side of the Moon,there was much to consider. It was a long way he'd traveled in those fast few years since "Isn't She Lovely." He'd previously played the new album for his mother, on a stool, in the living room, on cheap speakers. She'd cried hearing "Sign of the Times." Now he sat with his father – who liked the new song "Carolina" best – both having come full circle.

Styles is moved as he describes how he felt. We're sitting in Corden's empty office, talking over a few last subjects before he returns to England. "I think, as a parent, especially with the band stuff, it was such a roller coaster," he says. "I feel like they were always thinking, 'OK, this ride could stop at any point and we're going to have to be there when it does.' There was something about playing the album and how happy I was that told them, 'If all I get is to make this music, I'm content. If I'm never on that big ride again, I'm happy and proud of it.'

"I always said, at the very beginning, all I wanted was to be the granddad with the best stories ...  and the best shelf of artifacts and bits and trinkets."

Tomorrow night he'll hop a flight back to England. Rehearsals await. Album-cover choices need to be made. He grabs his black notebook and turns back for a moment before disappearing down the hallway, into the future.

"How am I going to be mysterious," he asks, only half-joking, "when I've been this honest with you?"

[tharacecard]

Trayvon

This is a speech I’m giving for Hoodies Up Day 2017 at Portland’s Roosevelt High School and also a super personal account of what brought me into Black Lives Matter and how I began to organize. 

Trayvon Martin woke me up.

I learned the same story about African history in the United States that every public school kid does: slavery, Abraham Lincoln, the Civil War,  no more slavery but then oh no, up came old Jim Crow to keep Africans separate and unequal again. A few decades of that and Africans rose up in what we now call the Civil Rights movement. To win our freedom we took decades of beatings that would be memorialized in history books our children would read for generations.

Somewhere in all that marching and suffering, Martin Luther King JR. showed up, gave some speeches, led some marches, talked about little African and white kids holding hands, and then was killed in Little Rock, Arkansas. It’s very sad. But then! Somehow, suddenly, everything was fine. He had saved us. Lawsuits were won, laws were passed, schools were desegregated, a few rights every human being should be granted at birth were finally recognized, MLK was put on a stamp, and then little African and white kids were playing and holding hands. The dream was realized. Justice was won. That’s the story.

Yes, there were some old racists here and there. Yes, some of those old racists were cops, judges, prison guards, CEOs, senators, teachers, and presidents. Yes, we were still being killed for no reason but that was only happening to the bad Africans that deserved it - the ones that wouldn’t obey. The dangerous ones that wore hoodies. The gangsters. The good Africans stayed in line, smiled politely, kept their heads down and their voices low. The good Africans realized that the world really is free and just, racism really is over, and everything that was owed to us has been received. A dream had been realized. We had a Black president. That’s the story.  

I believed the story for the most part growing up, even through the dark spots, the things that didn’t quite fit: the time a kid called me Blackie in the lunch line, the way my mother and my sister and I would get followed around supermarkets and K-Marts, the way our next-door neighbors called the cops on my sister and I when we were kids. Not just once. A good half dozen times: for things like playing too loud, being too close to their car, being outside too long after the sun went down. They never tried calling our mom, just the police.

I saw and lived these things, I took them in and understood them to be wrong, to be unjust -  but I still believed the story. That I Have A Dream Story - little African and white kids holding hands. Yes there were still racists, I thought, but they were old and just in the South really, and they’d die eventually, and everyone would be free, and the world was still basically just. I lived believing this for much of my youth and became an adult believing it. The first year I was able to vote for president, I voted for Barack Obama and it felt like another dream fulfilled. My boyfriend and I sat on my bed and cried when he won. A president for US.  

And then Trayvon.

The thing that hurts the most to think about is how young he was. How young he *looked*. I saw a picture of his body on the news - because the news trots out footage and pictures of African death with instant replay like it’s nothing, like we feel nothing - and it took my breath away. It made my heart stop and my stomach hurt. He was just a boy - wearing skinny jeans and a hoodie, looking up into the sky with eyes that would never see again. Just a boy who wanted to be an astronaut. A boy who was walking home in his own neighborhood, carrying ice tea, skittles, a cell phone, and nothing else, just minding his own business before he was shot dead by an unrepentant racist who knew the moment the cops let him go home that same night that he would get away with it. We all watched him get away with it.

Trayvon was my cousins. Trayvon was my uncles. Trayvon was the father I never knew as a carefree African boy. Trayvon had dreams. Trayvon had people who loved him. Trayvon was a whole person. In the moment of his death and in the days, and months, and years that followed he became first a monster in the eyes of a system and an entire nation that had to make him one to explain itself, and then later a symbol of pain, anger, and resistance for an entire movement.

There would be no Black Lives Matter without Trayvon. There would be no me as an organizer without Trayvon. Trayvon woke me up. Trayvon woke a lot of us up.

I think for a lot of organizers in Black Lives Matter, the story of how we began our work in this movement is the same: we took to the streets. We shut it down. Ferguson showed us how. When Mike Brown was shot with his hands up, we poured into the street by the hundreds of thousands: all kinds of people from all over the country, united in resistance. That first fall it seemed like there was a protest or a march every day: stopping traffic, shutting down highways, blocking bridges, and blockading airports.

With each new action, we became cleverer, quicker, and more creative. Where first we were just throwing our bodies into the streets, stopping cars by just standing in front of them, later we began to identify choke points and ways to hold our positions for longer. We built complex lock boxes and barricades. We started to talk about locations and targets that would be more strategic, more visible, and make more of an impact. We started organizing ways to take care of each other, to bail out folks who were arrested, to make sure folks were fed and hydrated and checked up on during and after direct actions. We started building networks of trust, safety, and solidarity. We started building organizations. We started making demands.

From that first mass of action in the streets, came an entire universe of organizations: Black Youth Project, the Black Lives Matter Network, YGB, We are the Ones, Million Hoodies, the Dream Defenders. Dozens of organizations, all over the country, overwhelmingly led by African women, queer and non-binary folks, and youth. Many of us were completely new to the movement and to organizing in general. We were making things up as we went. We didn’t know what we were doing but we knew we had to do something. We knew that we couldn’t stand how things were anymore. We felt somehow instinctually that we had the power to stop it together, that we just had to find our way to that power. We began to organize and we learned as we grew.

I had never organized a day in my life before Black Lives Matter. The extent of my activism was going to Occupy for a few hours like one time. I had no idea what I was doing. I realized quickly that organizing - mass-based revolutionary organizing - doesn’t require a special skill set. It doesn’t require grants or funding. It doesn’t require a college degree or thousands of dollars in special training and business cards and badges. It requires people who are willing to contribute in any way they can to the overall goal of working together to liberate their people. If you want African people to be free and you are motivated to give your labor, knowledge, and time to a collective working to see that happen, you can organize. Anyone can be an organizer.

We’re not really taught to understand our own power and capacity to contribute to a movement and to an organization working for liberation. We’re taught the value of individualism and standing alone, valuing ourselves above all else. In many ways learning to organize is a process of unlearning individualism and learning the value of collective struggle. Revolutionary organizing helps you understand that isn’t individual people who are the heroes in history, it’s the masses of people, conscious and awake, organized and working together, who are the real heroes. It’s the masses of people who have the power. It’s the masses of people who create change. The masses of people united and focused on a goal can achieve anything. The masses of people once conscious and set on a course to change their circumstances will change those circumstances. The entire history of African people shows this. The entire history of humanity shows this. And Black Lives Matter in this moment shows this. Once enough people wake up, there’s no way to put them back to sleep. Trayvon Martin set us on a course to change the future for African people in this country. And we will.

Trayvon, more than anything, has become a symbol for the overwhelming injustice that defines the African experience in the United States today. We, as a people, are expected to accept a reality where at any moment we may be struck down and killed for any reason and in death the people who killed us will say we deserved it and the nation where we live will stand by them. We live in a country where cops can pull up on a 12-year-old boy playing with a toy gun, shoot him down within 30 seconds, and people will passionately explain why it was his fault. We live in a country where a little girl can get blown up in her sleep by a flash grenade, and the person who threw it will never face charges. We live in a country where an African woman arrested for a traffic violation can die overnight in a prison cell without outrage or even investigation. We live in a country where we are forced to bleed to show our pain and to explain why we deserve to live again and again and again.

African existence is pain and rage. African existence is resistance, resilience, creativity, brilliance, and magic.

Every single African person still living today, still surviving this, still fighting this is a testament to the strength and humanity of our people and of our ancestors. Everything we are today and everything we will be tomorrow is made possible by the people who bled, and fought, and struggled, and won so we could be here. There’s a saying that goes, “the life you live today does not belong to you, it belongs to the people who will come after you.”  This is true. For us and for everyone: this is true.  

[junker-town]

The Toronto Raptors keep evolving instead of breaking

Toronto is modernizing its style and strengths even if an NBA title remains out of reach.

The Biosteel Centre has become the laboratory for the Toronto Raptors' reinvention experiments. During the tail-end of practices that are open to media observation, one can find four rims occupied by shooters, a hat-tip to their designs on internal improvement from beyond the arc. In the far-right corner, a fifth and final hoop is dedicated to the harder, non-habitual challenge of the Raptors' "culture reset" that is playing out, for the most part, on the offensive end.

Lorenzo Brown stands at the top of the key and receives a pick from Jakob Poeltl, who catches the ball on the roll, and bulldozes into assistant coach Nick Nurse, who is trying to stave off the 7-foot center with two pads. Instead of trying to finish through contact, Poeltl fires a drive-and-kick pass to Alfonzo McKinnie, in the corner, who misses a three. After a few more reps, Lucas Nogueira takes Poeltl's place. After that, it's the much-maligned Jonas Valanciunas, who, after a couple tries, starts hitting McKinnie right in the pocket.

“On time, on target passes. It’s something I know guys ad nauseam get tired of us talking about it and emphasizing,” says head coach Dwane Casey. “But I'm a firm believer that you are what you emphasize.”

The Raptors’ plan to bring back largely the same personnel for the 2017-18 season yet introduce a modern, pass-happy, 3-point heavy offense was met with reasonable skepticism. It felt like a stilted mandate, the plan of a team that acknowledges the problem but can't muster a solution. If they wanted to change things, why re-sign Kyle Lowry and Serge Ibaka to cap-killing deals, and retain Casey as coach?

Dan Hamilton-USA TODAY Sports

So far, they've made it work. At 15-7, the Raptors run the NBA’s fourth-most efficient offense. After finishing second-to-last in the NBA last season in assist ratio — the percentage of a team’s baskets that are assisted — they’re now in the top five. Casey’s goal, in training camp, was to shoot 30 treys per game. They’re shooting 32. The Raptors have always been able to rack them up, but their attack this season is more well-balanced, and they hope, harder to solve in the playoffs. In that regard, they’re certainly less solvable, but they’re still squarely behind the Cavs in Celtics in the Eastern Conference pecking order.

ERGE. #RTZ http://pic.twitter.com/3rKCOaS6h3

— Toronto Raptors (@Raptors) December 9, 2017

The Raptors, in the end, represent high aspirations with middling results. That is the story of most of us, and most of us don't wallow and recede merely because even at our best, we couldn't be astrophysicists. We try, and sometimes fail, to be good friends, good family members, good employees. Professional sports, of course, veer toward more win-or-go home propositions. Yet the sense of dread that accompanies most good-but-not great teams is conspicuously absent in Toronto. It is hard, it turns out, for mediocrity to become the expressed persona of a team that is so dedicated to maximizing its abilities.

As the Raptors inch closer and closer to their collective best, it is painfully clear they are a cut below elite. Yet the organization is filled to the brim with people who, everyday, are striving to be better teammates and coaches.

Photo by Andy Lyons/Getty Images

Whether or not the Raptors truly believe or don't believe they can win a championship is a question best left to psychics. But I can say this: Professional athletes are so defiant, so single-minded, that if the opponent was gravity, they'd fervently contend that it's still anybody's game in the middle of a free-fall. The Raptors, who ran into LeBron two playoffs in a row, know what it's like to fall.

When you're really up against it, self-belief gives way to self-reflection. The Raptors, who plodded around the court, and ran their actions through DeMar DeRozan, the NBA’s last standard-bearer for mid-range basketball, risked going extinct.

Dippin' into the bag of tricks early. #RTZ http://pic.twitter.com/RPgcxw1ZnB

— Toronto Raptors (@Raptors) December 6, 2017

That DeMar's parting offseason admission was that the Raptors were toast without LeBron James, but still entered this season with a renewed ambition to re-tailor his game in order to better serve his teammates, is some kind of beautiful. A beautiful that will not veer into the transcendent but will, over time, pay the bills.

“As a competitor,” says DeMar, “you wanna do every and anything to win. Sometimes, that comes with balance.”

Casey, on the other hand, is on his own mission against instinct: biting his tongue, as the Raptors hodgepodge of young talent works through their early kinks.

There's Pascal Siakam, busting out overzealous spin moves, taking threes early in the shot clock, dribbling around the world like an oversized Fred VanVleet, bobbling behind-the-back passes in transition. There's Norman Powell, driving into traffic, angles and helpers be damned, while OG Anunoby, fishing for steals, gets back-cut by Courtney Lee again.

“I don't wanna limit myself to just be an energy guy or whatever it might be,” says Siakam. “I want to expand my game, and I'm a hard worker. I started playing basketball late, so I have a lot of things I have to learn.”

To allow reps for Anunoby, Poeltl, VanVleet, Siakam, Powell, and Nogueira, Toronto is employing a 12-man rotation that, at this juncture, isn't showing any signs of tightening. Nobody has a short leash. Everybody's allowed to mess up. After spending three seasons in a row sweating every regular-season loss, the Raptors are finally making like a playoff team and treating it like a breeding ground. Sometimes, you can't act like you've been there until you've actually, you know, been there.

The Raptors, as a result, employ one of the best second units — the best, if you ask CJ Miles — in the NBA. None of the Raptors young guns projects to be a star, but they have helped strike the near-impossible balance of winning now and building for the future.

Bench mob connection. #RTZ http://pic.twitter.com/Gax156Lu03

— Toronto Raptors (@Raptors) December 9, 2017

The team had plenty of reasons not to make it work. DeMar DeRozan and Kyle Lowry, career scorers, would have to shelve inborne habits. The shortened preseason hindered their ability to effectively implement a new system. The toughest stretch of their season came early, when the Raptors, in the absence of immediate results, would likely be most prone to reverting to old habits. They couldn't hit a shot for the first month of the season. DeRozan was overpassing. Lowry struggled to channel the appropriate moments for aggression.

“Training camp was tough because it was short. Trying to institute a new system, I thought, we're not there yet,” recalls Casey. “We really struggled in those exhibition games, and the first few games.”

Wax cynical if you must. But the Raptors persisted. And because of that, they managed to execute the blueprint for change that has left so many other franchise stars on the trading block and coaches unemployed. The task of real, appreciable change is often impossible at worst, and trying at best. The Raptors have done it, they’ve done it well, and they have no designs on reversion.

A Sideline Story

I am writing this, dear friends, to eat crow. Well, first, I have to tell on myself. There was a juncture of my life (read: the past year) where I was truly convinced that Andre Drummond just didn't like basketball. I wasn't the only one, and hey, there was evidence suggesting we were onto something. A tall dude without a lot offensive skill who had his first and only All-Star season in a contract year and then proceeded to fall off dramatically in all manner of non-fantasy stats? It was fishy, to say the least.

It turns out that Drummond had it in him to give a shit. A lot of shits, actually. He spent the offseason doubling his free-throw accuracy, which has settled in at 62 percent, allowing his lumbering frame to attract attention down low without being hacked. That is, combined with an attitudinal shift, why he's averaging four assists per game this season — his career high, prior to that, was one. Even when he isn't being doubled, he's done an excellent job of finding cutters from the high post, when opponents try to cheat on pick and rolls. His defense has been a mixed bag. One-on-one, he can't stay in front of quicker guys and ends up in no man's land when he's matched up against spacier guys. But he's gotten better at shutting down traditional pick and rolls, especially with Stanley Johnson on the court, and he's flicked guards out of the restricted area with ease.

.@AndreDrummond had that 20-20 vision tonight. Check out his 26-point, 22-board evening. #DetroitBasketball http://pic.twitter.com/lfXr6pYSNT

— Detroit Pistons (@DetroitPistons) November 28, 2017

I don't know what the backstory is behind Drummond's resurgence (and Detroit's, for that matter) is. I'll leave that to Lee Jenkins. But what's clear to me now was that I was stereotyping a tall dude. It’s also a reminder that when things aren't right with a player, the explanation is often deeper than what's happening at the surface level.