#hw did she even get the boat out there.

[fragileizywriting]

all ik is it was sooo obvious to everyone that luka kitty are lukaandkitty, even when they were young. jules and kitty would take naps together on couches while luka did hw and anarka would see her son soooo happy to have her close by. when they grew older, luka would get more and more ruts after spending a whole day with kitty. maybe he goes to the bakery and spends an entire shift??? he’s out for the count for the next three days. he’s a teenager. no one can blame him. but anarka is fed up with the amount of pheromones coming out of her son who refuses to do anything about it so she kicks him out into his own boat so he can have his own “territory” (she just doesn’t want to keep dealing with him when he’s trying to tighten portholes against her wishes) and he levels out during adulthood. by the time kitty finally has her first heat, luka’s settled into his skin the hard way: refusing to tell kitty at all costs that for him, it’s not luka and kitty.

it’s lukaandkitty.

[lanamemories]

📱 open

lana: god. a lot jst happened. so i'm on this boat a guy bought n named after me bc he said i cld take it out whenever n i was bored right so i did it?? bt long story short i cnt rly sail n now i'm stranded way out frm shore n it's so warm out here n i don't even have water

lana: considering drawing a face on a beach ball like tom hanks in castaway and naming it willy sin after two of my fav things

lana: how can i even swim to shore like my phone will get wet n what abt my nudes? what then? my precious nudes?

lana: this is a disaster

[prompt-master]

I LOVE hearing about other people's dreams. What happened in your lab dream?!

as youre reading this i want you guys to think of what fandom this scenario could fit into cuz id like to write it out someday

anyway, help prom get back into this dream by talking about it with me:

In the dream i was a lab researcher meeting up with an old pal who was also a lab researcher. We hadnt seen each other in years and spent a good day out together. At the end of the get together, i fell asleep on the ride home

When i woke up i was in a cell wearing a white dress with a red skirt and black flats. In front of the cell bars theres a small space for someone to walk around and then another door out. The friend comes into that space and reveals hes the reason im locked up. He hints that im needed because im "special" in some way, but wont elaborate

I remember being so pissed off at him. Just screaming at him and begging him to let me out and fix this shit. I trusted him. But hw just ignored me and left

However. After that i discovered he left the door to the cell unlocked, no doubt on purpose. So i left and began exploring the area

The area outside the cell was a long hallway with different rooms, dark but illuminated by a stricking red light at the end

I remember being scared because when i walked around, ypu could hear my foot steps clackingagainst the metal ground.so i took my shoes off and walked bare foot instead with the hopes of not getting caught by any other scientist

After that its a lot of slipping throughout random rooms and exploring the labratory. I had a theoty that i was on a boat, because everytjing was like a metal prison. And i rrmember having to try and walk around cameras smd such

Eventually i had run into a small child doll wearing a red dress. When she lay her eyes on me she immediately brcame alert and started to chase me. So i ran to a seperate room and slammed the door behind me, where i could feel her banging and banging on the door. I could feel her getting stronger and taller and larger. I woke up when the door broke down

The next part of the dream came a few days later, but in patches. For example, i had at some point discovered a computer in the lab that was left logged where i found different files on all the employees including my friend. It had several ways to get rid of him if necessary and how to replace him. I tried to find info on my own experiment, but a scientist walked into the room and i had to hide

After that i ran into my friend, who was at the opposite end of a room to me. He stood at the door with his back turned. I remember having this sudden realization that he didnt have a choice but to pretend he couldnt see me because if he did he would have no hcoice but to turn me in. I took the hint and left the other way, happy we could have such powerful nonverbal communication still, even though i also still felt betrayed

Then i ran into a "mini boss' fight. A man with a camera held permemently over his face so that all i could see was his wide smile. When i had walked into that room he had been taking pictures of a botched experiment on a stretcher, which was just a pile of black sludge. I remember for that fight i had to cover my eyes to keep the cameras flash from blinding me

And then finally i ran into the friend once again. But this time, he was actually able to talk to me. "You turned off the cameras" he said, "didnt you notice?" I had no idea. I didnt know i could do things like that. I asked him to come with me, and told him that we could escape together but he just told me he couldnt. When i asked him why i was so special, he also wasnt able to give a straight answer. He just.kept saying it was for the best. He warned me to be more careful of the lead scientists, because they were onto me, and then i woke up

And thats all the lab dream lore

[smalltragedy]

* ryan destiny, cis woman + she/her | you know kira blake, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ever? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to babooshka by kate bush like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole lazily stretched out in a ray of light, daisy shaped irises and daisy chain braids, performing an intricate dance to move the ocean's waves thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 31st, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hllo ive hd kira in my head fr a bit bt i also know ntohing abt her! this is me winging it even though i hv no right to <3 this is my third character maybe whose birthday is in honor of ella n coincidentally 2/3 of them r in this rp. yea im messy smirks sexily.

DEATH, GRIEF, DRUGS TW

mini playlist.

wuthering heights ;; kate bush / babooskha ;; kate bush / dreams ;; fleetwood mac / california dreamin’ ;; the mamas & the papas / lavender moon ;; haroula rose / time of the season ;; the zombies / after the storm ;; kali uchis / left hand free ;; alt-j / always forever ;; cults / wait a minute! ;; willow / your dog ;; soccer mommy.

statistics.

full name: kira blake

nickname(s): keely.

birthday: october 31st, 1996.

zodiac: scorpio sun, cancer moon, aquarius ascending. 

mbti & temperament: esfp & catalyst / sanguine. 

label: the ebullient.

sexuality: bisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

born to two original hippies which hs pretty much set up who kira is fr the rest of her life <3 the type of ppl who didnt like the boundaries of marriage n held off frm it fr as long as possible until theyd hd a spur of the moment elopement involving a celebrity impersonator at fannie’s <3 yea theyre lesbians lets go <3

nvr rly took things srsly until kira ws like 5 yrs old n then they were like ah gee ah fuck we probably shld probably settle settle. n they job hopped n worked many odd jobs until they found their footing in careers they liked n one of them probably does like. blown glass art. n the other prob fixes old computers n other ~vintage~ mementos of the past fr ppl.

they make a decent living n they live in delpinius heights n they try a few times fr another kid bt it nvr rly works out (raises an eyebrow. adopted siblings anyone?) n fr the most part kira as a child spends her time running around town and tugging on the hem of other’s shirts to ask them small favors (mostly to play a game with her)

often left unsupervised as a kid, bt not in the way tht her parents dnt care (bc her parents love her a lot a lot a lot like she is their world) bt in the way tht they simply raised her the way they were raised. running amuck all day n coming home jst in time fr dinner, front porch light always on, cat always waiting faithfully on their stoop.

pretty evident frm a young age tht kira’s mind saw things differently, in a different light - the world an array of light n mystery n sound n taste n sometimes those collided n created new experiences. prob hs some form of synsthesia bt dnt ask me which one yet. she’s a painting prodigy with an excellent understanding of color theory.

always ws known as a kind of like. rambunctious kid. a well meaning class clown who cld nt keep her mouth shut fr the life of her. grew up constantly with a yellow card beneath her name in school bt ws always well liked by her teachers n classmates alike.

jst a very bright child who did well naturally bt always ws turned more towards art.

feel like her parents very noticeably turned a cheek when she started smoking weed w the cool older kids when she ws 13. the type of person who wnts 2 b liked so bad she’d jump over a hurdle fr it. hs jumped over many hurdles n many fences n many other obstacles to be liked bt does it without breaking a sweat.

(edit: nw tht i think abt it hwevr i dnt think she does tht anymore i think while a bit of a mess atm she. likes herself. n doesnt rly want or need the approval of others anymore she jst does her own little thing. bt when she ws younger? she jst wnted 2 b friends w the entire world.)

nothing bad rly happened fr like. a good bit of her life. got into psychedelics at some point in high school n tht only heightened her artistic abilities. most of her high school art portfolio ws probably done while high bt <3 does it matter.

hd a high school sweetheart n they were pretty serious like. full on in love. a total believer of soulmates kira ws jst like. this is the one. there is nobody else i cn imagine my life with.

death tw

death tw

death tw.

death n grief tw // yea. sometime during their freshmen year of college. car incident. kira ws nvr the same though she’d like to pretend tht nothing’d ever happened. like theyd nvr existed. like she didnt plan out their entire lives together hiking thru hills n valleys n boating across various bodies of water n traveling together until they were old n wrinkly. end of death tw //

cld nt explain 2 u why kira hd bought a van n completely demolished it only to drain all of her savings remodeling it bt nw she lives in it by the beach. hd dreams of travelling the world bt cannot go long distances in a car without feeling sick. sees planes n feels envy. stopped painting fr a long time bt she’s started back up recently. took on surfing. told her parents tht it ws fine n tht she ws fine n theyre concerned bt shes always by the beach, her van rarely leaves. she’s trying her best bt its only been a few yrs n i think ppl cn sense tht shes jst nt the same cheerful girl as they once knew. end of grief tw //

anyways. tugs on my collar. tht’s kira! she lives on the beach n surfs everyday n is obsessed with daisies n is prob growing her own shrooms somewhere. 

personality & facts.

always been very emotional n a little dramatic. nt a drama queen bt is a little messy n does not hv like. many rational thoughts up in there. very cup full or cup empty.

regardless though she hs an. overall reputation fr jst being. enjoyable to be around. her her little moments bt shes also pretty like. laidback. in a way. KDSHFSDLKHGHFLKSD

prob bc she smokes a lot or is often <3 on a trip if u know wht i mean <3

god. got obsessed with the 60s n 70s aesthetic at some point n hs not gone back evr. big fan of psychedelic rock. is a prodigy painter bt her life dream outside of traveling ws always to own her own record label. hs nt happened yet, maybe will never happen? works at a record shop though n does hide the good vinyls tht she wants away frm the customers.

very cheerful n usually uplifting n she doesnt like to b negative around others bt smtms she cnt control it n smtms thinks tht ppl r out 2 get her jst out of. anxiety. hs long bouts where she’ll sit in a still sort of sadness n then shake out of it n hop back into conversation like nothing’s happened bt. its fine we’re fine kira is fine.

shes not gullible or naive bt wants to believe tht everybody hs a heart of gold even if its false. keeps giving ppl second chances bc she hs a savior complex n thinks she cn change ppl.

is very into zodiac n will judge u by ur chart. knows everybody in town’s natal chart. even newcomers. it’s a little scary hw quick she finds this information bt its very important to her.

kind of like. into spirituality bt i wont lie its very surface level n a little superficial. learning tarot cards bt cannot fr the life of her memorize the meanings so smtms she jst makes up things on the spot. hs so many crystals she will not stop buying them.

i think a part of her is desperately trying to cling onto tht like. think positive. self care. msg thts super prevalent online without addressing or actually helping any of her problems. it is her flaw </3

hates to admit when she needs help. wld rather do everything herself.

head is a little in the clouds n her parents r a little concerned fr her bc shes nt rly doing much rn bt like. she jst needs time i think. shes jst doing her little thing.

does not give up on ppl easily she absolutely hates dropping ppl frm her life even if she grows 2 resent them over time which is bad bc she is bad at hiding when she is upset at someone or when she doesnt like someone.

like shes jst passive aggressive abt it n does not properly communicate <3

bt this is rare i think ... negative feelings abt other ppl

self centered bt not selfish if tht makes sense. she will do things fr others without a problem n sometimes trips over herself 2 do it bt at the end of the day i think she cares abt herself the most.

hs only been in love once bt hs hd many infatuations n many like. admirations n very surface level feelings. her body is a temple n she loves 2 b worshipped.

prob does fkn. beach yoga. probably vegan bt also maybe breaks tht every once in a while. almost noncommittal its hard 2 distinguish between her being carefree, not taking care of herself, or jst hving commitment issues? flaky or not? who knows.

feels jst a bit too strongly bt tries to contain it. jst full of multitudes or smth. idk. icon <3

like. cares bt doesnt care. does thinks tht r purposely self destructive n then acts like shes like. cool girl monologue frm gone girl. bt does it while being like peace n luv on earth x

ok thts all i hv goodbye

wanted plots.

a pseudonym 2 fool ‘em... ;; jst hd this idea pop up bt i like the idea of kira going undercover 2 expose cheaters. whether she does this on her own accord or is personally requested by smbdy is up in the air. a plottable point. she h8s cheaters n is chaotic good she prob thinks shes the relationship vigilante testing the strengths of other’s relationships. once again she cld b. specifically going undercover fr smbdy 2 help them out. im sure she wldnt go 2 very. extensive srs measures like actually. sleeping w the assumed-cheaters bt once again. world is our oyster n i lov drama?

crystal visions ... ;; once again. shes super into crystals n astrology n she will base sm of her opinions of others on it. this is nt just abt her being judgmental of others bt also jst. catching her running around in the rain trying sooo hard 2 fkn. charge her crystals in the rainwater bc she forgot 2 charge them under the full moon the night b4. this is her giving wrong tarot readings. she hs no idea wht shes doing at any given time bt acts like she does know. acts like she knows the entire world. she gives crystals as gifts n will do ur natal chart for u bt will also pack her things n leave if ur a capricorn.

time of the season... ;; i dnt knw admittedly. this song’s abt being horny so perhaps? perhaps. kira isnt rly able to keep a grasp on long term relationships rn due to. factors in her life so she hops frm person 2 person often. smtms jst flings smtms its jst a relationship accidentally led on. shes noncommittal n a little flaky atm when she’s usually ride or die fr others. perhaps this is all in the name of some good fun! world? oyster. 

literally anything .dsfskhdkgs ;; god. shes so new i jst dnt know. childhood friends. current friends. friends shes hd frever. enemies n ex lovers n ppl shes constantly pushing away or scorned lovers or both or anything?? she pushed them out of the roller rink to make more room fr herself or maybe they did tht to her. perhaps theyre both constantly pursuing some sort of fkn. meaning in their lives tht they cnt quite grasp. mayb they go on an acid trip together. who knows. 

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 3

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, a TLWH easter egg 

WC: 7k

-----------

Shawn Mendes & Bex Spotted Canoodling in Toronto -- The Sun

Did Shawn Mendes Take Bex Home To Meet The Parents?! -- JustJared

Fallin’ All in Bex! Shawn Mendes and Bex Hit His Hometown For A Romantic Weekend -- TMZ

Penny steps back from her magnifying mirror, mashing her mauve lips together after a good blot and decides she’s ready. She smoothes her manicured fingers down the front of her ice blue Vince slip dress and reaches for the handle of her suitcase, packed with one of her favorite clients in mind, who has a fondness for vibration.

As she turns, she’s stopped in the doorway of her bathroom by an enormous German shepherd, sitting patiently, watching her like a little girl studying her mother putting on makeup. Penny scrunches her face affectionately and squats a little, cupping the dog’s big soft head in her hands.

“My baby Pammy,” she coos, leaving the dog with a kiss on the nose that makes her sniffle and sneeze, “I’ll see you early tomorrow morning. Maybe we’ll go up to Wildwood Canyon for a hike.”

At the word ‘hike,’ Pamela’s head tilts dramatically. Penny laughs and heads for her front door.

Gus is standing on her porch with his arms folded behind his back, admiring her view. When he hears her front door open, he turns with a soft smile.

“Hello there.”

Penny rises on her toes even in her strappy sandals to reach his cheek for a kiss.

“You look lovely as ever. We’re heading to the Roosevelt tonight. Can I take your case?”

Always the same routine. Gus greets her, compliments her, tells her where her date is (though she already knows) and offers to take her luggage. His professionalism is somehow comforting. Penny nods and passes over the suitcase, allowing him to open her door in the back of his Tesla (the agency used to have a small fleet of towncars but went electric last year for the environment).

The car is cool and sleek and silent. Instead of the music some of the agency women prefer to play on the way to a date, Gus and Penny talk. He catches her up on his week, tells her that his daughter Jamie is trying out for freshman soccer and they’ve been running drills in their backyard in Pasadena. His partner Ty is running another marathon, which Gus shakes his head at. Wasn’t one enough?

Penny craves the normalcy she gets a peek at in Gus’s world. Her life is beautiful -- glamorous and exciting and full of color, but Gus has a family to come home to every night that loves him and misses him when he’s away. 

She gazes out at the rippling lights of West Hollywood as they zip past. She makes a choice every day to pursue a life she’s not ready to share with someone else. The truth is, her job fulfills her so much more than dating ever has. When she started working as an escort, she still tried to date. No one was ever worth leaving her work behind for. No one was worth giving up the satisfaction of helping, of relieving, of healing. She resigned not to stop working until she met that person, if they ever came along.

Gus leaves the car in the back lot, taking her case with a wink and a smile. 

Penny waits.

+

The room is cool. The doors to the balcony are open. Penny makes a mental note to shut them for privacy later. They may be in one of the penthouse suites, but this client is extra concerned about discretion and pays a premium for Penny’s sealed lips.

The delicious thrill of an evening with a client crawls up Penny’s smooth back. She reaches out and cups a pair of full hips facing the quiet night. She uses her lips to brush away the soft red hair at the nape of a neck.

“Hello, Julia.”

The woman in her arms reacts, relaxing palpably, sighing and closing her electric green eyes.

“Where the fuck have you been in the last sixteen days?”

Her voice is teasing. Penny grins against her freckled skin, nipping to feel Julia’s perky ass grind back against her hips.

“You were the one who’s been in Moscow shaking hands and playing nice with the big boys,” Penny reminds her, stepping closer and sweeping her hands up Julia’s stomach, teasing the undersides of her breasts beneath her silk blouse.

Julia comes down another notch, her shoulders dropping as she slowly gives in to Penny’s touch. She sighs again, louder, reaching for the wall to steady herself.

“Wish I could fold you up in my pocket and take you with me.”

“Mmm, you haven’t taken me on a business trip in a while,” Penny hums, remembering Rio de Janeiro in January fondly. She slips her fingers over the generous swell of Julia’s breasts, digging her nails in slightly to get her coming all the way undone.

Julia rolls her head back against Penny’s shoulder, blinking slowly. “That’s because you fucked me so hard with the strap-on I looked like an idiot meeting the Brazilian president. I couldn’t… walk.”

Penny drops a hand back down, gliding past her Prada trousers and into what Penny is sure is La Perla lingerie to press her fingers against Julia’s wet cunt. Julia gasps and grinds down into Penny’s touch.

“Worth it, though, right, princess?”

Julia whines, loud and breathy. Penny knows the sound well. Julia Granger, Fortune 500 CEO and one of the richest, most powerful women in the world, is willing, desperate putty in Penny’s hands.

“So worth it,” Julia replies, her voice an octave higher than her soft mumbling moments ago. Penny smiles, rewarding her with a rough roll of her fingers. Julia squirms and stares at her.

“Is that what you want tonight? You wanna fuck my pussy with your pretty cock?”

Adrenaline flares hot and heavy through Penny’s entire body. She drops her head back and closes her eyes, reveling.

“Maybe if you’re the good girl I know you can be.”

Julia coos, rolling her hips between Penny and her hand. “Gonna be a good girl for you. So fucking good, Penny. The best.”

Penny’s free hand cups the back of Julia’s professionally blown out hair and drags her in. She tastes like red wine and woman. Penny groans appreciatively, loving the way Julia softens and waits to follow Penny’s lead, never taking more than she’s given, totally willing to offer her considerable power. Drunk on it already, Penny bites hard on Julia’s lower lip, swallowing the sweet, silky moan.

Penny pulls away smiling, pecking the skin she just abused, eyeing the open balcony doors.

“Let’s close these before I get you screaming for me.”

+

Penny scurries on tiptoes toward her VPI HW-40 turntable, a lavish gift from a client, to turn down the silky crooning of Patti Page. In her free hand, she hits the “Accept Call” button on her phone.

“Hello, stranger.”

“Ciao, bella. How are things?”

Penny looks over the warm, angular face of her brother Peter and pads back to her loveseat. She settles in, sweatpants and hoodie on in full post-date hibernation mood.

“Things are good. I’m recovering from last night.”

Peter smirks and leans back against the blank white wall behind his dorm bed. “Who was it?”

“Julia.”

Peter cocks his head and grins. “I loooove Julia.”

Penny barks a vibrant laugh. “She’s your style icon.”

“She is,” Peter admits freely, widening his eyes to show his sincerity, “She was photographed in this vintage Chanel suit last month in Page Six, I think it was from the 60s, and I swear to god--”

“Pete, you know I usually pay more attention to what’s under the suit,” Penny interrupts dryly, lifting a brow.

Peter pauses and rolls his eyes. “Then you found the perfect profession.”

“I really did, didn’t I?” she teases, wrinkling her nose, “So, how’s school?”

Peter grunts and slouches down into his twin XL, picking at his Target-purchased jersey sheets. “‘S fine. I’m taking on an extra project in my Mathematical Economic Modeling class. Gets me more face time with that professor with the Apple connections, Dietrich. And the TA is gorgeous.”

Penny’s smirk is alarmingly similar to Peter’s. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” She gestures to herself.

Peter snorts. “You’re not my tree.”

“I’m as good as. How is that tree of ours, anyway? Have you talked to them?”

“They’re fine. I talked to dad and Kris on Thursday. They’re going to Miami for fall break so they asked if I could stay with mom and Frank. I told them I was flying out to visit you instead.”

Penny pauses her fiddling with the cushions on her sofa and looks at him through the phone. “Are you?”

“Ugh, don’t look so horrified. I’m going to Sasha’s. Her family lives in Delaware and they have a boat.”

“First of all, I’m not horrified, I would just need to move some shit around in my calendar. Second, why don’t you just tell them that?”

“Oh my god, I’m not gonna, like, cramp your hooker style. Just leave me on a beach I’d be fiiiiiine,” Peter whines. Penny narrows her eyes.

“I don’t live anywhere near the beach and your ass still can’t drive. Why do you care if they know you’re at Sasha’s?”

“Oh my god, I know, my useless gay ass really needs a license, what the fuck,” Peter laments.

“HEY!” Penny yelps for his attention, “Why does it matter if you’re in Delaware?”

Peter grunts and rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t. I just don’t need them knowing shit about me, you know?”

Penny’s lips fasten. She nods. She can’t argue with that, it’s the same approach she took with their parents while she was growing up with them in the suburbs of northern Jersey. She didn’t have a shitty childhood or anything. In fact once her parents got divorced and quickly remarried wildly different people, things ran much smoother. But the family isn’t close. Her parents were very preoccupied with their own lives and never paid much attention to Penny or Peter. So they made their own family. And in that family, the less others outside it know about them, the better.

Penny feels an overwhelming urge to hug her little brother, the super genius, the boy who got into MIT at 16 to study Computer Science, Economics and Data Science. Their parents barely noticed, but Penny did. She pays his tuition bills and housing to remind him financially of how much she cares. She tries to remind him in other ways, too, like this, their (usually) weekly FaceTime date. 

“Well, you’ll be out here for Thanksgiving, right? We’re gonna order Chinese and get high in Big Bear?”

Penny sounds laughably eager. She doesn’t mind. Peter deserves her eagerness and her care-giving instincts. He always has.

Peter smiles, hugging a stuffed hippogryff pillow into his narrow chest. “Course. Better you than the stepmonsters.”

Penny rolls her tired eyes. “I’m flattered. Email me your holiday schedule this week so I can buy your flight, ok?”

Peter nods and watches his sister yawn and collapse back into her pillows.

“Julia wore you the fuck out,” he laughs.

“She did. I’ve had a few very long nights over the last couple weeks, actually. And doing all the end of month stuff for Silver.”

“Silver, OMG, my mom.”

Penny continues, ignoring Peter’s extremely gen Z interruption, “And before that I was with Victor in the Caribbean.”

“Has Julia been hogging you since then?”

Penny glances at the record player, shrugging. “New client, actually.”

“Ooh, we love. Anyone I know?”

Penny doesn’t have to tell Peter to keep a secret. She also knows better than to play coy for too long. She tells him everything.

“Shawn Mendes.”

Peter’s eyes go wide. His jaw drops. He makes a squeaking noise and falls dramatically into his pillows. “Dead. Bitch, I’m dead. What the fuck?!? Are you… oh my GOD!”

Penny’s familiar with the reaction. She got almost the same one when she had a few dates with Timothee Chalamet last spring. This one is even more… Peter.

“Truly, this is the highlight of my life and it’s not even mine. What a moment. Can we just pause and take this in? Oh my god. You’re… oh my god. How many times have you seen him?”

“Twice.”

“Oh sweet god. Tell me everything, holy fuck.”

“I’m not going to tell you everything. I never tell you everything,” Penny reminds him. 

She’s been open about her profession with her brother since he was 14 (with the maturity of an 18-year-old) but long ago decided he didn’t need to know all the details of her escapades. Some things have to remain just hers.

Peter whines loudly. “But this is different! He’s… god, an Adonis. The best looking man on the planet. Seriously, he has no business looking like that.”

Penny nods solemnly. She doesn’t disagree.

Peter’s lips purse. His eyes narrow. “But you like him, right?”

“I do. He’s very nice. And… he’s a very good boy.”

Peter lifts a cushion to his face and screams while Penny laughs, curling into a comfy ball on her couch.

+

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mendes?”

Shawn blinks. His stomach drops into his shoes and his fingers tighten around his phone. “Uh… yeah? Hi.”

“Hello, this is Colette. May I have your verbal password for security purposes?”

Shawn presses a hand into the hair he forgot he was doing up and frowns. La Splendeur has never called him before. He has to give his verbal password when he calls the service, but he’s a little thrown off at being the one getting a call. He clears his throat.

“Um, it’s “Ireland.””

Shawn wasn’t prepared to have to create a password when they first asked him for one so he spit out the first word he thought of, and Niall was the one who gave him their number, so…

“Yes, thank you. Mr. Mendes, I’m calling regarding your appointment tonight with Penny.”

He has the sudden urge to throw his phone on the bed and punch a pillow, throw a little temper tantrum. She’s cancelling. He can feel it. He’s been in Toronto sexless and desperate for 10 days thinking about seeing her again, feeling her again, making her come again. And now she’s ditching him.

“Yes?” he croaks miserably.

“There’s been a change of venue. Penny and her driver will meet you at the Bel Air Bay Club in the Pacific Palisades. We have texted you the address. Penny apologizes for the last minute change in plan and hopes you’re still able to join her.”

The roller coaster he seems to be on brings him back up to a peak. He grins and nods until he remembers Colette can’t see him through the phone.

“Yes! Yeah, no problem. 8:00 still?”

“Yes, 8:00. Thank you, Mr. Mendes. Enjoy your evening.”

+

Shawn is about five minutes from the turn off to the Bel Air Bay Club when the radio station he has on to block out the static in his head starts playing the Lost in Japan remix. He flinches and hits the off button on the stereo, looking around at the red light like he’s worried people stopped around him might think he’s listening to his own music. Truthfully, he doesn’t want anyone around him to notice him for any reason tonight. He feels safe enough for now.

He was immediately relieved when he realized Penny was not cancelling their date, but became slowly unnerved trying to riddle out why she didn’t have the service book a hotel room like their first dalliances. She’s changing the game. Why is she changing the game?

He knows he’s not in charge. That’s literally the point. Seeing her means seeing her on her terms and bending to her will and whims. So if driving out almost to Malibu is what she wants him to do, he’ll do it. But just when he was getting comfortable with this, or as comfortable as he can be when he’s regularly utilizing the services of a high priced call girl, she’s got him on edge again. Maybe she’s doing it on purpose. Maybe it’s a whole “domme” thing -- luring him like prey into a sense of security and then teasing him, faking him out to keep him on his toes.

He might be thinking too hard about this. Penny’s always trying to get his mind clear, not confuse or upset him. She wants to take care of him.

He swallows as the light turns green and he eyes his turn off a few hundred yards away. He hopes he’s dressed ok. He googled the Bay Club and it seems to just be an event space, not a restaurant or a hotel, which threw Shawn even further down the loop. He’s in black jeans, the good ones, the ones he wore before the Calvin Klein partnership that don’t have the big obnoxious CALVIN KLEIN JEANS patch on the back waistband, and an off white oxford with some embroidered detailing on the inside of the collar and the shirt pocket.

Are they staying here? He wonders as his Tesla hugs the curves of the road heading up the bluff to the Spanish style country club. Is she taking him to some kind of event? That would be weird. People know him. She can’t take him to stuff and expect him to be incognito. She wouldn’t do that, right? She’s been doing this a long time, she probably has had lots of famous clients that insist on staying under the radar.

He begins to spiral as the road does, dropping him right into the valet lane in front of the grand main building complete with cascading bougainvillea and an ornately sculpted fountain. He spots Gus standing under an overhang with his arms folded professionally looking like expensive private security. Shawn supposes that’s exactly what he is, actually.

The car rolls to a stop. He chokes down an inhale and rolls his window down when Gus gestures to him.

“Good evening, Mr. Mendes. Miss Penny is in the parking lot just around the corner there. May I see your--”

Shawn holds up the screenshot of his bank’s transfer confirmation on his phone with what he hopes is a smile and not a grimace but his whole stupid body is churning. Gus looks it over and nods, waving him toward the lot.

It’s nearly empty. There’s no event here tonight. It’s near sunset on a Tuesday in early June, but the dreaded LA June gloom is nowhere to be seen. Maybe Penny did away with that for them, Shawn muses absurdly as he steers the car toward the lot. She has power he doesn’t understand.

He stops the car in the middle of the lot, hitting the brakes a little too hard. He can’t even be bothered to park.

Propped up against a sleek black Aston Martin Vanquish S in a little white dress and beige leather driving gloves is Penny, looking somehow more like James Bond than one of his Bond girls. His brain pops and fizzles, giving out entirely. He swears he’s already hard in his jeans just from seeing the car. He releases a whimpered breath and gets his shit together enough to park beside her, not directly next to her for fear of bumping her car with his door.

He steps out on jello knees and stares at her, a burst of shocked laughter rumbling from his chest.

Penny grins and pats the hood affectionately.

“You wanna go for a ride?”

Does he ever.

+

The car growls as she shifts gears once they’re back on the PCH, cruising past ridiculous beach homes on their right and the Pacific on their left. He keeps looking down at her lap and the way her leg muscles flex and release as she works the pedals easily, like she’s been driving hundred thousand dollar sports cars since she got her license.

“How long have you had this?” he murmurs, gazing around at the blonde leather interior appreciatively.

“Two years. It’s my dream car.”

She strategically leaves out the part explaining that it was a gift from the North American president of Aston Martin for her birthday while he was her client. That’s need to know information.

“I think this is everyone’s dream car,” he snorts.

“I like your Tesla though,” she comments, shifting again, swerving around a couple hippies in a Jeep Wrangler without doors as easily as if she were brushing an ant off a windshield. Shawn’s stomach lurches in response and his skin tingles. There’s something incredibly sexy about a practiced, fearless driver.

“Yeah, it’s a good car,” he chirps, feeling silly about the boyish pride he felt when he bought it, like he was hot shit. Teslas are everywhere now, especially in LA. Aston Martins remain eternally cool. He finds himself oddly jealous.

“I don’t let just anyone in this car, you know,” she says, easing into a stop at a red light as they head north to Malibu. He looks over at her.

Her berry pink lips spread. He flushes.

“Oh no?”

He picks up on the implication that she means she doesn’t often take dates in this car. Where there was a hint of childish jealousy there’s now a swell of pleasure and pride.

“No, definitely not. There are many powerful men that are comfortable enough submitting themselves to me for sex but still can’t stomach being driven around by a young woman who’s a better driver than they are in a car that’s nicer than theirs.”

She lifts her leather gloved hand gracefully from the gearshift and drops it against his mid thigh, mashing her lips together as they enjoy the breeze coming in from the window. 

“You’re saying you think I’m secure enough in my masculinity?” he jokes, but he feels himself flush a little.

Penny squeezes her fingers enough to make his whole body stiffen. She lifts the corner of her mouth in a smirk at his reaction.

“Exactly.”

Her voice is smooth and controlled, just like her driving as she springs forward on the green light. Shawn’s head tips back against the seat from the acceleration. He misses her hand as soon as she takes it away to attend to the gearshift. 

He turns his head to watch her shamelessly, pressing his cheek into the warm leather headrest, admiring the way her dark hair flutters in the breeze.

“So where are we going?”

She smirks again in that way that always makes him ready to drop to his knees in surrender to her. That smile means she knows everything and controls it, too. He loves that smile. That smile is his freedom.

“Oh, you noticed this isn’t a hotel room?” she teases.

Shawn rolls his eyes and looks forward, watching the colors spread like spilled paint on a canvas as the sun begins to dip below the watery horizon. “Don’t need a hotel room to make you feel good, Penny.”

He feels her eyes and looks over to see her watching him, swiping her soft wet tongue against her lower lip. “Good to know.”

She dips around a curve and slows at another light, drumming her long slender fingers against the wheel. He watches them and can’t help but think about the last time they were together when she so generously let him watch her fuck herself and suck on her fingers after.

She seems to sense his antsiness and clears her throat. “Well, we are headed for a hotel room. I just wanted to take you on a little drive first. It’s not often I show off this car, like I said. And I like this part of the PCH.”

He settles, knowing there’s a bed for them at the end of this little journey. “Do you like the beach?”

“I love the beach,” she answers, nodding, “My favorite beach in the world is on Laucala Island in Fiji. It’s dead quiet and the snorkeling is the best I’ve ever seen.”

Shawn smiles. “So have you been, like, everywhere?”

“Well, I’ve been most everywhere on the Conde Nast Traveler’s Best Of list. There are still a lot of other places I’d like to visit.”

“Like where?”

“Like… Chicago. I’ve never been to Chicago,” she chuckles.

His eyebrows lift. “You’ve been to Fiji but not Chicago?”

She shrugs. “I know. Imagine missing out on all that deep dish pizza.”

Shawn laughs. “It makes sense though. Clients would rather fly you somewhere sexier than Chicago.”

There he goes, acknowledging the elephant in the back seat of the sportscar again. Penny nods appreciatively, but stays quiet. She still isn’t quite sure what to do about his insistence on reminding them both that she’s here with him in a professional capacity. He doesn’t even sound bitter or awkward about it, that’s the weirdest part. He just treats it like it’s a part of her life, and maybe he’s interested in her life and not just the insane orgasms she can dish out.

“What’s the craziest trip a client has taken you on?”

Penny chews on her lip. Shawn expects her to come away with lipstick on her teeth, but nothing. Figures. She’s perfect.

“I think… well, I can’t tell you who, obviously, but someone flew me to Mustique once on about four hours notice. I had to pack and get myself to LAX to catch the flight. And then we couldn’t get back for almost a week because of a hurricane on the east coast. But honestly, if I had to be stranded on any private island, I’d pick that one.”

Shawn grins and launches into a story about getting hounded by paps in Mexico with his family once. While Penny listens, she quietly marvels at how easily he handles her honesty about her job. She understands she’s not getting into the nitty gritty, not describing how many influential businessmen, politicians, musicians and actors she’s had on their knees for her, but still. Given the way he reacted the first time she flubbed and made mention of their professional arrangement, he seems oddly relaxed about it now.

She likes hearing him talk. She can see the way he settles down when he’s rattling away about something. He talks about his family and his crew and bandmates, weaving in and out of tangents with each breath. He doesn’t question it when she flips on her turn signal and edges them up a canyon path that leads up into the craggy hills, climbing away from the sunset.

He’s even still chattering when she shifts the car into park at the top of a bluff with a deserted lookout point that she knows and loves.

“... and anyway, I think the festival thing will be good, ya know? It’ll take my mind off all the shit leading into releasing the next album. Or, hopefully it will.”

He looks around and registers that they’ve stopped. He clears his throat and smiles sheepishly, tilting his head back against the headrest. His curls flop boyishly over his forehead, bathed in violet light from the sunset.

“I haven’t shut up for fifteen minutes at least, eh?”

Penny shakes her head, amused. “You haven’t, but that’s perfectly fine with me.”

Shawn understands that. It’s better if he talks than if she does. Her job is probably one that she tries not to put too much of her real self into. He imagines he wouldn’t, if he were in her position. Too messy.

He tries not to feel the pang of… something that flares in his chest when he looks at her and wonders how much of the little she shares of herself is real.

“I wanted you to see this view while the sun was still setting.”

He nods and settles in. They unbuckle their seatbelts. She reaches for her phone that’s plugged into the stereo and selects a playlist. Shawn closes his eyes, stretches out his legs as much as is possible in the sleek sports car and sighs.

“This is nice. I feel, like… really good around you.”

He doesn’t even flinch when he feels her fingers on his neck, the soft buttery leather tracing up his jugular vein to run along his jaw and tangle in the hair at his nape.

“That’s good.”

He keeps his eyes shut and breathes into her touch, letting Frank Sinatra’s voice flood out anything that isn’t Penny related. His aching brain welcomes the cleanse.

“Do you feel good around me?” he hums.

“I do,” she responds, pulling her hand back from him. He opens his eyes to see her carefully slipping out of her driving gloves. The action is erotic in a Victorian sort of way, despite the fact that if he glanced down he’d see a lot more leg than was ever shown in that era. He loves her hands, though. They’re fucking gorgeous hands. He thinks about them on a piano or a guitar and it makes him breathe a little harder.

She tucks the gloves away in the center console. Shawn swallows and blinks at her, hoping his big brown eyes can entice her into touching him with her bare fingers. He doesn’t even care where, not yet.

“So you like Sinatra?” he rasps.

He gets a nice little smile out of her. “I love Sinatra. I listen to a lot of that kind of music. The Rat Pack, anything from the 40s and 50s. My best friend Silver tells me I have an old soul.”

“Silver. That’s a cool name.”

Penny wets her lips and pushes a hand through her floaty blow out. “I’m not sure it’s real, but I don’t mind. She runs La Splendeur. We’ve known each other a long time.”

Shawn squirrels away this piece of information, knowing somehow in his gut that it’s the truth. He doesn’t think Penny lies to him much, if ever -- she just doesn’t offer a lot of specifics. When she does, he hoards them like a starving man.

“I thought about you so much in the last week,” he sighs, sounding resigned. As he keeps his eyes down at his lap, he sees her hand appear again, resting on his thigh. It’s warmer without her little glove. He takes a chance and places his on top of hers, massaging her wrist gently with his rough fingers.

“What did you think about?” she asks.

He looks up at her and sees all the little details his brain failed him on when he was away from her. She has little freckles on her shoulders, bared by the thin straps of her dress. She has a little scar on the cut of her jaw. Her lips are full and round but slightly uneven so when she purses them a certain way it looks like a sexy little scowl.

“Thought about touching you,” he muses, letting his greedy eyes rake over the rest of her, “Tasting you. I really… I love the way you taste, Penny.”

She slides down in her seat, sighing heavily, letting her legs fall open as much as the footwell will allow. Shawn’s mouth goes instantly dry.

“I wonder what you’ll do for me if I let you have another taste.”

She looks over to see Shawn’s eyes looking wild and needy. She has to tamp down a satisfied grin to keep her facade.

“Anything you want, Pen. I’ll make you come so good. As many times as you want. It can be like the other night, you know? Or… or whatever you want.”

Penny reaches out and cups his chin in her hand. He leans into it like an attention-starved house cat, practically nuzzling into her palm as his eyes flutter.

“Anything I want?” she purrs, pressing her fingertips into his jaw teasingly. He swallows a moan and nods as much as he can in her tight grip.

“Anything. Wanna be so good for you, Pen.”

She licks her pillowy lips and releases him. He inhales sharply, watching as she pushes her door open and steps out. Before he can react, ask what she’s doing or even open his door to try to follow her lead, she steps out of her vibrant pink Manolos and easily unzips her dress all the way to the hem, pushing it off her shoulders until it lands in the dust at her feet. Shawn groans at all her sweet soft skin, still evenly bronzed, her tight brown nipples puckering in the cool evening breeze. Her nude satin thong joins the rest of her expensive clothes. Shawn’s eyes focus on her, on the soft little patch of dark hair that crowns her pussy, on the memory of how wet he got her the last time they were together. He struggles to keep himself together.

She leans into the driver’s side, her breasts swinging as she lowers her head to kiss him. He sucks at her lower lip and hums into her mouth, the first taste of release as sweet as he remembers.

“Come here, Shawn,” she says firmly, jerking her head as she drops herself back into the driver’s seat, this time with her back to him, seated sideways facing her open door.

Shawn leaps out of the car, slams his door and hustles around the hood, barely slowing as he drops to his knees in front of her.

“Ah, ah, ah,” she chastises, plucking his hungry hands off her thighs as he braces himself to bury his face in her.

He looks up, bewildered but willing. She presses a finger to his lips, watches him kiss her skin while he stares up at her like it’s second nature to him.

“Stand up and turn around.”

His jaw snaps shut, the muscle twitching in protest like it does when he doesn’t get what he wants right away. Ever obedient, though, he stands and turns away.

Penny reaches into the glove compartment and comes out with a white silk tie from her favorite fetish set. She drops it in her lap and reaches for his hands, clasping them together behind his back. She binds him wrist over wrist like an expert.

His exhale whistles through his nose as his chest deflates. “Jesus, Penny.”

“I know,” she whispers soothingly. She’s been watching him all night. She knows how badly he wants to touch her. Taking that away is almost cruel, but it’s for a good cause.

With a gentle push from her, he turns and kneels again, watching as she props herself up, spreading her legs for him, arm up on the center console.

Shawn keeps his eyes on her despite how badly he wants to stare at her body. Her nose twitches against a powerful smirk. She rolls her hips forward slightly and watches him suck in a desperate breath.

“Want my pussy, Shawn?”

He nods almost frantically.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” he croaks, his eyes flashing at hers, “Please. I need your pussy.”

She casually shrugs a hand into her hair and sighs. “Good. Because I want your mouth.”

Shawn lurches toward her, his shoulders pulling together as he buries his face in her warm wet folds. She mewls, smiling at his eagerness, rolling her hips slowly as he whimpers into her, trying to get his bearings before he can get totally lost in her perfect cunt.

He eases back slightly to focus on sucking on her outer lips, lifting his eyes to look at her as he tastes what he missed so much in the last week.

“That better, Shawn? You feel better now that you’re tasting me?”

He nods without lifting his head, swiping his tongue out to take long, broad licks of her, sweeping up all he can. When he can look up at her, her abdominal muscles quake, reacting to the heady desire in his eyes. She grunts, lifting her chin to urge him on.

“Yeah, feels so fucking good,” she mutters, letting her head fall back as she basks in it. 

He knows what she likes now. After spending hours worshipping her pussy before he left for Toronto, he’s learned all the tricks, experimented carefully with pressure and position and speed and anything else he could think of to watch her perfect fucking thighs tremble next to his head and hear her make her pretty noises. Once she got comfortable with him between her knees, she started to talk dirty, praising him, swearing, generally moaning filth. He thinks he likes that maybe even more than her little whimpers.

But nothing’s better than when she screams.

Shawn starts slow, warming her up until she’s absolutely dripping on his tongue. He courses slow, deliberate circles around her entrance, just dipping inside and watching her chest rise with her inhale before he swipes at her lips some more, humming to drive her a little crazy. She likes the teasing, though. She likes the slow burn. He gives her what she wants.

“Like watching you suck on my clit with your pretty pink lips,” she half-whines, her foot slipping a little as she starts to fade closer to orgasm. He takes the hint and flicks at her swollen bud once, twice with his stiff tongue and then sucks it into his mouth with a satisfied groan.

“Yes,” she hisses, gripping his hair in one hand and the edge of her leather seat with the other, “Fuck, that’s so good. You’re so good for me.”

Shawn preens, sucking harder, then letting up on pressure, then going hard again. He can feel her orgasm coiled in her abdomen. She just has to let him release it. He alternates sucking and brushing his tongue against her entrance until she’s yanking at his hair, sitting up straighter.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come on your tongue,” she chants, nodding, eyes squeezed shut.

She opens them, looks down to see his hands straining behind his back, still bound for her as he sucks at her pussy like it’s the fucking fountain of youth.

She explodes. She holds his face down against her, rides it out against his mouth. Her legs spasm, feet slipping from where they’re propped beside him. Her cheeks are flooded red, her eyes glassy and dark as she swears his name. He doesn’t let up until she’s pulling his head away with a fist in his hair. He licks his lips and smiles -- it’s not a smirk or a simper. He smiles at her like he’s never been happier to see her. She grins back, giggling effusively.

“How was that?” he grunts, even though he knows. He wants to hear it. He deserves it.

“Perfect, Shawn. So… fuck, so good. Your mouth is amazing. You make me feel…” she sighs again through a drowsy grin, “You get me so high, baby.”

Baby.

His ears go as red as his cheeks. He ducks his head shyly, feeling his chest burn as his heart rattles like an angry kettle in his chest. One word, a word he’s been called a hundred times, a pet name he sings in songs he writes for women that don’t exist, and it has him reeling. He manages to raise his eyes again. She’s watching him fondly.

“You like that?” she whispers, cradling the back of his head as she reaches down behind him to free his hands. They go limp at his sides. He makes no move to touch her. 

What a good boy.

He nods, uncertain. “I like that.”

“We all want to feel wanted, Shawn,” she coos, nudging him back up on his feet. She grins at the patches of dirt on the knees of his dark jeans. She offers him her hand and he helps her stand now in the crisp blue light of new dusk.

“Kiss me, baby,” she breathes, reaching for his waist. A weak noise of eagerness slips from his throat as he pulls her in, tucks her warm, orgasm-flushed body against his and lets her taste herself on his tired tongue. Just as he’s settling in, just as he gets comfortable and starts toying with tangling his fingers in the ends of her hair and massaging her cheek with his thumb, she pulls away, poker face firmly in place.

“Can you get my coat from the trunk?” She seals her request with a perfunctory peck against his lips.

He nods, letting himself look her over, naked and proud on this bluff above the ocean like there’s no one around for a thousand miles. He pops the trunk and opens her suitcase. A Burberry trench coat sits on top. He blinks and lifts it out. He’s about to ask if this is all she plans on wearing tonight when he catches sight of what else is in the suitcase.

He peeks his head around the trunk to look at her.

“Is… that for me?”

She places a hand on her hip and shrugs. “Dunno. Guess we’ll find out tonight.”

Shawn’s heart bounces into his throat. His fingers tighten around the jacket.

“Jesus… Christ.”

Penny smiles and looks down at her feet as she takes slow steps toward the back of the car. She pries the jacket from his clawed hands and slips it on over her bare body, tying it at the waist.

She looks up at him under soft, hooded lids. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip and cocks her head. “Ever tried one?”

He swallows like a fucking cartoon character and shakes his head.

“I think you’ll like it,” she purrs, flipping her hair out from under her collar and turning on her heel. She crouches, gathers up her dusty clothes and tosses them into the backseat. She slips back into her heels and lowers into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition.

The car growls. Shawn shivers. She pops her head out the driver’s side door and raises her eyebrows.

“Coming?”

Definitely.

----------

Hello! Thank you for continuing to support my smuttiest series ever. If you’d to further motivate me, consider buying me a Ko-fi (link in bio)!

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[hlupdate]

A hand­shake can quell polit­i­cal unrest and sti­fle impend­ing war. It can, with a bit of spit, val­i­date a gentleman’s agree­ment, end a years-long roman­tic rela­tion­ship or send a young heart rac­ing. But it all depends on the two par­ties involved.

Daisy, 21, felt a seis­mic jolt when Har­ry Styles, 25, wear­ing a striped jumper and rings on three of his five fin­gers, clutched her hand two days after this year’s Met Gala in New York, when she served him gela­to at the shop where she worked.

“He decid­ed on a small mint choco­late gela­to and I made his and the one for his friend and I said, ​‘Can I just say I absolute­ly loved your Met Gala look’ and he said ​‘Thank you very much! What’s your name?’ And I said, ​‘Daisy’ AND HE FUCK­ING EXTEND­ED HISHAND AND REACHED TO SHAKE MY HAND AND I ACTU­AL­LY FUCK­INGSHOOK HIS HAND WHAT THE FUCK,” she wrote on Insta­gram after The Shak­en­ing. ​“Like I didn’t even say any­thing to gas him up besides ​‘I loved your met gala look’ and his fine ass went and shook my hand! WHAT A BEAU­TI­FUL FUCK­ING HUMAN BEINGTHAT HE IS GOD BLESS HIM AND I HOPE HW [sic] LIVES FOREVER.”

For Har­ry Styles, a hand­shake can be a roman­tic ges­ture, con­jur­ing a potent rev­er­ence in its recip­i­ent, like the time he met Gucci’s cre­ative direc­tor Alessan­dro Michele. ​“He was as attrac­tive as James Dean and as per­sua­sive as Gre­ta Gar­bo. He was like a Luchi­no Vis­con­ti char­ac­ter, like an Apol­lo: at the same time sexy as a woman, as a kid, as a man,” Michele told me, has­ten­ing to add: ​“Of course, Har­ry is not aware of this.”

No, Styles has no idea the pow­er he wields. In per­son, he’s tow­er­ing, like some­one who is not that much taller but whose rep­u­ta­tion adds four inch­es. Styles has a seda­tive bari­tone, spo­ken in a rum­my north­ern Eng­lish accent, that tum­bles out so slow­ly you for­get the name of your first born, a swag­ger that has been nursed and per­fect­ed in myth­i­cal places with names like Pais­ley Park, or Abbey Road, or Grace­land. Makes com­plete sense that he would be up for the role of Elvis Pres­ley in Baz Luhrmann’s upcom­ing biopic. He was primed, nay, born to shake his hips, all but one but­ton on his shirt cling­ing for dear life around his tor­so. Then the part was award­ed to anoth­er actor, Austin Butler.

“[Elvis] was such an icon for me grow­ing up,” Styles tells me. ​“There was some­thing almost sacred about him, almost like I didn’t want to touch him. Then I end­ed up get­ting into [his life] a bit and I wasn’t dis­ap­point­ed,” he adds of his ini­tial research and prepa­ra­tions to play The King. He seems relaxed about los­ing the part to But­ler. ​“I feel like if I’m not the right per­son for the thing, then it’s best for both of us that I don’t do it, you know?”

Styles released his self-titled debut solo album in May 2017. The boy­band grad was clear­ly unin­ter­est­ed in hol­low­ing out the charts with more for­mu­la­ic meme pop. Instead, to the sur­prise of many, he dug his heels into retro-fetishist West Coast ​’70s rock. Some of the One Direc­tion fan-hordes might have been con­fused, but no mat­ter: Har­ry Styles sold one mil­lion copies.

Despite its com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess, he didn’t tour the album right away. He want­ed to act in the Christo­pher Nolan film Dunkirk. To his cred­it, his por­tray­al of a British sol­dier cow­er­ing in a moored boat on the French beach­es as the Nazis advanced wasn’t skew­ered in the press like the movie debuts of, say, Madon­na or Justin Tim­ber­lake. Per­haps he was fol­low­ing advice giv­en by Elton John, who had urged him to diver­si­fy. ​“He was bril­liant in Dunkirk, which took a lot of peo­ple by sur­prise,” John writes in an email. ​“I love how he takes chances and risks.” Act­ing, unlike music, is a release for Styles; it’s the one time he can be not himself.

“Why do I want to act? It’s so dif­fer­ent to music for me,” he says, sud­den­ly ani­mat­ed. ​“They’re almost oppo­site for me. Music, you try and put so much of your­self into it; act­ing, you’re try­ing to total­ly dis­ap­pear in who­ev­er you’re being.”

Fol­low­ing the news that he missed out on Pres­ley, his name was float­ed for the role of Prince Eric in Disney’s live-action remake of The Lit­tle Mer­maid. How­ev­er, fans will have to wait a bit longer to see Styles on the big screen as that idea, too, has sunk. He won’t be The King or the Prince. ​“It was dis­cussed,” he acknow­ledges before swift­ly chang­ing the sub­ject. ​“I want to put music out and focus on that for a while. But every­one involved in it was amaz­ing, so I think it’s going to be great. I’ll enjoy watch­ing it, I’m sure.”

The new album is wrapped and the sin­gle is decid­ed upon. ​“It’s not like his last album,” his friend, rock ​‘n’ roll leg­end Ste­vie Nicks, told me recent­ly over the phone. ​“It’s not like any­thing One Direc­tion ever did. It’s pure Har­ry, as Har­ry would say. He’s made a very dif­fer­ent record and it’s spectacular.”

Beyond that, Styles is keep­ing his cards close to his chest as to his next musi­cal move. How­ev­er, the air is thick with rumours that his main wing­man for HS2 is Kid Har­poon, aka Tom Hull, who co-wrote debut album track Sweet Crea­ture. No less an author­i­ty than Liam Gal­lagher told us that both big band escapees were in the same stu­dio – RAK in north-west Lon­don – at the same time mak­ing their sec­ond solo albums. Styles played him a cou­ple of tracks, ​“and I tell you what, they’re good,” Gal­lagher enthused. ​“A bit like that Bon Iver. Is that his name?”

Har­ry Styles met Nicks at a Fleet­wood Mac con­cert in Los Ange­les in April 2015. Some­thing about him felt authen­tic to the leg­endary front­woman: ground­ed, like she’d known him for­ev­er, blessed with a win­ning moon­shot grin. A month lat­er, they met back­stage at anoth­er Mac gig, this time at the O2 in Lon­don. Styles brought a car­rot cake for Nicks’ birth­day, her name piped in icing on top. By her own admis­sion, Nicks doesn’t even cel­e­brate birth­days, so this was a sur­prise. ​“He was per­son­al­ly respon­si­ble for me actu­al­ly hav­ing to cel­e­brate my birth­day, which was very sweet,” she says.

Styles’ rela­tion­ship with Nicks is hard to define. Induct­ing her into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in New York as a solo artist ear­li­er this year, his speech hymned her as a ​“mag­i­cal gyp­sy god­moth­er who occu­pies the in-between”. She’s called him her ​“lovechild” with Mick Fleet­wood and the ​“son I nev­er had”. Both have moved past the pre­lim­i­nary chat acknowl­edg­ing each other’s unquan­tifi­able tal­ents and smooth­ly accel­er­at­ed towards play­ful cut-and-thrust ban­ter of a witch mom and her naughty child.

They per­form togeth­er – he sings The Chainand Stop Drag­gin’ My Heart Around; she sings the one alleged­ly writ­ten about Tay­lor Swift, Two Ghosts. One of those per­for­mances was at the Guc­ci Cruise after­par­ty in Rome in May, for ​“a lot of mon­ey”, Nicks tells me, in a ​“big kind of cas­tle place”. She has become his de fac­to men­tor – one phone call is all it takes to reach the Queen of Rock’n’Roll for advice on sequenc­ing (“She is real­ly good at track list­ing,” Styles admits) or just to hear each other’s voic­es… because, well, wouldn’t you?

Fol­low­ing anoth­er Fleet­wood Mac con­cert, at London’s Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um, in June, Nicks met Styles for a late (Indi­an) din­ner. He then invit­ed her back to his semi-detached Geor­gian man­sion in north Lon­don for a lis­ten­ing par­ty at mid­night. The album – HS2or what­ev­er it’ll be called – was fin­ished. Nicks, her assis­tant Karen, her make-up artist and her friends Jess and Mary crammed onto Styles’ liv­ing-room couch. They lis­tened to it once through in silence like a ​“bunch of edu­cat­ed monks or some­thing in this dark room”. Then once again, 15 or 16 tracks, this time each of his guests offer­ing live feed­back. It wrapped at 5am, just as the sun was bleed­ing through the curtains.

Even for a pop star of Styles’ stature, press­ing ​“play” on a deeply per­son­al work for your hero to digest, watch­ing her face react in real time to your new music, must be… what?

“It’s a dou­ble-edged thing,” he replies. ​“You’re always ner­vous when you are play­ing peo­ple music for the first time. You’ve heard it so much by this point, you for­get that peo­ple haven’t heard it before. It’s hard to not feel like you’ve done what you’ve set out to do. You are hap­py with some­thing and then some­one who you respect so much and look up to is, like: ​‘I real­ly like this.’ It feels like a large stamp [of approval]. It’s a big step towards feel­ing very com­fort­able with what­ev­er else hap­pens to it.”

Wad­ing through Styles’ back­ground info is exhaust­ing, since he was spanked by fame in the social media era where every god­dam blink of a kohl-rimmed eye has been doc­u­ment­ed from six angles. (And yes, he does some­times wear guyliner.)

Deep breath: born in Red­ditch, Worces­ter­shire, to par­ents Des and Anne, who divorced when he was sev­en. Grew up in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire with his sis­ter Gem­ma, mum and step­dad Robin Twist. Rode hors­es at a near­by sta­ble for free (“I was a bad rid­er, but I was a rid­er”). Stopped rid­ing, ​“got into dif­fer­ent stuff”. Formed a band, White Eski­mo, with school­mates. Aged 16, tried out for the 2010 run of The X Fac­torwith a stir­ring but aver­age ren­di­tion of Ste­vie Wonder’s Isn’t She Love­ly. Cut from the show and put into a boy band with four oth­ers, Louis Tom­lin­son, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, and called One Direc­tion. Became inter­na­tion­al­ly famous, toured the globe. Zayn quit to go solo. Toured some more. Dat­ed but maybe didn’t date Car­o­line Flack, Rita Ora and Tay­lor Swift – whom he report­ed­ly dumped in the British Vir­gin Islands. (This rela­tion­ship, if noth­ing else, yield­ed an icon­ic, can­did shot of Swift look­ing deject­ed, being motored back to shore on the back of a boat called the Fly­ing Ray.) One Direc­tion dis­cussed dis­band­ing in 2014, actu­al­ly dis­solved in 2015. They remain friend­ly, and Styles offi­cial­ly went solo in 2016.

It’s been two years since his epony­mous debut and lead sin­gle, Sign of the Times, shocked the world and Elton John with its swag­ger­ing, soft rock sound. ​“It came out of left field and I loved it,” John says.

After 89 are­na-packed shows across five con­ti­nents grossed him, the label, whomev­er, over $61 mil­lion, Styles had all but dis­ap­peared. He has emerged only inter­mit­tent­ly for pub­lic-fac­ing events – a Guc­ci after­par­ty per­for­mance here, a Met Gala co-chair­ing there. He relo­cat­ed from Los Ange­les back to Lon­don, sell­ing his Hol­ly­wood Hills house for $6mil­lion and ship­ping his Jaguar E-type across the Atlantic so he could take joyrides on the M25.

“I’m not over LA,” he insists when I ask about the move. ​“My rela­tion­ship with LAchanged a lot. What I want­ed from LA changed.”

A great escape, he would agree, is some­times nec­es­sary. He was in Tokyo for most of Jan­u­ary, hav­ing near­ly fin­ished his album. ​“I need­ed time to get out of that album frame-of-mind of: ​‘Is it fin­ished? Where am I at? What’s hap­pen­ing?’ I real­ly need­ed that time away from every­one. I was kind of just in Tokyo by myself.” His sab­bat­i­cal most­ly involved read­ing Haru­ki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle, singing Nir­vana at karaoke, writ­ing alone in his hotel room, lis­ten­ing to music and eaves­drop­ping on strangers in alien con­ver­sa­tion. ​“It was just a pos­i­tive time for my head and I think that impact­ed the album in a big way.”

Dur­ing this break he watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Some­times he texts these rec­om­men­da­tions to his pal Michele at Guc­ci. He told Michele to watch the Ali Mac­graw film, Love Sto­ry. ​“We text what friends text about. He is the same [as me] in terms of he lives in his own world and he does his own thing. I love dress­ing up and he loves dress­ing up.”

Because he loves dress­ing up, Michele chose Styles to be the face of three Guc­ci Tai­lor­ing cam­paigns and of its new gen­der­less fra­grance, Mémoire d’une Odeur.

“The moment I met him, I imme­di­ate­ly under­stood there was some­thing strong around him,” Michele tells me. ​“I realised he was much more than a young singer. He was a young man, dressed in a thought­ful way, with uncombed hair and a beau­ti­ful voice. I thought he gath­ered with­in him­self the fem­i­nine and the masculine.”

Fash­ion, for Styles, is a play­ground. Some­thing he doesn’t take too seri­ous­ly. A cou­ple of years ago Har­ry Lam­bert, his styl­ist since 2015, acquired for him a pair of pink metal­lic Saint Lau­rent boots that he has nev­er been pho­tographed wear­ing. They are exceed­ing­ly rare – few pairs exist. Styles wears them ​“to get milk”. They are, in his words, ​“super-fun”. He’s not sure, but he has, ball­park, 50 pairs of shoes, as well as full clos­ets in at least three post­codes. He set­tles on an out­fit fair­ly quick­ly, maybe changes his T-shirt once before head­ing out, but most­ly knows what he likes.

What he may not ful­ly com­pre­hend is that sim­ply by being pho­tographed in a gar­ment he can spur the career of a design­er, as he has with Har­ris Reed, Palo­mo Spain, Charles Jef­frey, Alled-Martínez and a new favourite, Bode. Styles wore a SS16 Guc­ci flo­ral suit to the 2015 Amer­i­can Music Awards. When he was asked who made his suit on the red car­pet, Guc­ci began trend­ing world­wide on Twitter.

“It was one of the first times a male wore Alessandro’s run­way designs and, at the time, men were not tak­ing too many red car­pet risks,” says Lam­bert. ​“Who knows if it influ­enced oth­ers, but it was a spe­cial moment. Plus, it was fun see­ing the fans dress up in suits to come see Harry’s shows.”

Yet tra­di­tion­al gen­der codes of dress still have the minds of mid­dle Amer­i­ca in a choke­hold. Men can’t wear women’s clothes, say the online whingers, who have labelled him ​“trag­ic”, ​“a clown” and a Bowie wannabe. Styles doesn’t care. ​“What’s fem­i­nine and what’s mas­cu­line, what men are wear­ing and what women are wear­ing – it’s like there are no lines any more.”

Elton John agrees: ​“It worked for Marc Bolan, Bowie and Mick. Har­ry has the same qualities.”

Then there is the ques­tion of Styles’ sex­u­al­i­ty, some­thing he has admit­ted­ly ​“nev­er real­ly start­ed to label”, which will plague him until he does. Per­haps it’s part of his allure. He’s bran­dished a pride flag that read ​“Make Amer­i­ca Gay Again” on stage, and plant­ed a stake some­where left of cen­tre on sexuality’s rain­bow spectrum.

“In the posi­tion that he’s in, he can’t real­ly say a lot, but he chose a queer girl band to open for him and I think that speaks vol­umes,” Josette Maskin of the queer band MUNA told The Face ear­li­er this year.

“I get a lot of…” Styles trails off, wheels turn­ing on how he can dis­cuss sex­u­al­i­ty with­out real­ly answer­ing. ​“I’m not always super-out­spo­ken. But I think it’s very clear from choic­es that I make that I feel a cer­tain way about lots of things. I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I’m not…” He paus­es again, piv­ots. ​“I want every­one to feel wel­come at shows and online. They want to be loved and equal, you know? I’m nev­er unsup­port­ed, so it feels weird for me to over­think it for some­one else.”

Sex­u­al­i­ty aside, he must acknowl­edge that he has sex appeal. ​“The word ​‘sexy’ sounds so strange com­ing out of my mouth. So I would say that that’s prob­a­bly why I would not con­sid­er myself sexy.”

Har­ry Styles has emerged ful­ly-formed, an anachro­nis­tic rock star, vague in sen­si­bil­i­ty but des­tined to impress with a dis­arm­ing smile and a warm but firm handshake.

I recite to him a quote from Chrissie Hyn­de of The Pre­tenders about her time atop rock’s throne: ​“I nev­er got into this for the mon­ey or because I want­ed to join in the super­star sex around the swim­ming pools. I did it because the offer of a record con­tract came along and it seemed like it might be more fun than being a wait­ress. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Styles – who worked in a bak­ery in a small north­ern town some time before play­ing to 40,000 scream­ing fans in South Amer­i­can are­nas – must have wit­nessed some shit, been invit­ed to a few pool­side sex par­ties, in his time.

“I’ve seen a cou­ple of things,” he nods in agree­ment. ​“But I’m still young. I feel like there’s still stuff to see.”

[stylesnews]

The Face - Volume 4 . Issue 1

A hand­shake can quell polit­i­cal unrest and sti­fle impend­ing war. It can, with a bit of spit, val­i­date a gentleman’s agree­ment, end a years-long roman­tic rela­tion­ship or send a young heart rac­ing. But it all depends on the two par­ties involved.

Daisy, 21, felt a seis­mic jolt when Har­ry Styles, 25, wear­ing a striped jumper and rings on three of his five fin­gers, clutched her hand two days after this year’s Met Gala in New York, when she served him gela­to at the shop where she worked.

“He decid­ed on a small mint choco­late gela­to and I made his and the one for his friend and I said, ​‘Can I just say I absolute­ly loved your Met Gala look’ and he said ​‘Thank you very much! What’s your name?’ And I said, ​‘Daisy’ AND HE FUCK­ING EXTEND­ED HIS HAND AND REACHEDTO SHAKE MY HAND AND I ACTU­AL­LY FUCK­ING SHOOK HIS HAND WHAT THEFUCK,” she wrote on Insta­gram after The Shak­en­ing. ​“Like I didn’t even say any­thing to gas him up besides ​‘I loved your met gala look’ and his fine ass went and shook my hand! WHATA BEAU­TI­FUL FUCK­ING HUMAN BEING THAT HE IS GOD BLESS HIM AND I HOPE HW[sic] LIVES FOREVER.”

For Har­ry Styles, a hand­shake can be a roman­tic ges­ture, con­jur­ing a potent rev­er­ence in its recip­i­ent, like the time he met Gucci’s cre­ative direc­tor Alessan­dro Michele. ​“He was as attrac­tive as James Dean and as per­sua­sive as Gre­ta Gar­bo. He was like a Luchi­no Vis­con­ti char­ac­ter, like an Apol­lo: at the same time sexy as a woman, as a kid, as a man,” Michele told me, has­ten­ing to add: ​“Of course, Har­ry is not aware of this.”

No, Styles has no idea the pow­er he wields. In per­son, he’s tow­er­ing, like some­one who is not that much taller but whose rep­u­ta­tion adds four inch­es. Styles has a seda­tive bari­tone, spo­ken in a rum­my north­ern Eng­lish accent, that tum­bles out so slow­ly you for­get the name of your first born, a swag­ger that has been nursed and per­fect­ed in myth­i­cal places with names like Pais­ley Park, or Abbey Road, or Grace­land. Makes com­plete sense that he would be up for the role of Elvis Pres­ley in Baz Luhrmann’s upcom­ing biopic. He was primed, nay, born to shake his hips, all but one but­ton on his shirt cling­ing for dear life around his tor­so. Then the part was award­ed to anoth­er actor, Austin Butler.

“[Elvis] was such an icon for me grow­ing up,” Styles tells me. ​“There was some­thing almost sacred about him, almost like I didn’t want to touch him. Then I end­ed up get­ting into [his life] a bit and I wasn’t dis­ap­point­ed,” he adds of his ini­tial research and prepa­ra­tions to play The King. He seems relaxed about los­ing the part to But­ler. ​“I feel like if I’m not the right per­son for the thing, then it’s best for both of us that I don’t do it, you know?”

Styles released his self-titled debut solo album in May 2017. The boy­band grad was clear­ly unin­ter­est­ed in hol­low­ing out the charts with more for­mu­la­ic meme pop. Instead, to the sur­prise of many, he dug his heels into retro-fetishist West Coast ​’70s rock. Some of the One Direc­tion fan-hordes might have been con­fused, but no mat­ter: Har­ry Styles sold one mil­lion copies.

Despite its com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess, he didn’t tour the album right away. He want­ed to act in the Christo­pher Nolan film Dunkirk. To his cred­it, his por­tray­al of a British sol­dier cow­er­ing in a moored boat on the French beach­es as the Nazis advanced wasn’t skew­ered in the press like the movie debuts of, say, Madon­na or Justin Tim­ber­lake. Per­haps he was fol­low­ing advice giv­en by Elton John, who had urged him to diver­si­fy. ​“He was bril­liant in Dunkirk, which took a lot of peo­ple by sur­prise,” John writes in an email. ​“I love how he takes chances and risks.” Act­ing, unlike music, is a release for Styles; it’s the one time he can be not himself.

“Why do I want to act? It’s so dif­fer­ent to music for me,” he says, sud­den­ly ani­mat­ed. ​“They’re almost oppo­site for me. Music, you try and put so much of your­self into it; act­ing, you’re try­ing to total­ly dis­ap­pear in who­ev­er you’re being.”

Fol­low­ing the news that he missed out on Pres­ley, his name was float­ed for the role of Prince Eric in Disney’s live-action remake of The Lit­tle Mer­maid. How­ev­er, fans will have to wait a bit longer to see Styles on the big screen as that idea, too, has sunk. He won’t be The King or the Prince. ​“It was dis­cussed,” he acknow­ledges before swift­ly chang­ing the sub­ject. ​“I want to put music out and focus on that for a while. But every­one involved in it was amaz­ing, so I think it’s going to be great. I’ll enjoy watch­ing it, I’m sure.”

The new album is wrapped and the sin­gle is decid­ed upon. ​“It’s not like his last album,” his friend, rock ​‘n’ roll leg­end Ste­vie Nicks, told me recent­ly over the phone. ​“It’s not like any­thing One Direc­tion ever did. It’s pure Har­ry, as Har­ry would say. He’s made a very dif­fer­ent record and it’s spectacular.”

Beyond that, Styles is keep­ing his cards close to his chest as to his next musi­cal move. How­ev­er, the air is thick with rumours that his main wing­man for HS2 is Kid Har­poon, aka Tom Hull, who co-wrote debut album track Sweet Crea­ture. No less an author­i­ty than Liam Gal­lagher told us that both big band escapees were in the same stu­dio – RAK in north-west Lon­don – at the same time mak­ing their sec­ond solo albums. Styles played him a cou­ple of tracks, ​“and I tell you what, they’re good,” Gal­lagher enthused. ​“A bit like that Bon Iver. Is that his name?”

Har­ry Styles met Nicks at a Fleet­wood Mac con­cert in Los Ange­les in April 2015. Some­thing about him felt authen­tic to the leg­endary front­woman: ground­ed, like she’d known him for­ev­er, blessed with a win­ning moon­shot grin. A month lat­er, they met back­stage at anoth­er Mac gig, this time at the O2 in Lon­don. Styles brought a car­rot cake for Nicks’ birth­day, her name piped in icing on top. By her own admis­sion, Nicks doesn’t even cel­e­brate birth­days, so this was a sur­prise. ​“He was per­son­al­ly respon­si­ble for me actu­al­ly hav­ing to cel­e­brate my birth­day, which was very sweet,” she says.

Styles’ rela­tion­ship with Nicks is hard to define. Induct­ing her into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in New York as a solo artist ear­li­er this year, his speech hymned her as a ​“mag­i­cal gyp­sy god­moth­er who occu­pies the in-between”. She’s called him her ​“lovechild” with Mick Fleet­wood and the ​“son I nev­er had”. Both have moved past the pre­lim­i­nary chat acknowl­edg­ing each other’s unquan­tifi­able tal­ents and smooth­ly accel­er­at­ed towards play­ful cut-and-thrust ban­ter of a witch mom and her naughty child.

They per­form togeth­er – he sings The Chain and Stop Drag­gin’ My Heart Around; she sings the one alleged­ly writ­ten about Tay­lor Swift, Two Ghosts. One of those per­for­mances was at the Guc­ci Cruise after­par­ty in Rome in May, for ​“a lot of mon­ey”, Nicks tells me, in a ​“big kind of cas­tle place”. She has become his de fac­to men­tor – one phone call is all it takes to reach the Queen of Rock’n’Roll for advice on sequenc­ing (“She is real­ly good at track list­ing,” Styles admits) or just to hear each other’s voic­es… because, well, wouldn’t you?

Fol­low­ing anoth­er Fleet­wood Mac con­cert, at London’s Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um, in June, Nicks met Styles for a late (Indi­an) din­ner. He then invit­ed her back to his semi-detached Geor­gian man­sion in north Lon­don for a lis­ten­ing par­ty at mid­night. The album – HS2or what­ev­er it’ll be called – was fin­ished. Nicks, her assis­tant Karen, her make-up artist and her friends Jess and Mary crammed onto Styles’ liv­ing-room couch. They lis­tened to it once through in silence like a ​“bunch of edu­cat­ed monks or some­thing in this dark room”. Then once again, 15 or 16 tracks, this time each of his guests offer­ing live feed­back. It wrapped at 5am, just as the sun was bleed­ing through the curtains.

Even for a pop star of Styles’ stature, press­ing ​“play” on a deeply per­son­al work for your hero to digest, watch­ing her face react in real time to your new music, must be… what?

“It’s a dou­ble-edged thing,” he replies. ​“You’re always ner­vous when you are play­ing peo­ple music for the first time. You’ve heard it so much by this point, you for­get that peo­ple haven’t heard it before. It’s hard to not feel like you’ve done what you’ve set out to do. You are hap­py with some­thing and then some­one who you respect so much and look up to is, like: ​‘I real­ly like this.’ It feels like a large stamp [of approval]. It’s a big step towards feel­ing very com­fort­able with what­ev­er else hap­pens to it.”

Wad­ing through Styles’ back­ground info is exhaust­ing, since he was spanked by fame in the social media era where every god­dam blink of a kohl-rimmed eye has been doc­u­ment­ed from six angles. (And yes, he does some­times wear guyliner.)

Deep breath: born in Red­ditch, Worces­ter­shire, to par­ents Des and Anne, who divorced when he was sev­en. Grew up in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire with his sis­ter Gem­ma, mum and step­dad Robin Twist. Rode hors­es at a near­by sta­ble for free (“I was a bad rid­er, but I was a rid­er”). Stopped rid­ing, ​“got into dif­fer­ent stuff”. Formed a band, White Eski­mo, with school­mates. Aged 16, tried out for the 2010 run of The X Fac­torwith a stir­ring but aver­age ren­di­tion of Ste­vie Wonder’s Isn’t She Love­ly. Cut from the show and put into a boy band with four oth­ers, Louis Tom­lin­son, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, and called One Direc­tion. Became inter­na­tion­al­ly famous, toured the globe. Zayn quit to go solo. Toured some more. Dat­ed but maybe didn’t date Car­o­line Flack, Rita Ora and Tay­lor Swift – whom he report­ed­ly dumped in the British Vir­gin Islands. (This rela­tion­ship, if noth­ing else, yield­ed an icon­ic, can­did shot of Swift look­ing deject­ed, being motored back to shore on the back of a boat called the Fly­ing Ray.) One Direc­tion dis­cussed dis­band­ing in 2014, actu­al­ly dis­solved in 2015. They remain friend­ly, and Styles offi­cial­ly went solo in 2016.

It’s been two years since his epony­mous debut and lead sin­gle, Sign of the Times, shocked the world and Elton John with its swag­ger­ing, soft rock sound. ​“It came out of left field and I loved it,” John says.

After 89 are­na-packed shows across five con­ti­nents grossed him, the label, whomev­er, over $61mil­lion, Styles had all but dis­ap­peared. He has emerged only inter­mit­tent­ly for pub­lic-fac­ing events – a Guc­ci after­par­ty per­for­mance here, a Met Gala co-chair­ing there. He relo­cat­ed from Los Ange­les back to Lon­don, sell­ing his Hol­ly­wood Hills house for $6 mil­lion and ship­ping his Jaguar E-type across the Atlantic so he could take joyrides on the M25.

“I’m not over LA,” he insists when I ask about the move. ​“My rela­tion­ship with LA changed a lot. What I want­ed from LA changed.”

A great escape, he would agree, is some­times nec­es­sary. He was in Tokyo for most of Jan­u­ary, hav­ing near­ly fin­ished his album. ​“I need­ed time to get out of that album frame-of-mind of: ​‘Is it fin­ished? Where am I at? What’s hap­pen­ing?’ I real­ly need­ed that time away from every­one. I was kind of just in Tokyo by myself.” His sab­bat­i­cal most­ly involved read­ing Haru­ki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle, singing Nir­vana at karaoke, writ­ing alone in his hotel room, lis­ten­ing to music and eaves­drop­ping on strangers in alien con­ver­sa­tion. ​“It was just a pos­i­tive time for my head and I think that impact­ed the album in a big way.”

Dur­ing this break he watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Some­times he texts these rec­om­men­da­tions to his pal Michele at Guc­ci. He told Michele to watch the Ali Mac­graw film, Love Sto­ry. ​“We text what friends text about. He is the same [as me] in terms of he lives in his own world and he does his own thing. I love dress­ing up and he loves dress­ing up.”

Because he loves dress­ing up, Michele chose Styles to be the face of three Guc­ci Tai­lor­ing cam­paigns and of its new gen­der­less fra­grance, Mémoire d’une Odeur.

“The moment I met him, I imme­di­ate­ly under­stood there was some­thing strong around him,” Michele tells me. ​“I realised he was much more than a young singer. He was a young man, dressed in a thought­ful way, with uncombed hair and a beau­ti­ful voice. I thought he gath­ered with­in him­self the fem­i­nine and the masculine.”

Fash­ion, for Styles, is a play­ground. Some­thing he doesn’t take too seri­ous­ly. A cou­ple of years ago Har­ry Lam­bert, his styl­ist since 2015, acquired for him a pair of pink metal­lic Saint Lau­rent boots that he has nev­er been pho­tographed wear­ing. They are exceed­ing­ly rare – few pairs exist. Styles wears them ​“to get milk”. They are, in his words, ​“super-fun”. He’s not sure, but he has, ball­park, 50 pairs of shoes, as well as full clos­ets in at least three post­codes. He set­tles on an out­fit fair­ly quick­ly, maybe changes his T-shirt once before head­ing out, but most­ly knows what he likes.

What he may not ful­ly com­pre­hend is that sim­ply by being pho­tographed in a gar­ment he can spur the career of a design­er, as he has with Har­ris Reed, Palo­mo Spain, Charles Jef­frey, Alled-Martínez and a new favourite, Bode. Styles wore a SS16 Guc­ci flo­ral suit to the 2015 Amer­i­can Music Awards. When he was asked who made his suit on the red car­pet, Guc­ci began trend­ing world­wide on Twitter.

“It was one of the first times a male wore Alessandro’s run­way designs and, at the time, men were not tak­ing too many red car­pet risks,” says Lam­bert. ​“Who knows if it influ­enced oth­ers, but it was a spe­cial moment. Plus, it was fun see­ing the fans dress up in suits to come see Harry’s shows.”

Yet tra­di­tion­al gen­der codes of dress still have the minds of mid­dle Amer­i­ca in a choke­hold. Men can’t wear women’s clothes, say the online whingers, who have labelled him ​“trag­ic”, ​“a clown” and a Bowie wannabe. Styles doesn’t care. ​“What’s fem­i­nine and what’s mas­cu­line, what men are wear­ing and what women are wear­ing – it’s like there are no lines any more.”

Elton John agrees: ​“It worked for Marc Bolan, Bowie and Mick. Har­ry has the same qualities.”

Then there is the ques­tion of Styles’ sex­u­al­i­ty, some­thing he has admit­ted­ly ​“nev­er real­ly start­ed to label”, which will plague him until he does. Per­haps it’s part of his allure. He’s bran­dished a pride flag that read ​“Make Amer­i­ca Gay Again” on stage, and plant­ed a stake some­where left of cen­tre on sexuality’s rain­bow spectrum.

“In the posi­tion that he’s in, he can’t real­ly say a lot, but he chose a queer girl band to open for him and I think that speaks vol­umes,” Josette Maskin of the queer band MUNA told The Face ear­li­er this year.

“I get a lot of…” Styles trails off, wheels turn­ing on how he can dis­cuss sex­u­al­i­ty with­out real­ly answer­ing. ​“I’m not always super-out­spo­ken. But I think it’s very clear from choic­es that I make that I feel a cer­tain way about lots of things. I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I’m not…” He paus­es again, piv­ots. ​“I want every­one to feel wel­come at shows and online. They want to be loved and equal, you know? I’m nev­er unsup­port­ed, so it feels weird for me to over­think it for some­one else.”

Sex­u­al­i­ty aside, he must acknowl­edge that he has sex appeal. ​“The word ​‘sexy’ sounds so strange com­ing out of my mouth. So I would say that that’s prob­a­bly why I would not con­sid­er myself sexy.”

Har­ry Styles has emerged ful­ly-formed, an anachro­nis­tic rock star, vague in sen­si­bil­i­ty but des­tined to impress with a dis­arm­ing smile and a warm but firm handshake.

I recite to him a quote from Chrissie Hyn­de of The Pre­tenders about her time atop rock’s throne: ​“I nev­er got into this for the mon­ey or because I want­ed to join in the super­star sex around the swim­ming pools. I did it because the offer of a record con­tract came along and it seemed like it might be more fun than being a wait­ress. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Styles – who worked in a bak­ery in a small north­ern town some time before play­ing to 40,000scream­ing fans in South Amer­i­can are­nas – must have wit­nessed some shit, been invit­ed to a few pool­side sex par­ties, in his time.

“I’ve seen a cou­ple of things,” he nods in agree­ment. ​“But I’m still young. I feel like there’s still stuff to see.”

[indulgnces]

hELLO HI HOWDY i go by jess, i’m newly 22 and it took me too long to figure out both a fc and a 90s song for this bb wow. anyways, my girl’s info is under the cut! 

[ MAIA MITCHELL / CISFEMALE / SHE/HER / MUSE B ] i wonder what BROOKE CARTER is up to this summer? i hear the EIGHTEEN year old will be spending it INTERNING AT ORMCHESTER CITY CENTRE’S ART GALLERY and may be found hanging out at THE DOCK in their free time. oh, BROOKE – so HARDWORKING, but so UPTIGHT. you remind me of that one song i heard on the radio… BARBIE GIRL by AQUA, that’s the one! [ jess, 22, est, she/her ]

so like, y’all know how in that 70s show, there’s an episode where jackie can’t hang out with kelso and the gang bc its friday night and she likes to do her hw on friday night, so she can have her weekend free? and the gang calls her lame for it, but then they struggling cause eric put off doing his hw and then sunday night comes and everyones trying to help him get his essay done and shit, and jackie’s like THIS IS WHY YOU DO YOUR HW EARLY? that’s brooke.

i admittedly know next to nothing about brit culture, let aLONE 90s brit culture, so guess what? my girl’s an american! 

she was born & raised in the states - new york, specifically - with two successful parents. her father was in the stock market, and her mother was a professor. things were going well for the family until her father died when she was four due to a car accident. ten years later, her mother fell in love again - this time to a british surgeon visiting the states. they couple got hitched and brooke and her mother moved to ormchester, england to live with her new stepfather. that was when brooke was fourteen.she’s been here ever since.

in all that time, brooke grew up to be a little bit of a PRISS ngl. her father did well in the stock market, so she and her mother were doing fine after his death with what he left behind. on top of that, her mother’s job as a professor, and then later marrying a surgeon, did nothing but help maintain that level of financial status for the fam. so brooke has always been used to the finer things in life. imac g3s (she has a pink one thx), being around pagers and pdas and cell phones (tho she doesn’t have one). she lives nice. so she likes having nice things. despite this, bb is generally a nice girl. and she takes her studies seriously. she has smart parents who pushed the importance of education on her. not to mention, bb liked to learn. she liked school. she enjoyed both the social hierarchy structure of schools (she’s no queen bee, but she can appreciate the popularity chain) and the work and learning part of it all. she was used to being on the honor roll as a result.

she was not someone you’d find on the cheerleading team, but more someone you’d find on the sudent council. brooke likes to do things, likes to see change, so she joined a lot of organizations in school to keep herself busy. was probs the student treasurer for the student council and worked on the school newspaper. 

i liked to think of her as a mix of jackie burkhart, spencer hastings, and nancy wheeler. 

very goody-two shoes and very competitive. bisexual baby. has never done anything bad in her life, but lowkey wants to. got accepted into every college she applied to, so she’s currently trying to figure out which one would make the best fit for her. she’s not 100 on what she wants to do with her future. she just knows she likes art, even though she’s not an artist, and she always enjoyed art galleries, so she went for an internship at the art gallery in the city centre. in the position, she’ll find that she both likes watching the art curator work and decide on pieces, and the event coordinator organize and plan showings. she’ll be trying to figure out which she enjoys more while serving them coffee and running lunch orders, to help her determine what she wants to major in in uni.

can spot her at the docks more often than not, or pining after muse a. she likes the docks because she likes to people watch and she likes the colors of the water and the sky and the boats. its a very peaceful place for her. muse wise, bb is def a mainstream girl. won’t catch her listening to grunge or punk rock on her own. her discman and minidisc are loaded with songs from spice girls, britney spears, backstreet boyz, nsync, bowie, mj, and madonna, with some oasis and queen sprinkled throughout.

plotting wise, some fun connections to maybe have:

someone to teach this child what Good Quality Muse is

someone who revels in the pop utopia that is her current taste with her 

Art Buds(tm) who works either in the art business or at the art gallery brooke’s interning at

alternatively, people who also work in the city center and who brooke has come to know bc of their close work proximity

role models that’ll help quell her anxieties about the future (she’s got a v Bright Future ahead of her, with v successful parents behind her - she’s got some deep hidden insecurities about not living up to it all

exes, crushes, fwb, one night stands, unrequited, and all that good stuff always welcome

as well as friendships, bffs, ride or dies, friends to enemies/enemies to friends, former tutors and the like

aND YEAH that’s all i got for brooke! if you’ve made it this far, ty ty babe I appreciate you. i’m a lil late to the game, so I gotta play catch up and read y’alls intros and hit y’all up for plotting and put an intro in the discord and the like, and i’m still saving gifs of maia too. I should be on/off for a few hours so i’ll start getting back to messages/message ppl for plots v soon! in that time, if you’d like to plot with me and my bb lmk by liking this and i’ll shoot you a message!

[clairebeauchampfan]

Hysteria, hubris, hype, histrionics....that’s one thing. But the rampant hypocrisy, hate and  homophobia now displayed by a number of shippers....that’s another.

Here’s a heartfelt post by @rainmanjdog, a plea for shippers to be left to have ‘fun’ in the way they want to without others’ disapprobation ( I assume she didn’t literally mean to compare shippers to members of the NRA)

(My bold for emphasis).

rainmanjdog

Quote “Why do people who don’t like what is said on Tumblr read it then?  I HATE the NRA, so why would I subject myself to pro-NRA blogs?

Here is my truth.  I sometimes go to Twitter, like last night, to just have fun. Sometimes, I just want to be a normal fan and have fun with it all.  I thought Caitriona looked beautiful last night.  Its subjective.   I wasn’t a fan of the hearts, but if I tried to pull off that look?  Heaven help you all!  I dislike Sam’s people trying to turn him into a cookie-cutter Hollywood actor.  Because that is what he becomes, lost in the crowd.  Sam shines when Sam is unique Sam, so enhance that, don’t turn him into something he is not.  The guy has freaking natural curls?  Why not enhance that?  But, its subjective.

What I don’t understand and never have?  Why don’t people stay in their own lanes?  My feelings are MY feelings.  Your take is YOUR take.

I try really hard to not take all of this too seriously or personally.  But I fail at it, obviously, or I wouldn’t spend so much time here talking about how I feel!  With her scientific mind, @tvuckic has really helped me see this whole thing as a puzzle.  A game?  (No matter that I am an analyst by profession, I will ALWAYS be an emotional processor first.)  My expectations as a “shipper” are so low, in fact, that I kinda saw last night as…..predictable, and “successful” because a puzzle piece fit.  I was just happy to not see the appearance of someone who cheered and laughed while an animal was being sworn at as it was being beaten because it wasn’t dying fast enough.  That is how low my expectations have become.  Marina?  Success.  She is a loyal, trusted friend to BOTH Sam and Caitriona and a keeper of secrets.  Whatever you choose to believe those secrets are or aren’t.

For an hour or two last night?  I actually had fun again.  I did.  So?  What isn’t fun is women judging other women’s feelings or perceptions.  YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO FEEL OR THINK AS YOU DO.  Your feelings are YOUR feelings.  Your perceptions are YOUR PERCEPTIONS.

The reality is, as long as I base my emotions and happiness on the actions of two people who care less about me?  Its going to be a bumpy ride.  I want off that ride.  If you are able to rise above any of it and just block out the rest?  More power to you.  If you aren’t?  I get it.

Remember when we had a picture of Sam with his machete BTS from Caitriona filming Season 4?  They were making an IG story/“home movie” of an ax-murderer.  They are two seriously ridiculous, silly people who I think either take themselves too seriously in HW at times or there are circumstances I don’t understand. Hey!  This sea-sick shipper is grateful they at least didn’t attend different parties or let the cat out of the bag that they actually attended the same party this time.  I understand feeling cheated.  No, I FEEL cheated because while the two seemed to pretend they were ships-passing-in-the-night at the VF party?  We get treated to my darlingly adorable, always-smiling Emelia Clark with her GOT husband (and “my Hawaiian BF”) Jason.  To Sam and Caitriona?  What’s a few hours at a party pretending you don’t know the other is there?   To us the fans?  A picture would have gone a long way.  A LONG WAY in bringing positivity to a pretty dreary fandom.  So…..I call BS.   I don’t see Bradley or Lady Gaga outraged people are shipping them.

The unkindness, judgments, sanctimonious opinions in the Outlander fandom is what I call BS on the most.  THE MOST.  

Sam, Caitriona, Outlander?  It may feel serious, but it really isn’t.  None of it is worth an iota of my anger.  I wish it was easier said than done. You know what IS serious?  Human-trafficking.  You know what really makes me angry?  My country can’t go a single week without a mass shooting.  I can’t do ANYTHING about Sam, Caitriona or condescending fans, but I can certainly TRY to do something about the recent statistics showing we may have wild orangutans wiped off the face of the earth in five years.  I am NOT OK with that.” Unquote

Let’s look again at Rainmanjdog’s line:

“The unkindness, judgments, sanctimonious opinions in the Outlander fandom is what I call BS on the most.  THE MOST.” 

Does that apply then to the group of ‘fans’ who say Sophie Skelton can’t act? No unkindness there. 

Or the ‘fans’ who, far from giving ‘constructive criticism’ of Season 4, described it as the worst season ever, and (unlike the vast majority of viewers) could find NOTHING positive to say about it? The ‘fans’ who didn’t even watch the last three episodes, but relied upon the relentlessly negative critiques of @pissed- offsoka13?  The fans who rubbished the writing, the ‘fans’ like @jamesandclairefraser who called for Maril, Toni and Matt to be fired? The fans  who even called for Cait to be replaced because in Season 4 she frowned a lot and crossed her arms, just like she has done in every other season, if you were paying attention? 

Or does she mean the unkindness of the ‘fans’ who have traduced  Cait’s motives and character ever since the engagement, whilst trashing  the morals and motivation of Sam’s unfortunate blonde girlfriend ....what do they call her....’trashy’? No sanctimonious judgmentalism there.....no unkindness

Or perhaps she’s referring to ‘former’ fans like @its-moopoint, who never ceases to lose an opportunity to ‘ping’ with her finely tuned gaydar Sam (because he isn’t married to Caitriona, so he must be gay), or  Duncan (because he has no visible girlfriend) or John Bell (gaydar again), even  Tony (because he has a floppy fringe, and is Caitriona’s ‘fake’ fiance, so he must be gay too). Oh, and she accused ‘Tuna girl’ of being a whore, because she was photographed once in the same boat as Sam. Ergo, she must be Sam’s ‘ beard’, or a call girl. 

  No homophobia there then, no judgement, no sanctimony. Just ‘normal ‘ fanning (for me it beggars belief that in 2019 so many ‘liberal’ shippers follow someone with attitudes like that.But it’s okay, isn’t it?  She has A RIGHT TO FEEL OR THINK AS she does .  Her feelings are HER feelings.  Her perceptions are HER PERCEPTIONS.

Presumably that’s the same Tuna girl who @rainmanjdog was relieved not to see on Sam’s arm because she cheered when ....stop!...no sanctimonious opinions or judgments are permitted here on tumblr in the Outlander fandom.  

_________________________________________________________

Well then, I shall get back in my own lane. I won’t criticize the NRA’s objection to having the right to bear arms restricted to a well-regulated militia, like it implies in the American constitution, with good regulations like background checks and the banning of sales of automatic weapons.  I shall just ignore.

 I won’t criticize human traffickers, because I don’t want to stop wicked old men  ‘having fun’ and I don’t want to come over all sanctimonious and judgmental. I shall just ignore. 

And maybe, just maybe, I won’t criticize and be all judgmental and sanctimonious about women being mean, vicious, nasty, horrible and unkind to other women and thinking they can get away with it because their victims work in Hollywood, and are therefore paid to take such judgmental, unkind sanctimoniousness on the chin. I shall just ignore. 

( I do agree though with @rainmanjdog about the destruction of the rainforest and the loss of the orangutans. Take a look, people, at Google satellite on the island of Borneo. See the light green colours...zoom in and take a closer look . see those faint checkerboard grids; that’s all palm-oil plantations planted in the last twenty or thirty years; see how little natural habitat there is left for orangutans : in Malay orang  hutan, ‘man of the forest.’ Now look at the island of Sumatra, once home to elephant, tiger and rhinoceros as well as orangutans, and weep. 

Sorry, I’m straying into the lane of the palm oil manufacturers. My bad.)

#judgmental, unkind and sanctimonious #staying in your lane#normal fanning

[nothingwithoutwannaone]

I Promise You (Confession)/약속해요 (고백) - Bae Jin Young

In which Jin Young’s chance encounter eludes to something more.

“On a day when cherry blossoms started falling

I met you for the first time

A day mixed with unfamiliar trembling

And scary heart fluttering.” -  I Promise You (Confession)/약속해요 (고백) (Wanna One)

In celebration for Wanna One’s 1st Debut Anniversary, @ongsung an I have decided to release a series of oneshots daily, starting from today July 27th and ending on August 6th (August 7th in KST, and thus Wanna One’s anniversary).

I’ve chosen to write based on a selection of Wanna One songs, and she’ll be writing based on the individual teasers that were released for Energetic/Burn It Up. We will link each other’s stories below, so feel free to read hers after this one. See you tomorrow in our next installments :)

Jin Young set down his luggage and took a look around the cabin. His school was hosting a camping trip for the weekend, and since it was his first time, Jin Young was very excited. His roommate Dae Hwi had arrived earlier than him, and had already unpacked. He was currently at the music room so Jin Young was on his own for now. Unzipping his bags, Jin Young hung up his clothes and set aside his toiletries before leaving the cabin, locking the door behind him.

The first day was free for everyone, with the group activities starting the following day. Jin Young scanned the campsite from the porch of his assigned cabin, and decided do some exploring before going to look for his friends.

The campsite was a popular one, bordering a large lake and surrounded with cherry blossom trees. The trees hadn’t blossomed yet, but everyone said it would be any day now. Looking out into the lake, he saw that several people were rowing boats out towards the middle, while others stood fishing at the docks. Deciding he would do that later, Jin Young then stopped by the dining hall to grab a snack, before wandering over to the main hall where their scheduled events would take place. Checking the time, he figured he should probably go to see if the rest of his friends had arrived.

He didn’t pay attention to his surroundings on his way out, and promptly ran into another person who was juggling maybe one too many packages. Everything tumbled onto the floor and Jin Young crouched down immediately to stack up the packages.

“I’m so sorry! I should have watched where I was going...”

The person carrying the packages followed suit and gathered the packages around her.

“It’s okay! I was probably carrying too much by myself; it was bound to happen. Plus, I couldn’t really see where I was going anyway, so it’s definitely my fault.”

Jin Young had finished gathering the packages around him and he stood up, turning around to restore them to the owner. However, when he did, he froze in his tracks.

The girl had stood up as well, and she was looking at him with a grateful smile on her face.

“Thank you so much for helping me!”

Jin Young tried to respond but found that his lips had decided to stop working. This was the first time he had ever been at a loss of words in front of a girl, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, but as a look of confusion started to creep onto her face at his silence, he licked his dry lips in an attempt to respond to her gratitude.

“Y..yeah, no problem! It’s my fault for not looking too....do you still need help with these? I can help you take them to where ever they need to be.”

“That’d be great! These are actually just going to the camp counselor’s office, which is part of the main hall. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

Arms sans several packages now, it was much easier for her move and open the door so the both of them could enter the main hall. Jin Young followed behind her quietly, still trying to will his heart to stop pounding so hard, and for his hands to stop sweating and shaking in nervousness. When they reached the office, both unloaded their packages and the girl turned to him, offering her hand for a handshake. 

“I didn’t get to introduce myself earlier, but I’m Y/N. What’s your name?”

Jin Young hoped his hands weren’t too sweaty before accepting the handshake.

“J...Jin Young. Bae Jin Young.”

“You must be Dae Hwi’s friend then!”

“How do you know that?”

“We’re in the same music class together and he talks about you sometimes. He says you’re pretty good at singing!”

Jin Young blushed at her words and shook his head in denial.

“I can sing but I don’t know if I’m that good at it.”

“You’ll have to show us tonight after dinner. I heard there’s going to be a karaoke competition,” she said excitedly before leading them out of the office and hall into the open air.

“Do you sing as well?” he asked curiously.

“Mm, I do, but who knows if I sing well or not,” she said mysteriously before breaking out into a grin.

“I guess you’ll have to wait till tonight to find out....but only if you promise to sing too!”

She stuck out her pinky finger, looking at him eagerly.

“Promise you’ll sing a song tonight?”

How could he refuse such a request? Jin Young nodded and gave her a pinky promise in return.

“I promise.”

“Wonderful!”

Jin Young smiled back shyly, pleased to know that despite just meeting her for the first time today, Y/N already had a good impression of him. He would have to thank Dae Hwi later.

He was about to say something when a single petal floated by his face. It was followed by another one, and then another one. Y/N also seemed to notice and they both looked behind them to see the cherry blossom trees situated behind the main hall had bloomed early, and the wind carried it’s petals through the air around them.

“Wow, everyone said the cherry blossoms would be blooming soon but I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

She reached out her hand to catch some of the pink petals, and Jin Young couldn’t help but think she looked even more beautiful now, with all the cherry blossom petals swirling around. In the midst of admiring her, Jin Young saw Y/N suddenly remembering something.

“Oh, I almost forgot! I told my friend I’d meet her after delivering the packages.”

His heart dropped to hear that she had to leave so soon, but she turned towards him.

“I have to go, but we can grab dinner later tonight. Are you okay with that?”

“Definitely. I’ll see you tonight?”

She beamed and nodded in response.

“Tonight it is. See you later, Jin Young!” 

And with a wave of a hand, she was off. 

As Jin Young watched her leave, he thought to himself: maybe this camping trip would turn out even better than he imagined.

A/N: Lyric translation credited to colorcodedlyrics

I was inspired by 2park’s Battle Trip episode. You should go watch if you haven’t already...simply amazing and I hope to go one day :)

nothingwithoutwannaone: Min Hyun I Ji Hoon I Jae Hwan I Guan Lin I Dae Hwi I Jin Young I Ji Sung I Woo Jin I Seong Wu I Sung Woon I Daniel

ongsung:  Min Hyun I Ji Hoon I Jae Hwan I Guan Lin I Dae Hwi I Jin Young I Ji Sung I Woo Jin I Seong Wu I Sung Woon I Daniel

Master List

[slipteeha]

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[peachhoneii]

Della living in Donald’s house boat in @donaldtheduckdad’s Lost Twin AU tears me up inside. I really wasn’t planning to write anything with school and all (catching up on HW due tomorrow), so take it as a spur of the moment kind of thing. 

The searches have ceased. This doesn’t surprise her. There are no signs, no traces of survival or death, and this gives Della some hope. If it’s worth anything.

His house boat is left untouched. For this, she is grateful. Afraid to leave an imprint on anything, she huddles the boys in their stroller. Donald’s always hated that.  

She checks the refrigerator. There’s food in there. It’ll go bad if she doesn’t eat or get rid of it, and as she’s tosses an moldy cucumber, expired milk, and Grandma Duck’s preserved figs, she sees them.

At a loss of words she pulls them out and set them on the counter. They’re so simple, so innocent really, and the exact kind she’s needed. She doesn’t even remember asking for them, but Donald has them ready anyways.  

A hiccup. And another. A sharp gasp passes through her lips, and she covers her hand with her eyes. 

An agitated moan alerts her, and she turns around to see Huey, bundled beside his brothers, starting to cry. Right. It’s after twelve. They haven’t had lunch yet.

“Oh baby, Momma’s sorry,” she coos, and she moves to hold him, knowing his cries are usually the softest but will easily wake his brothers in no time. She thinks quickly and goes to the drawer where the can opener is.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Donald bought us some milk.” She twists the pointed metal onto the can of baby formula, “It’s good and healthy, you know. Especially made with soy, just for you baby.”

“And Uncle Donald bought us bottles.” Shiny, new, and so very clean, they’re different from the store bought kind, and as she mixes the oatmeal baby grains with the formula she wonders where Donald got them, “He’s always been good about that --- thinking ahead.”

She shakes the bottle firmly, watching as the grains and formula mix together, and she focuses on Dewey, not on the ghost now haunting the place. 

“Momma’s here, Momma’s coming,” she kneels in front him and presses the nipple to his mouth. He latches on tightly. She smiles weakly, “Yeah, Uncle Donald said he’d take care of you.”

He did say that. She is not exaggerating. He said he would, and she believed him. 

“Dewey doesn’t like to be held that way,” before she can react, he takes the infant from her arms and rests him on his stomach, using his hands to balance his bottom and back, “now, now, you’re alright, Uncle Donald’s got you.”

Her loudest boy is quiet and content, and she sits in the chair with the other two, stunned speechless. 

“He was always better at this kind of stuff,” she feels the tears passing along her cheeks but does not seem to realize she’s crying. A disconnection has occurred, and she raises Huey from his stroller, patting on his back as she gently rocks him.

“I don’t know what to do, Donnie,” she weeps softly, “I don’t know what to do.”

Waves roll with wild abandon underneath her, swallowing her tears. 

[smokes-and-bullets]

ask-hws-kingsland​:

She tried to make herself smaller, trying to escape the disappointed gaze of the blond man. Letting out a quiet hiss of pain in the process. It hurt to move, her white hair had a patch of it that was stained red, fresh bruises where starting to show themselves on her pail skin, and their was dried blood from new cuts amongst her already existing scars. She peeked over her arms at him, fear clear in her eyes. Was he going to hurt her to?

“I-I…” She stuttered, still in shock from the beating she received. “I a-almost made it… how did they find out?” The whole time she spoke she braced herself, expecting him to hit her. “I-I don’t have a room here… I was never assigned one…” She said. “I p-planed it perfectly… no one knew… I made sure not to leave a trail… how did they find out…”

“They always found out.. Eyes and ears everywhere.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed while watching the girl. “My dear what did you expect by trying to leave on foot. That they wouldn’t find out and catch you? If they were willing to let you go, you’d be gone already.” Rolling his eye he stared at a stack of books on a table nearby. “Why are you even here if you don’t have a room? You’re not even a part of us.” She was just some girl who was there as far as the others knew. “Try again and this time.. go by plane or boat. Plane is a better option. Give it some time for them to forget this, they won’t get off your back now.” 

There is news speeding through the gang of the new girls escape attempt. Apparently she made it to the edge of the city before some of the bosses goon's caught her and dragged her back. She got a hell of a beating that's for sure.

Currently hiding in the darkest corner of the manors library she sits on the floor, making herself as small as possible as to not draw attention to herself.

Walking to the library finding her, the man stood before her with a sigh. "Next time.. Pay for a plane ticket.. and get out. Stay in the city and expect to escape on foot, that is impossible." Arms crossed he looked down at her. "If you're going to sulk, sulk in your room. You didn't plan this thorough enough."

[thestorytellerofkpop]

Jimin Is Away; Autumn, Chapter Eleven

Summary: Jimin, despite everything the two of you have been through, is slowly fading from your life. But when you find someone to fill the void, Jimin starts to act strange

Word Count: 2003

Previous Chapter

Y/N yawned as she walked down the long hallway to her apartment, shivering and cuddling deeper into the sweatshirt she had stolen from Hoseok that night. She approached the door with bleary eyes, sighing when the door opened without force. Jimin left the door unlocked, again. She hurried into the warmth and shut the door behind her, kicking off her boots with shivering limbs.

“Jimin?” she called softly, turning around to observe the surroundings of the apartment. She noticed the television first, shimmering in the dark and playing “First Wives Club” on the screen. Then, on the old couch laid Jimin, his hands were crossed on top of his chest while he stared at her from his relaxed position.

“It’s midnight Y/N.” he said knowingly, and Y/N could see his eyebrow pull up into a suggestive stare. She rolled her eyes.

“It’s not what you think, I honestly fell asleep,” she walked to him. “Now budge up and make room.” She tapped his legs. Instead of sitting up, Jimin just lifted his legs into the air, grinning at Y/N cheekily. She huffed and sat down, allowing his legs to fall into her lap. The two of them sat in silence for a bit, watching Goldie Hawn have her mental breakdown scene before Y/N spoke up first.

“So, what’s been bothering you?”

Jimin sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He pursed his lips, grabbing one of Y/N’s hands. She watched him interlace their fingers and run his thumb across her palm, biting his lip in thought. He started to play with her fingers when he answered back.

“I just don’t want to talk to some people.” His voice was soft and vulnerable and Y/N couldn’t help but grab his hand with concern in her eyes.

“Do I have to beat someone up?” she said it teasingly, but Jimin knew she was as serious as a heart attack.

“No Y/N…Wheein is just kinda being an ass lately. That’s all.” He mumbled. Y/N felt her heart twinge in anger, her brows furrowing.

“Well, what happened?”

“Just some bullshit argument we got into, I don’t know, maybe I’m the one that’s at fault and I’m just being bitchy or something?” his eyes looked up at her softly, the innocence and struggle inside them showed Y/N that Jimin couldn’t have been at fault. She sighed, her heart filling with sympathy for her best friend.

“I mean, you seem fine, what did she say?”

“I can show you the chat, I honestly don’t want to have to read it out…” he picked up his phone from the side table behind him, unlocking it and pulling up the conversation

Wheein: Heyyy Jimin~

Jimin: Hey what’s up?

Wheein: Nothing much, you?

Jimin: Nothing much…

Wheein: So, when are you coming over?

Jimin: I don’t know if I can tonight, I got a lot of hw to do

Wheein: You can just do it here!

Jimin: It’s kind of like project stuff I have to do with a hyung. I really don’t think I can come…

Wheein: Oh, c’mon Jimin we’ve had this planned all week

Jimin: I know, I’m sorry;

Wheein: Are you really not going to come over? I had a whole night planned for us!

Jimin: I don’t think I can

Wheein: Holy shit are you serious?! Wtf Jimin?!

Jimin: Look, I’m sorry okay, I told you when we planned this it might not work out

Wheein: I didn’t think you were serious

Jimin: Well, I was

Wheein: I really can’t believe you

Jimin: I think I’m going to go

Wheein: Sure, whatever

Y/N handed Jimin his phone back when she was done, mulling over the conversation Jimin had had yesterday.

“I don’t know, do you think I was out of line?” Jimin spoke up, biting his lips nervously at Y/N’s answer.

“Not really…you did make plans, but you said it might not work out because of the project. If anything, she was the one being a bitch, not you.” She said honestly and Jimin chuckled.

“Yeah? I just didn’t want to go over yesterday. Sometimes it’s just hard being there.” He admitted.

“Why is it hard?” Jimin could tell she was confused, so he sighed, looking at his fingers play with hers as he talked.

“I just feel like I’m expected to act a certain way when I’m there and I hate that. The problems solved though because I can just pretend I’m busy.” Y/N stared at Jimin pointedly and he gulped when he saw her expression.”

“That’s not solving the problem though, you need to talk with her and tell her why you feel like that.” She explained, sending him a small smile, “Just know I’m always here for you.”

“Thanks, Y/N. I’m glad you’re here to talk to.” He smiled back and they were thrusted into silence once again. Y/N allowed Jimin to continue playing with her hand while se aimlessly watched the movie in front of her.

“Have you thought about what you want to do after college?” Jimin asked suddenly, making Y/N jump.

“I-I’m not sure yet…you?”

“I think I want to just really get out of here and go someplace totally new you know?” Jimin’s eyes shined with stars and Y/N smiled softly at his dreamy expression.

“I can understand that. You’ve always talked about going to a bigger city and starting your dancing career.” Y/N chuckled and Jimin nodded eagerly.

“You know me so well~ But I’d probably stay wherever I am for a while though. I don’t know, but planning so far out can be silly.”

“So much could change” Y/N pointed out, and Jimin hummed in agreement.

“And I don’t see myself settling down any time soon. Like, I honestly can’t see myself even having kids.” Jimin admitted and Y/N bit her lip.

“Why do you say that?”

“I just don’t see myself wanting a family, I just want to able to take life as it comes.” He spoke excitedly and Y/N forced a smile.

“Yeah, that’s a really good philosophy for you Jimin.” She forced a chuckle.

“Hopefully it works out. You’re not going to settle down straight out, are you?”

“I don’t think I’ll settle down straight away. Hoseok told me he wants to have a family though, so maybe it’ll happen once I get my career settled out?” Y/N felt Jimin grip her hand a little too tightly, looking down to find a scowl on his face.

“You’re too smart for that Y/N. You should travel and be free for a while. Learn some more, you have too much potential to just settle down with Hoseok after a few years of work.” Jimin let the pent-up anger he had lace into his words and Y/N pursed her lips.

“You’re not just saying that because you don’t like Hoseok, right?” she asked. Y/N knew Jimin wasn’t fond of her boyfriend, she could see it in the way he looked at him. However, Jimin tried to get along with him for her, so she couldn’t complain. Jimin huffed and forced a smile.

“No. Of course not. If you do decide to leave, and we end up together in the same city, we could still be roommates.” He laughed.

“Oh, the pain! No, I’d like that.” She poked her tongue out at him playfully and Jimin smiled.

“Thanks for letting me talk about that, whenever I talk about the future with Wheein she always gets so upset.” Jimin confessed.

“Why does she get upset?”

“I guess she doesn’t want me to go far away, but I guess she knows I’d leave without her.” He said sheepishly, rubbing his cold nose.

“You’d really leave her?” Y/N hadn’t meant for her voice to sound hopeful, but she seemed to be the only one who noticed it.

“Yeah, I guess later, she’s going through a very tough time right now though. She wants to be a more serious couple.” Y/N paused for a moment before speaking.

“What do you mean by more serious?” Jimin sighed, sitting up and moving closer to Y/N. His chest was flushed with her side, his hand gripping hers tightly. Her heart shouldn’t have picked up like the way it did, but she quickly pushed the feeling out of her mind.

“This is pretty personal, so don’t tell anyone, okay?” Jimin stared at her seriously, his gaze sharp.

 “I won’t, I promise.” Y/N nodded.

“Me and Wheein…haven’t had sex. I think she wanted to try last night while her roommate was out.” Jimin said softly. Y/N let out an ‘oh’ and broke Jimin’s gaze.

“Well…do you want to?” She asked, the hand that Jimin wasn’t gripping to death rubbing the back of her neck.

“No, I don’t think I’m ready for that with her at least. She’s tried to get me to a couple of times, but I managed to fend her off. It’s just really annoying to keep turning her down when she knows that I don’t want to do that.” Jimin confessed and Y/N felt a sudden urge to protect the guy sitting next to her.

“Just wait until you’re ready Jimin. It’s okay to not to want to have sex.”

“Sometimes I feel weird about it though; I feel like I should’ve done it by now.” Y/N noticed the blush rise in Jimin’s cheeks, so she squeezed his hand, giving him a small smile.

“You’re definitely not weird Jimin, it’s your life. You shouldn’t have to feel pressured to do something because everyone else around you have.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Jimin pauses, blushing softly, “H-Have you had sex yet?” he was biting his lips and avoiding her gaze and Y/N chuckled, squeezing his hand with a small smile on her face.

“No, I haven’t.” Y/N repressed a giggle when she saw Jimin’s shoulders relax, he was being cute.

“Then were in the same boat. Thanks for talking with me about it.” He smiled and Y/N gave him one in return.

“We can talk anytime Jimin.” She said reassuringly. Jimin smiled at her sheepishly.

“Sorry I stole so much of your time talking about random stuff. You’re probably so tired.” Jimin went back to playing with her fingers, his hair slightly falling into his eyes. Y/N sighed and brushed his hair aside, looking at him in the eyes.

“Its fine, really.” Her voice was soft and Jimin couldn’t help the appreciation that filled his eyes.

“I feel like we’re different now, but in a good way.” He smiled.

“I feel that way too.” Y/N nodded, running the tips of her fingers across Jimin’s cheek. “You’re such a good…” she paused trying to find the right word. “…friend.” Y/N sighed, avoiding Jimin’s gaze because of her lackluster word. There was so much she wanted to say, but with the pretenses of the relationships they were in, she was afraid of saying something that would be inappropriate. She watched Jimin’s smile fall, his hand dropping hers. Y/N suddenly felt colder than before, retracting her hand and shoving it into the pocket of her hoodie.

“And you are too Y/N.” he said stiffly, removing his legs from her lap and standing, “I should get to bed, I have work in the morning.” He moved away from her, walking down the hallway to his room. Y/N quickly jumped up, following him,

“Jimin!” she called. He turned around and his eyes widened in shock when Y/N suddenly enveloped him in a hug. Her arms were tight around his torso and Jimin hesitantly returned her affection.

“Y-Y/N?

“Jimin, you know I care for you so much right?” she mumbled softly.

“Yeah, of course.” He let go of her, looking down into her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“You deserve a better word than ‘friend’, Jimin…so much better.” Jimin felt his heart jump, suddenly his face felt way too warm and his hands felt way too clammy. “I just want you to know that.” Y/N sighed, rubbing Jimin’s shoulder before leaving him alone in the hallway with a racing heart and a conflicted mind.

[conversationsincreativecultures1]

week 8

week 8

BRIEF

Write about an aspect of cultural understanding and creative practice in Aotearoa New Zealand. You can choose your own topic (pending approval from your lecturer) or choose an option from the list below.

5 visual texts, and 2 written texts from the library to inform your writing. All sources, visual and textual, need to be cited using MLA referencing style.

5 images to discuss how the topic is addressed in the creative work of others.

why this image? what is important about this specific image?

context to understand image? - where, when. who

describe what is in the image that makes it important for your topic?

what does the image evidence of cultural understanding or/and creative practice in Aotearoa?

what links can you make between your image and the powhiri reading?

treaty signing in tent painting

the image is set on 6 feb 1840 in a tent on the Waitangi grounds. it is about the Maori and the English coming together and signing the treaty. there are lots of guards, important British people like william busby, and chiefs of Maori tribes. it is the documentation that both the maori and British did intact sign and it wasn’t just fraud.

In saying that, it is only a representation of what the artist thought happened. this has visible signs as it shows how many people where in the tent and how formal the day was.

there is a large contrast shown between the maori and the British by their skin colour, what they are wearing, how they do their hair,there were more british than Maori and how they are waiting (maori are sitting and english are standing). there were no maori or cultural flags for the maori but all of the European flags where hanging and there was even the Japanese flag which the British had nothing to do with. the image is evidence of cultural understanding and creative practice because it is apart of New Zealand's history and this significant day is what has caused so many problems which still lead onto today.

where is the image come from

why did i pick this one image-

artist- their version of it, how the artist painting pictures. artist manipulation. why they have done it that way. at the moment of signing, not hours of dibating

this is a post stamp that came out in 1350. it is an image of the Maori arriving in New Zealand. they look to be falling off their boats and onto the shores. they look to be starving and thirsty. they are creating the idea that the Maori arrived in New Zealand on accident as their navigation tequincs are based around the stars and where they are in the sky. for the *** previous HW info!*** keeping the voiding going, following the pathways of ancestors

moari

navigate with stars

use their heart and excitement

intuitive way

connection to the land

starts, story, word of mouth how to get there. using the boat (waka) as the compass

key points

ruterning, respecting of ancestries

didn’t discover by accident

elements of darkness, sketch, not important, grim, no view of any landscape

this shows cultural understanding because it shows what the British thought of the Maori and their way of doing things. their is a very racist element of discrimination against the Maori in the image which is still around today

this image is the arrival of the British to New Zealand. they look to have had a pleasant trip and arrived with plenty to share. they are meeting the Maori for the first time. they are dressed very well and there are plenty of them.

light image, methodical shading, tidy, proper, beautiful background.

10 given the right to teach MO’s knowledge of navigating the ocean

learn how to survive, live and become the specific ocean

the dig up of the bones- lots of jewels with it. lots of info from them

shell found which comes only from malaysa

english/french navigation

navigate with knowledge, development

knowleable way of doing things

black and white, order, devision mapping

suzanne tamaki, for god, for queen, for country, 2011. image courtesy of artist

Her work is inspired by legends and mythical creatures in the Pacific, traditional costuming throughout the world, as well as indigenous issues in Aotearoa/ New Zealand.

Tamaki uses provocative fashion photography to agitate discussions about colonisation and its effect on Maori culture.  Tamaki was one of the founding members of the Pacific Sisters fashion collective in the mid 90’s participating in various multimedia fashion shows including the 12th Sydney Biennale and the South Pacific Festival of the Arts in Samoa, Palau and Pagopago.

“: Suzanne Tamaki.” ARTIVIST : Creative by Any Means Necessary!, artivist.co.nz/suzanne-tamaki/.

“Self Portrait #1.” Kura Gallary, Vicky Thomas, 1 Mar. 2009, www.kuragallery.co.nz/vicky-thomas-12

vicky thomas, embrases both Maori and Pakiha influences to challenge the perception ��and stereotypes of Maori artwork.

Photographic Artist

Vicky is a photographic artist and graduated with a Bachelor of Design (Honours) in Visual Communication - Photography major at Unitec, Auckland in 2005.

Born in 1964, Vicky grew up in Mangere, South Auckland. Her father is Ngati Kahu from Mangamuka, Far North and her mother is of Irish, Welsh and Nga Puhi decent and was born in Onehunga, Auckland. Apart from living in Australia for several years in her twenties, Vicky has lived in Auckland and is comfortable with describing herself as an urban Maori. She currently resides in Titirangi with her two sons.

Her art practice is a blend of contemporary urban Maori experience and Maori tribal tradition. She has exhibited in several multi-artist shows and has sold her works to both local and international buyers.

Vicky has a passion for creating artworks that reflect the environment in which she grew up and lives. Embracing both her Maori and Pakeha world experiences and influences enables her to combine various ideas and present works that challenge held perceptions and stereotypes when considering contemporary Maori artwork.

“Vicky Thomas.” Kura Gallery Maori and New Zealand Art Design, www.kuragallery.co.nz/category/artists/vicky-thomas.

Fly a Flag 2010-15, Andrea Hopkins.jpg

Andrea Hopkins is one of Northland’s leading contemporary painters. She is known nationally and internationally for her work which blends cultural semiotics with surreal landscapes.

Of Māori, New Zealand and Welsh decent Hopkins is influenced by the Māori concepts of wairua/spiritual, hinengaro/emotional, whanau/family and tangata/the physical being. Her practice involves taking everyday identities and Māori motifs and places them against delicately brushed landscapes conveying messages of duality and strength.  

Featuring work from Mana Wahine Robyn Kahukiwa, Tracey Tawhiao, Suzanne Tamaki, Linda Munn and Andrea Hopkins, this provocative exhibition explores some of the social and political issues that have arisen since the treaty was signed in 1840, in the mediums of painting and photography.

“Waitangi Wahine.” Tauranga Art Gallery, www.artgallery.org.nz/waitangi-wahine.

Homework

part 1

TIKANGA (in downloads)

tikanga: a Maori ceremony

tika: means to be correct or to be right

pono: means to be genuine and to be true

tuturu: means to be permanent, long term and long lasting.

“principles or standards of behaviour”; pono, tuturu and values

i have never heard of these words before i read this reading, or maybe i have but didn’t recognise them. i have learnt the meaning now but it hasn’t changed over the year because i didn’t know what they meant till now. i find when people say Maori words that i dont understand they go straight though one ear and out the other side, especially when no one explains the meaning of them. i only briefly learnt Maori in primary school and haven’t really learnt it since. i think that if we learnt Maori through out the years at school like they do in other countries then we would all know the Maori language better and i would have known these words. unfortualtly because i have never heard of them my understanding hasn’t changed over the last year but overnight. they went from having no meaning to an english translation.

part 2

Explain, through words or drawing, how you would enact that value within the physical space of a classroom.

Mana = concept away form domination and control

spiritual

mana enhancing art- tells stories about collective identity, relationships that we should have and spiritual reality.

eg hand woven mats, functional perpose, uplifting values and strength sensing of integrity.

mana could have fall in the physical space of a classroom as it is about whole heartedness, moral courage and creating harmony which is exactly what would be good in the classroom. mana enhancing art is about telling stories about collective identity, relationships that we should have and spiritual reality. an example of making this is hand woven mats, functional perpose, uplifting values and strength sensing of integrity which is a great activity for kids to learn and use but it also has the strong culture and spiritual background too. One of the functions of visual art is to communicate values and knowledge, in a language that speaks to our spirit. its about putting a positive message in the art and also looking beyond the approach to see the values its presenting.