#sign shop in london

[webdiggerxxx]

꧁★꧂

[mobymartin]

A closer look at the sulky crescent moon above number 37 Holywell Street, one of the oldest shop signs in Victorian London. It can still be seen in the Museum of London — Source.

[plebeiangoth]

Cool how some spinal injuries from a car crash years ago is ruining my day right now

[ngssignsmithslondon]

Top 5 NGS copperplate script fonts

Our Famous Slant on Scripts Love Hate Social Club Notting Hill Gallery of hand crafted Copperplate Script sign writing works and inspiration. Fitzbillies of Cambridge Crazy Pig Covent Garden The George Tavern Stepney Soho inspiration Belgium Dutch style Sarf’ Lundun . Script or Cursive lettering is an art and a whole area of expertise that writers either have or not.  Luckily I always…

[youryurigoddess]

So one thing led to another, and I’ve just paid a visit to the first (that we know of) confirmed Good Omens S3 filming locations. Due to the obvious sensitivity of this material, please tag it accordingly and share only with the fans consenting to know potential spoilers.

A fellow Good Omens fan has mentioned that residents of a certain Edinburgh area had unexpected guests recently, knocking on their door and telling them they are filming in their street soon. Imagine their surprise when a polite question about the details led to the offhand answer: “IT'S ONLY GOOD OMENS”.

For those unaware, the City of Edinburgh Council has been working really hard on promoting the city for film and TV industry for a few years now (the effects of which we saw in S2), and has a set of very clear and very publicly available guidelines regarding the modus operandi here.

The Good Omens production has both large scale and a high impact on a specific location due to the crew size, amount of technology used, and requirement for crowd control in most of the exterior and interior scenes (e.g., bookshop, pub, or coffee shop windows), which is why not only the local authorities, but also residents were informed about the filming with an at least 8 days notice:

Ironically, I just had happened to have a trip here planned and a hotel booked within walking distance to the locations on the attached TM and parking plan map, so it would be a waste not to use this opportunity for the greater good of the fandom. Can’t stay long enough to see the actual crew, so unfortunately the hair photos will have to be made by someone else. Disappointing, I know. But there’s still a lot to be excited about!

According to the provided notice, the filming will happen within one working day with the required set-up planned for the day before, mostly in the afternoon hours. The attached map shows planned parking suspension and SYL dispensation on two streets close to the chosen locations, which is where the trailers and equipment vehicles will park:

Location One turns out to be, rather surprisingly, a cosy corner bookshop. The shop — one of the Edinburgh’s oldest surviving secondhand bookstores — is very small, but crammed with a wide ranging library of beautiful books to serve readers and collectors, including antiquarian true first editions and signed copies.

It’s giving Muriel’s sweet and whimsical charm, but the bits and pieces of the unpublished Good Omens sequel point out not towards Whickber Street, where the angel currently resides, but more towards a new in-universe location. Maybe one that will be opened in the future post-Second Coming, maybe one that will remind one of the characters about a home base of operations back in the heart of London’s Soho (and theirs— wait, who said that?).

Notice that the road closure includes north and south sides of the pavement visible in the last photo, so both indoor and outdoor shots could be expected:

Location Two seems a bit more complex, since it’s basically a skewed triangle consisting of one longer street and a short side street diverging from it. Conveniently for the filmmakers, the architecture here is uncharacteristic enough that it could be easily presented as British, Scottish, or even American. I’m personally a bit partial to the last option since it would make sense story- and budget-wise, especially now with the two people previously adamant on shooting the US scenes only on location there not on the production team anymore.

The contrasting structures and materials visible here easily offer background for multiple potential contexts and scenarios, so much in fact that it’s easy to imagine more than one scene being shot here for cost- and time-effective reasons. Some of the buildings along the cobbled road have the right look and feel for historical flashbacks, as you can see below. I find the two separate entrances next to each other particularly lovely:

A considerable part of the buildings in the area, however, belongs to a more modern complex that communicates a very different personality and function. With a bit of camera and post-production magic, it could transform to a wide range of settings — please let me know your thoughts and ideas if you have any!

Specific filming times and more detailed information are consciously not shared out of concern for the crew and cast members who clearly don’t want them to become public knowledge. Those of you who live in the area and might visit the set anyway, please don’t forget to make sure that your presence won’t bother them as well as other locals. And remember to keep any new photos and information contained with tags so that you won’t spoil it to the people who would rather wait for the movie itself!

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[enhalouv]

hyung line - when you want his attention while he's on the phone

a/n: another lil easing in w some pov !! hope u enjoy hehe

pairing: enha hyung line x fem!reader

warning: SMUT!, corporate!enha hyung line, derogative language (c!nt), oral, unprotected sex, voyeur, public-ish sex, a mention of a foot, cursing, lil dub-con

w.c: 1,541

Heeseung

“Well, I’ll be in the office quite late, so there shouldn’t be a problem with finishing it.”

Heeseung’s playing with the papers on his desk, a contract awaiting his signature. He knows it’s important, but it’s 3 hours past work hours and he’s finding it difficult to concentrate on the vital information dump. 

Nonetheless, he tries his best. Soon enough, he finds himself absorbed in hearing what his colleague says regarding a business deal they’re both working on. 

He’s so distracted, he almost misses you walking in. 

Almost. 

It’s hard to miss you when you’re in the lingerie set he brought you back from his business meeting in London. You look beautiful. Heeseung leans back on his chair, hand gripping the armrest as he shifts his legs forward to relieve the pressure of his growing erection. 

The set was something he noticed in the shop window of a high-end sex store. Heeseung imagined your beautiful body gripped tight by the material of the lingerie. He hadn’t even hesitated to buy it, disregarding the quadruple-digit price tag entirely. The lingerie was barely concealing anything. Mesh and lace exactly hugging your skin the way Heeseung knew it would. God, he’s drooling. 

“Well, the client needs to confirm the fee estimate before we can get started. But he’s barely responding…”

The voice of his colleague flows in one ear and out the other, his attention solely on the way you stroll into his room. His breath hitches when you drop onto your knees in front of him. 

“Pay attention to your call, Hee. It must be important.” You’re being cheeky. Lips pulled into an innocent smile like you’re not working to unbuckle his belt. 

Heeseung’s straining through his slacks, his grip on the armrest of his chair tightening as you palm his cock. 

“Heeseung?”

His attention gets drawn back by the call of his name. “Yes?”

“Were you listening?”

“Sorry,” Heeseung chuckles, a hand going to grip the back of your head as you mouth at his cock through his underwear. “Just got a bit distracted there, what did you say?”

“I was saying…”

The call drifts out of his mind, his phone dangling precariously in his fingers. His business partner continues to update him on something- Heeseung doesn’t care. All he cares about is the warmth your wet mouth provides as you suck his cock down your throat. 

Jongseong

You’d been acting up. Whined and tugged at Jay to give you attention while he answered an important work call. 

You were being a brat. 

Jay wasn’t so nice when you acted out. So, now you’re on all fours, being pounded by your boyfriend from behind. A hand firmly covering your mouth to prevent any noise from coming out, less the person on the other end hearing how Jay makes your head spin. 

He’s relentless with his thrusts, a hand pushes your back into a deeper curve, and the other holds a phone to his ear. He’s responding with a steady voice, one that doesn’t give away the way he’s got you unravelling on his cock. 

“Actually,” Jay cuts the other person off, slowing down his thrusts and pushing in deeper. “Can you relay that to my assistant, she’ll be much better at ensuring this job gets completed.” 

You’re barely paying attention, the new pace making you drool from how deep your boyfriend is going. 

“She’s here right now, let me pass you to her.”

Without hesitation, Jay leans forward pushing deeper into you and puts his phone against your ear. You begin to panic as Jay shows no signs of stopping. What the actual fuck is he thinking?

“Hello?”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

“Go on, love,” Jay’s voice is low as he speaks to you, careful to not let it get caught by the phone’s microphone. “Answer him.”

You grip the phone hard against your ear, trying to breathe deeply to steady your voice before responding, “Yes, h-hello, I’m Jay’s assistant. Please c-continue.”

The voice on the other end filters in and Jay’s being kinder and slowing down his thrusts, hips resting against your ass as he pushes shallowly into you. You’re thankful that he wasn’t being heartless, and you try your hardest to listen to what’s being said. 

But before long, your hand slaps against your mouth as Jay pushes your back as deep as it curves and grips your hips and thrusts in so deep, you see stars. Jay begins a brutal pace, uncaring of how hard you’re trying to be quiet. 

You’re absolutely fucked. 

Jaeyun

He should be listening to his colleague on the other end of the call. This was an important business deal that would cost his company thousands if he fucks it up. 

But you’re right in front of him with two fingers deep in your cunt, and his attention was otherwise occupied. There’s no way his eyes, let alone mind, could drift from the way you play with your pretty pussy.

You’re spread out on his desk, one leg up and the other hanging between his own. The heel of your foot presses against his hard-on, the pressure not being enough for his cock. His hips subconsciously grind up into it, his slacks straining against his thighs at the motion.

“Will you be in tomorrow? I want us to delegate some tasks to the team.”

Jake hums absentmindedly, lips tucked between his teeth as you slip your fingers out and lead them up to your mouth. He tries his best not to groan into the receiver as you lick your fingers clean, spit dribbling out your mouth in an obscene mess. 

Fuck this. 

He puts his phone on speaker and places it on the other end of his desk. With his now free hands, he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of his table and immediately shoves his face in between your thighs, desperate to taste your sweet cunt. 

Your thighs wrap around his head, hands gripping his hair tightly as his tongue flicks against your clit and slides against you. His fingers creep up your leg making you shiver. You're straining hard to be quiet, biting onto the palm you've clasped over your mouth.

Jake's fingers circle your hole, huffing out a laugh when your whole body jerks at his teasing, and slides two in. He works two digits into your cunt, cum squelching as he pushes in deep. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth, loving the way you tense in his hold.

“Jake, you there? What was that sound?”

Parting from your clit, Jake still fucks his fingers into you. Uncaring of the way you're gripping his dress shirt, eyes squeezed tight as you're nearing closer and closer to orgasm. There's no way he's going to stop now.

“Yeah,” Jake sighed, his voice strained. “I'm listening. Just getting ready to head to the gym. Uh- stretching and stuff.”

“oh, okay… anyways-"

Jake doesn't hesitate to get his mouth onto your cunt just as you shake in his hold, cumming straight on his tongue. So worth it.

Sunghoon

Sunghoon’s barely paying attention to his boss in the other line as it is, but the moment you walk in with the cute loungewear set he bought you, his attention entirely zeros in on you. 

The shorts are tiny and ride up your thighs as you walk towards him. There’s a cheeky smile on your face, and Sunghoon should know by now that’s never a good sign. But really, he can’t find his attention deterring from how glorious your legs look. 

With no words being exchanged, you perch yourself on his lap. Sunghoon’s free arm immediately wraps around your waist, and he pulls you in close. He stretches his arm out with the phone so the microphone doesn’t pick up the chaste kiss he leaves on your lips.

“Hi there, darling.”

Sunghoon is infatuated with you, eyes never straying away from your face. He can’t find himself caring about the possible reprimanding he’ll get tomorrow for not listening to his boss’ instructions. His girl is in his lap, looking unbelievably gorgeous and grinding down into his half-hard cock. 

Wait. 

His mind short-circuits as you continue to roll your hips, a devious smile on your face as you watch Sunghoon’s reactions. 

You pull his pants down until they’re halfway down his thighs, gripping his cock to stroke him a few times. Sunghoon’s hips jump at the contact, thighs tensing at the feeling. 

You eventually lift yourself up with Sunghoon’s help, pulling your shorts to the side to show your dripping cunt. No panties. Good God. 

Your hips circle the tip of his cock, teasing. He hisses when you slide down on his cock, you’re tight and so, so warm it has his head tossing back in pleasure. 

“Sorry? What was that, Sunghoon?”

His boss’ voice filters through and Sunghoon has to remind himself he’s actually on a phone call. But the way you’re rolling your hips in his lap is making it a difficult task to remember. 

“Ah, sorry, I just got a paper cut,” he lets out a fake chuckle, gripping your ass harder. 

You continue to bounce on his cock and Sunghoon continues to lose his mind.

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

taglist

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[dresshistorynerd]

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

[rheya28]

Ridgeview Apartment [ Apartment + Gym + Bar] ♥ The Sims 4: Speed Build // CC

➽ Speed Build Video

➽ Rheya's Notes:

An open/closed concept floor plan. Kitchen with all new appliances Bathroom with shower and bath Gym & Bar Panoramic view of the city

➽ Apartment Units:

1st Floor: lobby, Bar and Gym 2nd Floor [Unit 1: 3 Bed, 2 Bath] [Unit 2: 1 Bed, 1 Bath] 3rd Floor [Unit 3: 3 Bed, 2 Bath] [Unit 4: 1 Bed, 1 Bath] 4th Floor [Unit 5: 4 Bed, 3 Bath]

➽ Important Notes:

● Please make sure to turn bb.moveobjects on! ● Please DO NOT reupload or claim as your own. ● Feel free to tag me if you are using it, I love seeing my build in other peoples save file ● Feel free to edit/tweak my builds, but please make sure to credit me as the original creator! ● Thank you to all CC Creators ● Please let me know if there's any problem with the build

➽Lot Details

Lot Name: Ridgeview Apartment Lot type: Apartment Complex w/ gym and bar Lot size: 40x30 Location: Windenburg

➽ MODS

Tool Mod by Twisted Mexi

➽ CC LIST:

Note: I reuse a lot of the same cc in all my builds, specifically cc's from felixandre, HeyHarrie, and Pierisim so if you're interested in downloading past, present, future build from me i suggest getting all their cc sets to make downloading a little easier! other creators include Sooky, Charlypancakes, Sixam, Thecluttercat, Myshunosun, awingedllama, and tuds. This will also ensure that the lots are complete and are not missing any items upon downloading !

Additional notes: You do not need to download all of the cc on the list as I only used 1 or 2 items from some of these set. Some items can be easily be replaced by what you already have!

I would however, download all heyharrie, pierisim, and felixandre sets that are listed as I used alot of their cc in the exterior and interior!

S-imagination : Nota Living Room [ Ceiling light Only]

Around the Sim: Shop sign [Barber sign only]

The Clutter Cat: Busy bee Pt 1 [ Green table Plant only], Dandy Diary [ Concrete coffee table only]

House of Harlix : Bafroom, Baysic, Harluxe, Livin Rum, Orjanic, Kichen

Bbygyal123: Balance Collection [ Yoga mat ]

Felix Andre: Berlin Pt 3 [ Office chair only], Chateau, FLorence, Colonial Pt 3, Grove Pt 4, Kyoto Pt 2, London Interior, Paris Pt 1 2 3, Grove

Charlypancakes: Maple &S Construction Pt 3, Soak

Harrie: Brutalist, Coastal, Klean

Joyce : Forever Autumn [ Curtains only]

Peacemaker: Graciously Georgian, Paige Armchair, Hamptons Hideaway [Ceiling light only]

Pierisim: Coldbrew, Combles, David Apartment, Domaine Du Close, MCM, Oak House, Winter Garden, Woodland Ranch

Charlypancakes x Pierisim: Precious Promises [ Chair only ]

*Ravasheen: Uplifting Elevator [MOD]

Simkoos: Everyday Clutter Add-on

Simplistic: Rustic Rug Trio

Sixam: Hotel Bedroom [ Desk only], Small spaces Laundry room

Syboulette: Fitness

Tuds: Cross

*Zulf: Let's get fit [MOD] -optional-

● DOWNLOAD Tray File and CC list: Patreon Page ● Origin ID: anrheya [previous name: applez] ● Twitter: Rheya28__ ● Tiktok: Rheya28__ ● Youtube: Rheya28__

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 29: Single Parents/Uncles AU for an event by @bagginshieldweek24

I deeply regret that the challenge is a day late! Exams are merciless to me, and even though I started drawing in advance, I still couldn’t handle the deadline 😅 I promise to catch up with feedback tomorrow, after passing bioinformatics exam.

More headcanons and details under the cut>>

— It’s an alternative Middle-earth universe with hobbits, humans, dwarves, and elves, but set in modern times.

— Thorin grew up in Erebor in a royal family (which makes sense), is accustomed to good coffee, can distinguish different types, and knows which brewing devices are best. Now he has moved to London for work and discovered that both dwarf and human coffee shops would often use cheap beans or bad coffee machines, or they grind the beans incorrectly, or even set the wrong amount of grams of coffee per espresso shot. In general, they save money wherever they can, mostly selling the vibe and relying on the fact that taste isn’t important to most of the customers. Elves occupy the niche of coffee connoisseurs, but Thorin would rather drink filter coffee from a kettle on the roadside than go to elves. And then he discovers that hobbits, little hedonists, love good food and GOOD COFFEE! Of course, in hobbit cafes, he has to sit on low chairs and by the small tables, and at first, the other patrons looked at the dwarf in their company strangely, but it’s worth it. Thorin is willing to sit with a bent back if he gets a quiet and cozy atmosphere, excellent Wi-Fi, and delicious coffee (an office in London is good, but sometimes you need to get out of the four walls to not get nuts).

— Thorin rarely drinks pure espresso, preferring softer variations. He also has a sweet-tooth.

— Bilbo is a children’s book writer, mainly known for a series of fantasy novels about a brave hobbit who traveled over and under the mountains, rode in barrels, and played riddles in the dark (Bilbo, in canon, wrote his memoirs, which all hobbits except Merry and Frodo knew primarily for Hobbiton children, so I think he would primarily write for little hobbit kids).

— It’s not a real feather he uses, but a ballpoint pen with attached feathers, like those sold in souvenir shops. Bilbo bought it after a tour to the Tower of London. He likes the ✨vibe✨ and the fact that he can twirl the feather part around his lips when he’s thinking. (It’s literally an instruction on how to seduce Thorin)

— Mr. Baggins only drinks doppio. The cup is big compared to him because it’s hobbit ceramics, and the portion sizes for hobbits, who love treats, are no smaller than human ones.

— Bilbo has taken care of Frodo since his parents drowned in an accident. Frodo is about 8-9 years old here.

— I love the headcanon that hobbits’ ears react to their emotions, so the fact that Frodo doesn’t lower them when Bilbo scolds him is a good sign. Bilbo is a good uncle.

— Thorin and Bilbo have seen each other several times on Wednesdays. Usually, they don’t care about other patrons, but barista keept trying to serve a doppio to the stern scowling dwarf in black leather jacket, and a cappuccino with whipped cream to the little curly hobbit in a plaid sweater. They’ve had to swap their drinks several times.

— Thorin read Mr. Baggins’ books to his nephews in Erebor and quickly figured out who always sits at the table near the window in his favorite cafe. Thorin likes Bilbo’s books but doesn’t know if he’s married because he keeps his personal life private. Seeing Frodo, he immediately assumed he was Bilbo’s son, considering how the little hobbit looks at him.

— Bilbo immediately noticed the stern ( handsome) dwarf sitting with his eyes glued to his phone, but he always felt too awkward to speak with him. How do you even start a conversation with a stranger, especially from another race? So when Frodo, rather bluntly, commented on his appearance, of course, Bilbo was embarrassed. No, he absolutely agrees with Frodo. The exotic braids, unusual for short-haired hobbits, look amazing on the tall dwarf, and the iron clips highlight his blue eyes perfectly, but isn’t that a bit rude to point that out? Wouldn’t a dwarf decide that he is trying to mock his culture?

— Bilbo saw that while he was scolding Frodo, Thorin turned away and for some reason tugged angrily at his braid, so he decided to muster the courage and compliment him himself to ease the awkwardness and not seem rude (not at all because he would gladly say what Frodo did himself and not because Mr. Dwarf has much more attractive features he’d also like to make a comment on, not at all, what are you talking about, no-no-no).

— The dwarf didn’t seem offended at all.

— They started talking and found out that Thorin’s nephews love Bilbo’s books (Bilbo was flattered by this news. He’s still surprised when his books are read by anyone other than hobbits. (Gandalf didn’t tell him that his books are popular among all races. Mostly because for other races they play the role of kids books where main protagonist is a cute mice)).

— And in the end, as we see, they exchanged numbers 🌚🌝

— They will meet again, but without Frodo and not just for coffee.

— The end✨✨✨

I’m still experimenting with a flat-color style and lineart so I’ll be glad to know what do you think about it. Hope the comic was enjoyable!

[alotofpockets]

Roommates | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Gorry!Reader & Katrina Gorry x Sister!Reader

Where you start dating your sister's bestfriend after she becomes your roommate.

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.8k

-----

"You're still going to pick up Kyra from the airport and drive her to her introduction at the Arsenal training grounds, right?" Your sister has asked you this question at least ten times now. Her Matilda's teammates, and one of her closest friends Kyra Cooney-Cross was making the move from Australia to the UK, just like you had done two years ago, and your sister had asked you to look out for her there. 

"Yes Mini, don't worry. I will pick up Kyra and drive her to London Colney. You can go to sleep and stop worrying, I promise I've got her." 

Katrina seemed to finally relax a bit, "Okay, text me when she gets there? I told her to do that too, but she'll probably be too tired from the flight to remember.” Your sister loved Kyra like family, and it was sweet to see how similarly she cared for Kyra as she does for you. 

“I will text you when I see her at the airport, now please go to sleep.” You laughed at the slightly annoyed sigh that escaped her mouth. “Thank you again, and goodnight.” You hung up the phone after wishing Katrina a good night as well.

You finish your workday, and run some errands, before you head home. You made a funny poster to welcome Kyra to London before you head to bed for an early wake up call to head to the airport.

When you saw Kyra walk down the gate hall, she looked exhausted from the long flight, a feeling you knew all too well yourself. She was wearing a pair of sweats and a hoodie, combined with a messy bun. When she laid eyes on your poster her face lit up. Welcome to London, my favourite Tillie!

"Oh we're so showing Mini your sign." She greets you with a hug. “Yeah, let's send her a picture. I promised I'd text her when you landed.” The two of you pose together with the sign, while someone next to you takes your picture. 

“Are you hungry?” You ask while you take half of her bags. “I ate on the plane, but am in desperate need of a coffee.” In the coffee shop you catch up for a bit over coffee, and breakfast for you, before Kyra gets a call. She walks out of the shop to take the call, while you scroll on your phone.

“What’s wrong?” The panicked look on her face as she walked back in immediately grabbing your attention. “That was the landlord of my apartment, he just let me know that he accidentally double signed. In other words, I don’t have a place to stay anymore.” Without a second thought you had a solution for her problem. “I’ve got a spare room that I never use. It’s yours if you want it.”

The following week you helped Kyra get settled and went with her for her introduction meeting at Arsenal. Initially you would just drop her off and pick her up later in the day, but she had insisted you’d join her. Together you got the Arsenal tour, and you sat to the side for all her video and picture moments. All in all, it ended up being a fun day.

The two of you had gotten close quickly over the days that passed, sure you had known each other already, but now living together brought you on a whole new level of friendship.

Tomorrow would be Kyra's first training session at Arsenal, as well as meeting the team for the first time. Besides her Aussie teammates Steph and Caitlin, she didn't know anyone more than a familiar face. You had known she was nervous, but you didn't realise just how much until she knocked on your bedroom door.

“Hey Ky, what's up?” The usual smile the girl was wearing was replaced by a frown. “Were you homesick when you first moved here?” You had been so adamant that she was just nervous, that you hadn't taken the move to another continent into consideration. “Yeah, I did. Come here.” Patting the spot on your bed besides you, you offered her a place to sit. 

You talked for a while before you both fell asleep. The next day you drove Kyra to her first practice with Arsenal. You were just going to drop her off, but when you saw Caitlin get out of her car, you had to go say hi. You knew all of the Tillies from the many times you had met them in the family and friends hall after matches. 

“Y/n, hi, what are you doing here?” She greeted you with a quick hug. You point back to your car where Kyra appeared from behind the trunk. “Ky has been staying with me.” 

On queue Kyra appears beside you, and drops her bags to hug Caitlin tight. While the two of them embrace, another player walks up to greet you. You knew it was Katie, but as far as you remembered you had never properly met. “Hi, I'm Katie, nice to meet you.” She extends her hand. “Y/n, nice to meet you too.”

Katie inspects you, trying to figure out where she knew you from, until it finally clicked. “Oh you're Gorry’s little sister, aren’t you?” Kyra stepped out of her hug with Caitlin to defend you. “She's her own person you know.” It was really sweet, but you really didn't mind. “It's fine Ky, I am.” You rolled your eyes at her defensiveness, but behind that facade you secretly loved how she stuck up for you. 

From then on Caitin and Katie picked up Kyra for practice, since you basically lived on the route to the training centre.

Kyra joined you in your room on more days than not over the next few weeks, and you would be lying to yourself if you didn���t enjoy the moments you spent together. You were quickly falling for her, and every part of you hoped that she felt the same way. 

Then one morning you woke up with Kyra cuddled into your side, and her leg draped over yours. You lift your hand to gently play with her hair, she hums with enjoyment and cuddles further into your side. “Good morning to you too.” You were like a deer in headlights, caught by the fact that she had, unbeknownst to you already been awake. “Don’t stop.”

You release the breath you were holding and continue. You must have laid there for another hour before you got out of bed. “Can I maybe take you out for breakfast?” The way her eyes lit up at your question was enough for you to realise that she did indeed feel the same way. “I would love that.”

The two of you had been together ever since, just keeping it to yourselves to enjoy your time together away from prying eyes. Which is why you were stressed since your sister had called that she was coming to visit with her family, because she was meeting with the West Ham United team. You had offered your home as a place for them to stay while she had her meeting, and while her and Clara would be looking at homes for their family. 

“Relax babe, we never changed my room back to a guest room, so they won’t notice a thing if we act like just friends for a couple days.” Kyra tried reassuring you. You had talked about telling her, but ultimately you decided that you weren’t ready to tell her yet, and Kyra was fine with that. 

Kyra offered Mini and Clara her room, while she took the couch, and your niece Harper was overjoyed to be having a sleepover in your room for a couple of days. It was nice having your family around, and you were excited to have them closer after the move as well. 

Mini and Clara were out house hunting while you and Kyra spent some time with Harper. Harper insisted on some painting, and you could not stop laughing when the girl had started painting Kyra instead of her paper. While Harper was dancing and singing her little heart out to Frozen, you cleaned Kyra’s face. When you were done you placed a quick kiss on her lips. “All done.”

Meanwhile a few blocks over Mini’s mind was on something besides house hunting. “I think they’re together.” She stated to Clare, who was busy inspecting the kitchen of the place they were currently in. “Who?” 

“Y/n and Kyra.” This got Clara’s attention. “What makes you think that?” Mini went on and on about how Kyra’s room looked like it hadn’t been touched in weeks, that you looked so comfortable together, the glances she had noticed between the two of you, and just the general vibe when the two of you were in a shared space. “Well, if they are, what would you think of that?” Mini thought for a moment before ultimately deciding that she thought the two of you would be cute together and good for each other. 

Mini had not expected to get answers to her question on if the two of you were together or not, but when she put Harper to bed, her little girl snitched on you right away. “Did you have fun today?” The girl nodded her head enthusiastically before telling her mom all about the things that you had done today and finished her story with, “Oh and Auntie and Kywa was kissing.” Mini smiled to herself. “Oh did they now, sweetheart? I am glad you had a good day. Sweet dreams.” 

The next morning you head out to breakfast all together, before your sister and her family fly back for a couple more months. “This place is great, y/n. Where did you find it?” You’re glad that they are enjoying the food just as much as you do. “I took Kyra here when she was all settled in.” You were soaking in all the time with your little niece as much as you could, so you were helping her colour in her drawing while you were speaking to the adults at the table.

“Oh, did you go here for your first date?” Since you were so focussed on the colouring you didn’t think before speaking. “Yeah- oh.” Your head shot up at your older sister, though you relax when you see the proud smirk on her face. “You knew?”

Mini points to Harper, “We’ve got ourselves a little snitch on our hands, she saw you two kiss yesterday. I did also have a feeling already.” You felt relieved now that your sister knew, because she was the person you were most scared of telling, with Kyra being one of her best friends and all.

You drove Mini, Clara, and Harper to the airport with Kyra, where you said your temporary goodbye’s. Knowing that they would be back in two months to move to London. You couldn’t wait to have your family close again. 

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[agroteraa]

Never Be Like You

Felix Catton x f!Reader

My fic masterlist

Summary: AU where Saltburn's ending never happened. Felix lived happily up to 2016 (and on), where he met you at your new job. Meaning he is around 29 here and you are younger.

Yes, a fic based on THAT Jacob Elordi edit

Using the song "Never Be Like You" by Flume feat. Kai

Shout-out to Kasey @kcsvids ❤️

Tags: fluff, implied slow burn, AU.

Word Count: 3,8K

Early August in London this year was quite rainy, but fortunately, the day you had to go around the city with the documents turned out to be surprisingly sunny and pleasant. It was the second month of your new job.

The bell on the door in the coffee shop tinkled as you went inside in search of your senior colleague, whose errands you had been running for half the day.

"Annabel, hi! I’ve signed the documents, made copies and notarized them. Here are the originals in the folder, and here are the copies," you said, sitting down on the opposite chair and rummaging in your bag, taking out all the necessary papers.

"Oh, thank you, Y/N! I expected that you would only have time to pick up the documents, and you have already done everything! Cool, you're doing great!" the girl smiled at you, and then added, "Our new capable young employee."

She said this to a young man in a colored seemingly expensive shirt who was sitting relaxed close to her on the couch and drinking coffee. He looked at you with a smile while Annabel was having a dialogue with you and complimenting you on the work done. God. This was the guy from your job, whom you saw rarely and from afar, but you really wanted to know more about him. You didn't even know his name because you were too shy to ask, and besides, you didn't talk close yet to people in your new place.

"Felix. Felix Catton," he introduced himself, extending his long arm across the table.

"Y/N," you answered a little timidly, shaking his hand. His fingers were no less long than the hand itself, and his palm was warm, "Um... Y/N L/N."

"Okay, I have to run, bye, Ann," the guy kissed her on the cheek, threw some money on the table and smiled at you again, "It was nice to meet you, a new capable young employee."

Young. Not that young, it was your second full-time job after graduating from the university, but of course you were younger than the two of them. Annabel, as far as you knew, was almost 29 years old. Felix was probably about the same age, it was hard for you to tell. It seemed that he could be aged from 23 to 33, given that he looked so youthful and lively.

"So... does he work for our company? It seems that I saw him in the office, but very rarely..." you tried to find out information about this man from Annabel as casually as possible.

"Yes, Felix has... a more of a free schedule. His father is a co–owner of the company. So, he is not particularly worried about being a worker of the year. However, it's not like I live at work either," Annabel began to tell you openly. It seems you had already realized that she was also a pretty laid-back person, "So… What are you ordering?"

Despite your protests, Annabel ordered and paid for you coffee and lunch anyway, and then continued, "We studied at Oxford together. You could say he helped me get a job here later."

Oh. You got it. It seems that the picture in your head had finally begun to take shape. It became clear to you why some people worked hard from early morning till night in the same office as someone came at lunchtime at best and generally behaved as if they had known each other half their lives. Because that how it was. Many of them were Oxonians, and had known each other since the university, and some even from boarding schools. Of course, you also received a decent education, but it was nothing compared to Oxford. But this was also often not only about education, but also about lifestyle in general. Your family was not any close to be called poor, but still it was not comparable to this level of life, and you were able to get a current job only because of your hard work and probably decent amount of luck.

You felt a little sad at the thought that for them you probably were a girl who came out of nowhere and did the paperwork, and it was very possible that you would remain that way in their eyes. In Felix's eyes, in particular. That was how you imagined his life as a golden boy, who was apparently at this stage of his life employed in his own parents' company, where he did not need to make any effort to stay there and at the same time receive a round sum of money. Usually it also led to a certain lifestyle.

While Annabel was stirring her coffee with a spoon, you noticed an engagement ring on her hand, which you didn't seem to notice before or just didn't pay attention to.

"Oh... can I... congratulate you?" you asked, barely hiding your awkwardness, "Is it... Felix?"

"Yes, thank you… What? Felix?" the girl laughed, "No. We used to date back at the university, and after that… Well, now we are not. I can't imagine Felix as a fiancé or husband. To be honest, I don't think he can either. He's a pretty free spirit, let's put it this way."

You exhaled and nodded, on the one hand satisfied with the answer, and on the other hand you were upset and got into thinking even more. Yes, it seemed that you two were different, too different, and it came to be clear in just a half an hour on a lunch.

But that didn't stop you from thinking about him anyway for the whole next month. He still rarely came to the office, but now he nodded and smiled broadly if he saw you. You even chatted briefly a couple of times in the hallway and over a cup of coffee in the office kitchen. You still didn't know what he really was like, but he seemed nice and friendly, even though he was always in a hurry for somewhere else. Or someone else. You couldn't help but still look forward to these short meetings.

And that how the autumn came.

"Well, lucky you, Y/N – it seems that a small anniversary of three months of your work here coincides with our seasonal party," sipping from her cup, Annabel informed you, "Once in a season we go out somewhere with the whole team. Well, to be more exact – with the least boring group of people here. Come with us? We're thinking of going to a club this time."

You willingly agreed, pleased that you were invited to this party. After all, it was not for nothing that you'd been Annabel's indispensable assistant, helping her out all the time. And, to be honest, you did a lot of her own work for her. And also you hoped that you and her began to get closer in personal level, even though you were quite different, it was still quite a fun.

Week later, you were hurrying along the streets while looking at the navigator where exactly the club that Annabel was talking about was located. You were late because you spent a lot of time on dressing up and doing makeup. You wanted to make an impression and you were a little nervous. Nervous because all this time you were wondering if Felix would come or not. You were worried about both scenarios, but you still wanted him to come first of all, even though you had no idea what and how should happen next.

The place greeted you with loud enough but pleasant music and colorful lighting. Your colleagues were sitting on the sofas nearby. Annabel waved cheerfully, "Y/N! We're here! Hi! Yes, you're not even the last one, so make yourself comfortable."

You greeted everyone who was sitting. You felt quite awkward, because you didn't communicate with everyone at least on the same level you did with Annabel, but you hoped that the evening would go well and that you didn't come in vain. And it turned out to be quite alright, but anyway, part of your thoughts was roaming whether Felix would come or not.

"Okay, guys, and now we'll drink to the Y/N! She's been helping me a lot lately. Y/N, I hope this is just the beginning of your work with us!" Annabel toasted.

"To a new young capable employee!" said a velvety deep voice behind you. You turned around. Felix stood behind, dressed in a white shirt and jeans. He had a shot glass in his hand and he had some kind of red cowboy hat on a rope behind his neck and back.

You all clinked drinks together and then started to sit back down on the sofas.

"Hello, Y/N," Felix smiled broadly at you, "Glad you were invited too."

"Oh, Felix, where have you been?" your colleagues began to ask him as he sat down with them and began to tell about being stuck in another club and then getting through traffic jams here to you all.

"Unexpectedly. I thought he wasn't coming, huh," you said softly to Annabel.

"Why wouldn't Felix come to the party? It's not like going to office meetings, you know," the girl chuckled.

You continued to chat with Annabel this evening. Felix, unfortunately, did not approach you, and seemingly had fun chitchatting with all the people on the couch in front of you, although he kept glancing at you, so it seemed to you. But maybe it just seemed, because you had been drinking for the first time in a long time, and your head was already starting to feel a little dizzy.

But over time, your interlocutor talked more and more about her own with her long-time colleagues and friends, until she almost completely forgot about your presence. You began to feel gradually lonely in this company. Maybe you were right. A girl from nowhere who couldn’t even afford too many drinks in this place in central London, who was helping Oxford graduates who were, are and will be fine, with paperwork they weren’t really willing to do. But it was better to splurge on another drink than to sit and think all these thoughts.

Walking through the crowd to the bar, you stood in line and chose what to take for yourself. Something strong, but not very expensive, if possible.

"You have a small anniversary in our company today. It should be celebrated," a pleasant voice spoke softly almost in your ear. Turning your head to the side, you found Felix, who was leaning almost his entire body against the counter. He had definitely had a drink and was even more relaxed and cheerful than usual, "It's all on me, of course."

You protested a little, but Catton quickly dismissed all objections, taking two drinks for you at once and one glass for himself, "And this is about time you tell me how do you find the work here with us, where you came from and generally about yourself."

You headed back to the sofa with drinks. Since the path was laying through the dancing crowd, and you had two glasses in your hands, Felix held you protectively, placing his hand on your back and guiding you through all the people, making sure that no one would touch you. The feeling of his big warm hand on your back, on your skin, half-opened due to the design of the dress, definitely excited you and gave you goosebumps.

Some people from your company, including Annabel, was already gone to the dance floor, so you sat down on an empty sofa together and started talking. It was very uneasy and unusual for you to see Felix so close to you, also in such an informal setting. His big brown eyes looked at you attentively while you talked a little about yourself, about your education, how you got a job at this company, what you were doing here and who you started communicating with. What dark fluffy eyelashes he had. He was so handsome. You blushed a little and got embarrassed, but still, because of the abundance of information that you had to tell him, your brain was a little distracted and calmed down.

"That's great, Y/N. You're so... hardworking. And, apparently, you’ve achieved a lot on your own. That's very cool," Felix nodded with a serious face.

"Well, I haven't achieved anything special yet that I would really like, but thank you for the kind words. It's great that you're interested in your future subordinates."

"Oh, so you know? Well... we'll see about that. My dad is a co–owner of the company, but not the owner. So, it's not at all a fact that I'm going to manage over here," Felix was a little embarrassed and cleared his throat, "And I don't know what's going to happen next, I don't guess into the future for that long… Maybe I'll go abroad somewhere, like I've already done before, huh."

Then Felix began to tell about some parts of his own life - a little about his childhood, about studying at Oxford, what he did there and where he went later. He was quite modest and obviously tried not to emphasize his fabulously luxurious lifestyle, but this was the kind of thing that could not be completely kept to oneself. This manifested itself even in behavior and appearance, not to mention the stories.

But you liked, you really did like talking to him. With all that said, Felix Catton had a talent for making you feel like you were welcome, that you were no worse than him, that your lifestyle was no less boring or less important when he wanted to grant his attention. Even if you were completely different. You were listened to very attentively.

Due to this feeling, combined with his appearance and charisma in general, you were ready to never get up from this couch, if only your conversations would last forever.

But the forever ended quickly when Felix's friends yanked him onto the dance floor. Friends, and maybe not only friends. It seemed that many female colleagues and just a lot of the girls nearby were staring endlessly and smile charmingly at him in the hope of getting more of his attention. Of course, you could understand that oh so well. But all the same, you were upset that your chances were probably much less than those of all his acquaintances in his circle. Even if it was just about a sort of a close communication.

You finished your second drink and went to get another one. While you were standing in line, one of this year's hits started playing in the hall. A gentle female voice began to tell her story:

What I would do to take away

This fear of being loved, allegiance to the pain

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

I would give anything to change this like-minded heart

That loves fake shiny things

Now I fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

You couldn't take your eyes off Felix, who was having fun in the middle of the crowd – he was giving himself up to the music, dancing to the beat. Green, blue and sometimes purple spots of light slid across his face and his clothes. How graceful and natural he was now, as if he had been born on the dance floor.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Felix completely broke up and went dancing at the pole jokingly. You didn't know if he was already so tipsy or just so relaxed naturally to that extent, but you couldn't look away with your mouth slightly opened. He was holding onto the pole with one hand, and with the other he was waving in the air, also swinging his hips.

How do I make you wanna stay

Hate sleeping on my own

Missing the way you taste

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Stop looking at me with those eyes

Like I could disappear and you wouldn't care why

Now I'm fucked up and I'm missing you

Never be like you

Your heart sank. Even though this song was about trying to bring back an existing relationship, it still somehow resonated especially with you right now. Particularly the line "Never be like you", which seemed to repeat your thought, which you carefully tried to hide from yourself tonight. You would never be like Felix.

The crowd gathered at the bar gradually pushed the gawking and not moving you closer to the dance floor, where Catton noticed you.

"Hey, Y/N, why are you just standing there so lost? Join me," the guy said cheerfully, slightly pulling you by the hand closer to him.

You started dancing together, he put on his red hat on to make you laugh a little. He was smiling widely, swaying from side to side bewitchingly in front of you.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

His white shirt was unbuttoned now, apparently, he had been hot for a while. Beads of sweat gathered on his skin and disappeared with him in the rays of the strobe light from time to time, which shone behind his back. In such lighting, it seemed as if he was moving in slow motion, and that was all a beautiful movie in which you accidentally fell into the place of the main character. But it wasn't a fantasy, it was your night right now.

I'm falling on my knees

Forgive me, I'm a fucking fool

I'm begging darling please

Absolve me of my sins, won't you

You wanted this moment to last forever. And unlike the conversation on the couch, it really felt like it was happening, like in a dream that no one dared to break. You were drowning in his magnetic gaze and smile, which he was giving only to you now. He was like Prince Charming of the 2010’s.

I'm only human can't you see

I made, I made a mistake

Please just look me in my face

Tell me everything's okay

'Cause I got it

Never be like you

Baby, baby please believe me

Come on take it easy

Please don't ever leave me... oooh

Never be like you

You mentally repeated the last lines of this song until your face itself took on a slightly pleading look. Felix seemed to catch it and touched your shoulder. His lips parted in the desire to say something, but he just stood there for a few seconds in silence, as if considering what to say and do next.

"... by the way, you look great today. I mean, your office looks are cute too, but this… You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he said after a while.

You smiled sheepishly as you continued to dance, drifting back into a musical and slightly alcoholic trance until it was interrupted by several of Felix's friends and your colleagues.

"Buddy, we've going home," the guys shook hands, and then started talking about some of their business. You moved a little to the side, and as soon as you did that, Felix slowly began to be surrounded by familiar and not so very familiar people. You went for a cocktail, and then headed to the couch, where you started talking to a colleague of yours. You kept glancing in Felix's direction at the same time, but he still didn't come up, engrossed in talking and some dancing.

After saying goodbye to your colleague, who also left, you finished your cocktail and finally decided to check your phone. Oh. You didn't know it was so late. You started looking for a taxi, but it costed a lot right now. Confused, you sat alone, staring at the screen and sucking from a straw a mix of melted ice and a cocktail from the bottom of a glass.

"Please pardon me for leaving you for a while," the hot hand laid on your back and then its owner appeared behind it, who plopped down on the sofa next to you. He looked at you with slightly regretful doe eyes, "Are you... leaving already?"

"Yes, it's very late, and there's a lot to do tomorrow… But the taxi is still expensive, I guess I'll wait a little longer."

"What are you talking about? I'll get you a car right now," Felix took out his phone and began to quickly type something on it.

"Oh, come on, don't..."

"Hey. We're celebrating your anniversary at work, our new best employee. Have you already forgotten?" the guy interrupted you, grinning, "Tell me your address, please."

You gave your address, Catton smiled slightly.

Five minutes later, a business class taxi pulled up to the club. You just went outside, and the warm air of an early autumn night pleasantly enveloped you after the hot and stuffy nightclub.

"Is this really my car?" you were amazed. Felix turned his head to the left and right, and then, leaning over, said in a serious tone, "I don't see any exactly the same beautiful girl waiting for exactly the same taxi, and do you?"

You giggled and blushed noticeably. There was a pause hanged in the night air.

"Thanks for your company, Y/N. I'm glad you're with us now. I hope we'll see each other more often from now on."

You looked him straight in the eye, and then nodded slightly and slowly.

"Good night. Please text when you... Ah..." Felix rolled his eyes at himself, "I don't have your phone number."

He looked down, shaking his head and chewing lightly on his lip. A knot tied in your stomach. Felix. Catton. Asked. You. Your. Number. It might had been more of a common courtesy, of course, but your heart started beating a lot faster anyway. Of course, you dictated your phone number to him, which made him full of ill-concealed joy. Having recorded it in his smartphone, he said, as if nothing had happened, "Yeah, great, now I have a place to text to find out how you got home," and put you in a taxi.

He gently touched your shoulders once more when he put you in the car. He pressed his lips almost weightlessly to your ear, "Good night again, Y/N. Thank you for this evening," his mumble was very warm and pleasant, you felt your hair rising on your skin.

Watching the taxi leave, from which window you looked at him back, Felix lit a cigarette. He was smiling widely and contentedly, exhaling smoke and slightly twitching his whole body on the spot from another surge of energy. He was obviously going to attend the work more often from now on.

[ngssignsmithslondon]

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[infiniteglitterfall]

I guess this might be why the UK seemed to go so antisemitic so quickly

I'm researching the 1947 pogroms in the UK. (Actually, I'm researching all the pogroms and massacres of Jews in the past 200 years. Which today led me to discover that there were pogroms in the UK in 1947.)

From an article on "The Postwar Revival of British Fascism," all emphasis mine:

Given the rising antisemitism and widespread ignorance about Zionism [in the UK in 1947], fascists were easily able to conflate Zionist paramilitary attacks with Judaism in their speeches, meaning British Jews came to be seen as complicit in violence in Palestine.

Bertrand Duke Pile, a key member of Hamm’s League, informed a cheering crowd that “the Jews have no right to Palestine and the Jews have no right to the power which they hold in this country of ours.” Denouncing Zionism as a way to introduce a wider domestic antisemitic stance was common to many speakers at fascist events and rallies. Fascists hid their ideology and ideological antisemitism behind the rhetorical facade of preaching against paramilitary violence in Palestine.

One of the league’s speakers called for retribution against “the Jews” for the death of British soldiers in Palestine. This was, he told his audience, hardly an antisemitic expression. “Is it antisemitism to denounce the murderers of your own flesh and blood in Palestine?” he asked his audience. Many audience members, fascist or not, may well have felt the speaker had a point. ...[The photo of two British sergeants hanged by the Irgun in retaliation for the Brits hanging three of their members] promptly made numerous appearances at fascist meetings, often attached to the speaker’s platform. In at least one meeting, several British soldiers on leave from serving in Palestine attended Hamm’s speech, giving further legitimacy to his remarks. And with soldiers and policemen in Palestine showing increasing signs of overt antisemitism as a result of their experiences, the director of public prosecutions warned that the fascists might receive a steady stream of new recruits.

MI5, the U.K. domestic security service, noted with some alarm that “as a general rule, the crowd is now sympathetic and even spontaneously enthusiastic.” Opposition, it was noted in the same Home Office Bulletin of 1947, “is only met when there is an organized group of Jews or Communists in the audience.”

The major opposition came from the 43 Group, formed by the British-Jewish ex-paratrooper Gerry Flamberg and his friends in September 1946 to fight the fascists using the only language they felt fascists understood — violence. The group disrupted fascist meetings for two purposes: to get them shut down by the police for disorder, and to discourage attendance in the future by doling out beatings with fists and blunt instruments. By the summer of 1947, the group had around 500 active members who took part in such activities. Among these was a young hairdresser by the name of Vidal Sassoon, who would often turn up armed with his hairdressing scissors.

The 43 Group had considerable success with these actions, but public anger was spreading faster than they could counter the hate that accompanied it. The deaths of Martin and Paice had touched a nerve with the populace. On Aug. 1, 1947, the beginning of the bank holiday weekend and two days after the deaths of the sergeants, anti-Jewish rioting began in Liverpool. The violence lasted for five days. Across the country, the scene was repeated: London, Manchester, Hull, Brighton and Glasgow all saw widespread violence. Isolated instances were also recorded in Plymouth, Birmingham, Cardiff, Swansea, Newcastle and Davenport. Elsewhere, antisemitic graffiti and threatening phone calls to Jewish places of worship stood in for physical violence. Jewish-owned shops had their windows smashed, Jewish homes were targeted, an attempt was made to burn down Liverpool Crown Street Synagogue while a wooden synagogue in Glasgow was set alight. In a handful of cases, individuals were personally intimidated or assaulted. A Jewish man was threatened with a pistol in Northampton and an empty mine was placed in a Jewish-owned tailor shop in Davenport.

And an important addendum:

I've read a whole bunch of articles about the pogroms in Liverpool, Manchester, Salford, Eccles, Glasgow, etc.

Not one of them has mentioned that the Irgun, though clearly a terrorist group, was formed in response to 18 years of openly antisemitic terrorism, including multiple incredibly violent massacres. Or that it consistently acted in response to the murders of Jewish civilians, not on the offensive. Or that at this point, militant Arab Nationalist groups with volunteers and arms from the Arab League countries had been attacking Jewish and mixed Arab-Jewish neighborhoods for months.

I just think the "Jewish militants had been attacking the British occupiers" angle is incredibly Anglocentric.

Yeah, they were attacking the British occupiers. But also, that's barely the tip of the iceberg.

Everyone involved hated the Brits at this point. If only al-Husseini and his ilk had hated the Brits more than they hated the Jews, Britain could at least have united them by giving them a common enemy.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Karaoke Night | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Words: ~9,000

Tags: Modern AU, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Drama, Romance, Jealousy and Longing, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Muggle Born MC

Sebastian Sallow usually liked Muggle London. The chaos of it—the noise, the lights, the odd little shops tucked between tall, mismatched buildings—he found it exhilarating. But more than that, he liked it because you were always the one to bring him here. Whether it was to visit your parents, browse the little Muggle bookstores you loved, or grab takeaway from that noodle place near King’s Cross, London had become a kind of shared escape for the two of you.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he hated Muggle London. And it wasn’t because of the cold drizzle soaking through his jacket, or the fact that the group hadn’t had enough time to properly pregame at Imelda’s flat before you all headed out. No, it was because of Ethan.

Ethan, with his perfectly styled blond hair and easy smile, who walked beside you like he belonged there, like he belonged with you. His hand rested on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd, and you didn’t seem to mind one bit. You’d been laughing at his jokes all night, the sound light and warm in a way that made Sebastian’s chest ache.

“Sebastian, keep up,” Ominis said beside him, tapping his cane lightly against the pavement. His wand, charmed into the cane for moments like this, was concealed, allowing him to navigate the bustling streets with ease.

Sebastian shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and quickened his pace. “I’m coming.”

“You’re sulking,” Ominis said matter-of-factly.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’ve been glaring daggers at the back of Ethan’s head since we left Imelda's.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth and said nothing. Ominis didn’t press further, though Sebastian could feel his knowing silence like a weight on his shoulders. Ominis knew him too well, had always been able to read him like a book—one he’d long since memorized. He probably knew exactly what Sebastian was thinking: that he’d been in love with you for nearly ten years and hadn’t said a damn thing about it.

It had started back at Hogwarts, back when you were all stupid teenagers and he was still arrogant enough to think he had all the time in the world to tell you. There had been moments—so many moments—when he could have said something, when he’d wanted to say something. But there had always been an excuse, a reason to hold back.

And now? Now he was 25, standing on a Muggle street corner, watching you laugh at some joke your new boyfriend had made, and wondering how the hell he’d let things get to this point.

“This is it!” you announced, stopping in front of a neon-lit doorway. The sign above it blinked in garish, colorful letters: STARLIGHT KARAOKE.

Sebastian stared at it, unimpressed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of karaoke—he was buzzed enough to find it amusing—but he’d find it far more exciting had your boyfriend not been invited.

“This looks like a disaster waiting to happen,” Imelda muttered, crossing her arms.

“Oh, come on,” you said with a grin, tugging lightly at her sleeve. “It’ll be fun!”

“Fun for you, maybe,” she replied. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“Yet,” Garreth chimed in, practically vibrating with excitement as he scanned the doorway. “You’re not drunk enough yet. I’ll fix that.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, hanging back as the group filed inside. Ethan leaned down to murmur something to you, and you laughed, your smile softening in a way that made Sebastian’s jaw tighten.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ominis said under his breath, brushing past him toward the entrance.

Sebastian huffed out a humorless laugh. “When do I ever do anything stupid?”

Ominis turned his head just enough to aim a smirk in Sebastian’s direction. “Shall I list the times chronologically or alphabetically?”

Before Sebastian could respond, you turned back to him, holding the door open with an expectant look. “Coming, Sebastian?”

He forced a smile and nodded, stepping inside. The bar was just as loud and chaotic as he’d expected, with bright lights, thumping music, and a stage at the far end of the room.

“Brilliant!” Garreth exclaimed, practically bouncing on his heels. “I’m definitely getting up there.”

Imelda groaned as she slid into a booth near the back. “You would.”

Sebastian lingered by the door, his gaze drifting back to you and Ethan. The two of you were already making your way to the bar, his hand still resting on your back like he had every right to touch you. Sebastian clenched his fists in his pockets, his irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

This was going to be a very, very long night.

Sebastian trudged toward the booth, reluctantly sliding into the seat beside Ominis and across from Imelda, who had already flagged down a server to order appetizers for the group.

Ominis tapped his fingers against the table, his cane resting neatly by his side. “For fuck's sake, stop brooding,” he said quietly, just loud enough for Sebastian to hear over the music.

“I'm not,” Sebastian muttered, though the way he slouched against the booth’s backrest betrayed him.

“Look, I’m all for theatrics, but if you don’t at least try to enjoy yourself, she’ll notice. And you know she hates that.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. Ominis was right, of course. You would notice, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel guilty for dragging him out. He could practically hear you apologizing now, your brows furrowed with concern as you said something like, “I didn't realize you were so against karaoke! We could have done something else, Seb. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

It wasn’t your fault—not really. You weren’t the one ruining his night. Ethan was.

The guy was just so… perfect. Too perfect. He didn’t stumble over his words or let his temper get the better of him. He didn’t carry the weight of a shattered family, or the guilt of decisions made long ago that still haunted Sebastian when the nights grew too quiet. Ethan wasn’t rough around the edges, didn’t have cracks threatening to split him open. He didn’t carry around ten years of unresolved feelings and countless missed chances.

Ethan was easy. Exactly the kind of guy you deserved.

Sebastian hated him for it.

The sound of Garreth’s laughter drew Sebastian’s attention to the bar, where you and Ethan were chatting with the bartender. Garreth had joined you, and from the way he was gesturing animatedly, he'd already launched into some story that had the bartender rolling their eyes. You stood beside him, leaning slightly against the counter, your body turned just enough for Sebastian to take in the full effect of what you were wearing. And Merlin, you weren’t making this night any easier for him.

Your outfit was nothing like what you used to wear back at Hogwarts—the plain uniforms, the cozy sweaters, the casual, practical clothes you’d thrown on for lazy weekends in Hogsmeade. No, this was something else entirely. The deep green satin of your dress clung to you, hugging the curves he’d tried not to notice for years but failed miserably at ignoring. The hem barely brushed mid-thigh, showing off your smooth legs, and the neckline dipped just low enough to tease him with a view of soft skin that practically begged to be touched.

Far too low, Sebastian thought bitterly, though he didn’t miss the way his mouth went dry.

You looked nothing like the teenage girl he’d grown up with. You were a woman now, and you looked like it. Confident, gorgeous, utterly captivating—and, worst of all, completely unattainable.

Sebastian’s hands itched with the memory of his fantasies, the ones that haunted him more often than he cared to admit. He’d imagined, countless times, what it would feel like to touch you. To rest his hands on your waist and feel the warmth of your skin through thin fabric. To let his palms skim the curve of your hips, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, guiding you closer to him. He’d thought about the weight of your thighs in his hands, imagined them wrapped around him, imagined how easily he could lose himself in the way you felt.

And your face—Merlin help him, your face. You were laughing at something Ethan said, your lips pulling into that smile that had always made him feel like the ground wasn’t quite steady beneath his feet. He didn’t think he’d ever get over how effortlessly beautiful you were, the way your lashes framed your eyes, how your cheeks dimpled slightly when you laughed.

Long gone was the girl who used to sit cross-legged on the Undercroft floor, teasing him mercilessly about his hair or arguing with him over duelling strategies. And as much as he missed those simpler days, a darker, more selfish part of him didn’t want to go back. Not when this was the woman you’d grown into.

“Stop staring, you’re going to set her on fire,” Ominis drawled beside him, pulling.

“I’m not staring,” Sebastian muttered, dragging his gaze away with a scowl. He wrapped his fingers tightly around his drink, the glass cool against his flushed skin. “I’m… people-watching.”

Ominis snorted softly. “If by ‘people-watching,’ you mean devouring her with your eyes, then yes, you’re doing a fine job of it.”

For a fleeting moment, Sebastian considered reaching over, grabbing Ominis’s cane, and snapping it clean in half. He wouldn’t, of course—Ominis could hex him into oblivion without it—but the thought was tempting. Maybe if Ominis couldn’t use his bloody wand to analyze Sebastian’s every move, he wouldn’t feel so exposed.

But before he could dwell on it, Garreth appeared, weaving through the crowded bar with a tray stacked precariously high with pints and cocktails. His grin was wide, and his balance was questionable at best.

"Guess who just got free drinks!” he announced proudly. “Your girl is magic, Sebastian,” he added with a wink, nodding toward you at the bar.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted at the word your. You weren't his. Not really.

Sebastian reached for one of the drinks Garreth set down—something dark and fizzy that looked like rum and coke. He didn’t care what it was as long as it did the job. Without hesitation, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, greedy sip. The burn of the rum was sharp and immediate, but it was better than the heat already clawing at his chest.

Garreth let out a laugh as he slid into the booth beside Imelda. “Alright, Sallow’s setting the pace! Guess that means we’re all drinking fast tonight.”

Imelda rolled her eyes but reached for her own drink anyway. “If I’m getting through this ridiculous evening, I’m going to need it.”

Poppy and Natty followed suit, each grabbing a glass from the tray. Ominis, however, sat perfectly still beside Sebastian, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smirk.

“Pacing yourself, are you?” Ominis asked dryly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow in his direction.

Sebastian ignored him. This drink, whatever it was, wasn’t strong enough—not nearly—but it would have to do. He drained the rest of the glass in one go, slamming it back onto the table with more force than necessary.

Before Ominis could needle him further, you returned to the booth, folder in hand, your heels clicking softly against the floor. His gaze flickered to you automatically, his chest tightening at the sight of you so close.

“I’ve got the song list!” you announced brightly, holding it up like some kind of trophy. The folder was thick, filled to the brim with laminated pages, and your excitement was palpable. You slid into the booth beside Ethan, spreading it out on the table for everyone to see.

“Blimey,” Garreth said, peering over your shoulder. “This place has everything. Oh—there’s Queen! I’m doing Queen.”

“You’re going to butcher Queen,” Imelda said flatly, taking another sip of her drink.

“Oi, have a little faith,” Garreth shot back with a grin.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked to the folder, then back to you. Your enthusiasm was infectious—you always had a way of lighting up a room, of pulling people into your orbit without even trying. He wanted to lean in closer, to let himself get lost in the way your voice lifted with excitement as you pointed out song choices to the others. But the weight of Ethan’s arm draped casually over your shoulder was a bitter reminder that he couldn’t.

“What about you, Seb?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking through his thoughts. You were looking at him now, your hazel eyes warm and inviting, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him.

“What about me?” he replied.

“What are you going to sing?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you smiled at him.

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard by your question. He hadn’t even considered getting up to sing, much less what he would sing.

On a regular night, Sebastian would have been all over this. He lived for the spotlight, and he wasn’t shy about it. Sebastian enjoyed attention—the rush of it, the way people’s eyes followed him, the laughter and cheers his antics often earned. He’d have already grabbed the song list, picked something bold and ridiculous, and made sure he was the first one on stage.

But tonight? Tonight, he was in no mood for it.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, shrugging as he reached for another drink from the tray.

You laughed softly, the sound cutting through the tension in his chest. “You? Think about it? Since when are you not impulsive?”

He smirked faintly, lifting the glass to his lips. “Maybe I’ve changed.”

You gave him a curious glance at his comment, your brow furrowing slightly as if you didn’t quite believe him. But after a moment, you let it go, smiling politely before turning your attention back to the song list. You leaned into Ethan’s side, your shoulder brushing his as you chatted animatedly with the girls about potential song choices.

Sebastian tried not to watch, but it was impossible. The way you laughed, your lips parting just enough to reveal the glint of your teeth; the way your eyes sparkled when you teased Poppy for her love of ‘80s Muggle pop music; the way you absentmindedly brushed your fingers against Ethan’s arm.

The bitter knot in Sebastian’s stomach tightened. He took another long drink—something golden and sweet this time—and let the burn settle in his chest.

And the drinks kept coming.

Within thirty minutes, Garreth, ever the opportunist when it came to alcohol, had gone up to the bar twice already, returning with rounds of drinks that no one had asked for but everyone ended up drinking. Sebastian couldn’t even remember what his last drink was—something fruity? All he knew was that his current drink, a half-finished tankard of beer, sat sweating on the table as his head swam pleasantly in the growing haze of alcohol.

The lights in the bar dimmed suddenly, and a spotlight flickered to life on the small stage at the far end of the room. The karaoke host, a chipper man in a sequined blazer, stepped into the spotlight, microphone in hand.

“Alright, everyone, welcome to Starlight Karaoke!” he announced, his voice echoing over the speakers. “We’ve got an exciting night ahead, so I hope you’re all ready to sing your hearts out. First up tonight, let’s give a big round of applause for… Garreth!”

The group erupted into cheers and laughter as Garreth shot up from his seat, knocking over an empty pint glass in his enthusiasm. He threw his arms into the air like he’d just won a Quidditch match, grinning ear to ear as he made his way to the stage.

Sebastian smirked, shaking his head at Garreth’s antics. The bloke could barely hold a tune, but he made up for it with sheer enthusiasm.

“Ten Galleons says he butchers it,” Imelda muttered, taking another sip of her drink.

“No bet,” Sebastian replied.

As Garreth took the mic and the opening notes of a Queen song filled the room, Sebastian leaned back in the booth, his gaze drifting back to you. You were clapping along to the beat, laughing as he missed the first note completely but powered through anyway. Your laughter lit up your whole face, and for a moment, Sebastian could almost pretend it was directed at him.

But then Ethan leaned over, whispering something in your ear that made you laugh even harder, and the illusion shattered.

Sebastian drowned his annoyance in another long swig, and barely registered who went up after Garreth, some Muggle woman whose name he didn’t catch. Her voice wasn’t bad—better than Garreth’s, certainly—but he didn’t care enough to pay attention.

He only really came back into focus, if you could call his drunken haze 'focus', when the host returned to the stage multiple singers later, a wide grin on his face as he scanned his clipboard. “Alright, let’s keep the energy going! Up next, we have… Natty!”

The table erupted into cheers as Natty rose from her seat, flashing a brilliant smile as she made her way to the stage.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” Poppy said, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

“She'll nail it,” Imelda added, a rare note of enthusiasm in her voice.

The opening notes of an Adele song began to play, and Natty took the mic with effortless poise. From the very first note, her voice was stunning—clear, powerful, and full of emotion. The entire table went wild, clapping and cheering as if they were at a concert instead of a small karaoke bar.

Sebastian applauded along half-heartedly, his head still swimming from the drinks and the knot of frustration that had been sitting in his chest all night. But even he couldn’t deny that Natty was incredible.

When she finished, you were practically glowing with excitement, clapping so hard Sebastian wondered if your hands might bruise. You leaned toward Poppy, saying something he couldn’t hear over the applause, and the two of you laughed, your faces lit up with delight.

“Let’s hear it for Natty, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd. “What a voice, huh?”

She returned to the table, her cheeks slightly flushed from the attention but her smile as bright as ever.

“That was amazing!” you said, pulling her into a hug as she sat down.

Natty laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“A bit of fun? You could win awards with that voice,” Garreth said, raising his glass in a toast.

Sebastian muttered something vaguely supportive, but the alcohol was really starting to hit him hard now, leaving his head fuzzy and his thoughts jumbled.

The host returned to the stage, scanning his clipboard again. “Alright, who’s feeling brave? I'm out of volunteers and I know there’s some talent in this room just waiting to shine.”

Without fully thinking it through, Sebastian stood, the sudden motion making the room tilt slightly.

“Seb, what are you doing?” Ominis asked, arching a brow.

Sebastian ignored him, striding toward the stage with a confidence that was only half his own—the rest belonged to the drinks coursing through his veins. He approached the stage, wobbling slightly, and the host beamed at him. “Alright, we’ve got a volunteer! What’s your name, mate?”

“Sebastian,” he slurred.

The host’s grin widened, clearly amused by Sebastian’s slightly unsteady footing and the determined glint in his eyes. “Alright, Sebastian! What are you singing for us tonight?”

Sebastian stepped closer, glancing at the clipboard the host was holding out. The words on the page blurred slightly as he squinted, his finger stabbing down on one at random. “This one."

The host looked down, his smile growing even brighter. “Oh, excellent choice! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Sebastian as he sings Mr. Brightside!”

The room erupted into cheers and scattered applause, though Sebastian’s focus wasn’t on the crowd. His gaze flickered back to your table, where everyone was watching him with varying degrees of amusement and surprise.

You looked a little stunned, your lips parted in a small, disbelieving smile. It was the first time all night that Sebastian felt like he really had your attention, and the knot in his stomach loosened just slightly.

The opening chords of the song began to play, and Sebastian took a deep breath, gripping the mic tightly as he stepped fully into the spotlight. The alcohol coursing through his veins gave him a heady sense of confidence, and he felt his usual self rise to the surface—the version of him that lived for attention, for putting on a show.

He knew he wasn’t a good singer—Merlin, he was awful, really—but that wasn’t the point. It had never been the point. What mattered was committing to the act, selling it with everything he had.

And maybe, just maybe, making you laugh.

The first verse started, and Sebastian threw himself into it with reckless abandon. His voice was off-key from the very first word, but he didn’t care. He strutted across the stage, mic in hand, pointing dramatically at the crowd as he sang, his free hand gesturing wildly to emphasize every line.

The group at your table was losing it. Garreth was practically falling out of his seat with laughter, slapping the table and hollering in encouragement. Imelda was smirking, shaking her head in amused disbelief. Poppy and Natty were clapping along, their smiles wide. Even Ominis, who rarely indulged in public displays of hilarity, was chuckling.

But Sebastian didn’t care about any of that. His eyes flicked back to you, zeroing in on the way you were laughing—your head tilted back, your hand covering your mouth as if you couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing. You were beaming, your eyes sparkling under the dim lights, and for a fleeting moment, Sebastian felt like he’d won.

The chorus hit, and Sebastian went all in. He dropped to one knee, his arm outstretched toward your table as he belted out the lyrics, his voice cracking on the high notes. It was ridiculous and over-the-top, but the crowd ate it up, cheering louder as he poured every ounce of his energy into the performance.

By the time the second verse rolled around, Sebastian had abandoned any semblance of shame. He hopped off the stage, weaving through the tables as he sang, pointing at random patrons like he was the lead singer of a sold-out concert. When he reached your table, he paused dramatically, leaning onto the edge of it and locking eyes with you as he sang the next line.

You were laughing so hard now that tears were forming at the corners of your eyes, your shoulders shaking as you tried to catch your breath. Ethan was laughing too, but Sebastian barely noticed him. For this one, fleeting moment, he had you—all of you.

As the song built toward its final chorus, Sebastian turned and ran back to the stage, sliding to his knees just in time for the big finish. His voice cracked gloriously on the last line, but it didn’t matter. The entire bar erupted into applause and cheers as the final notes played, and Sebastian rose unsteadily to his feet, throwing his arms into the air like he’d just won the Triwizard Tournament.

“Give it up for Sebastian, everyone!” the host called, clapping along with the crowd.

The applause roared in Sebastian’s ears, a mix of cheers and laughter that, for a brief moment, felt like triumph. He stood there on the stage, breathing heavily, grinning like an idiot as the adrenaline coursed through him. For a second, he allowed himself to bask in it—the lights, the applause, your laughter ringing in his head.

But then it hit him.

The drinks, all of them—too many to count—rose in his stomach like a tide, the nauseating swirl of alcohol and exertion catching up with him all at once. His grin faltered, replaced by a sharp twist of discomfort in his gut.

He took a shaky step back, gripping the mic stand for support as the room tilted dangerously. The crowd was still cheering, but the sound felt distant now, muffled beneath the rising roar of nausea.

“Alright, let’s give one last round of applause for Sebastian!” the host called, his voice booming over the speakers.

Sebastian managed a half-hearted wave before staggering off the stage, his legs barely cooperating as he darted clumsily between tables. His shoulder clipped the edge of someone’s chair, but he didn’t stop to apologize. He couldn’t. The only thing on his mind was getting outside before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

The cold night air hit him like a slap when he burst through the bar’s doors and into the street. He barely made it a few feet before doubling over, bracing his hands on his knees as he heaved onto the pavement.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the bar, the laughter, the ache in his chest. All he could focus on was the sharp sting in his throat and the cold bite of the drizzle on his overheated skin.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sober part of his brain registered how humiliating this was, but thankfully, the alcohol dulled any real sense of shame.

“Sebastian?”

The sound of your voice cut through the haze, soft and concerned, and Sebastian groaned inwardly.

He didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t even straighten up, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction. “Don’t,” he muttered hoarsely.

You ignored him, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you approached. He heard the faint rustle of fabric as you crouched down beside him, your hand brushing lightly against his back.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your tone gentle but laced with worry.

He let out a laugh, though it came out more like a wheeze. “Do I look okay?”

You let out a small laugh—not mocking, but soft, almost amused.

“Well,” you said lightly, “you did just sing Mr. Brightside like your life depended on it, so I’d say you’re doing better than most.”

Sebastian groaned, letting his head hang lower. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You say that every time,” you teased, your hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back.

The touch made his breath hitch slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to stay out here,” he mumbled after a moment. “Go back inside. Enjoy your night.”

You didn’t move, your hand still steady against him. “I’m not leaving you out here like this,” you said simply. “Besides, you’d do the same for me.”

The sincerity in your voice caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He stayed silent, the cool drizzle calming the nausea as he slowly straightened up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

When he finally turned to look at you, his chest tightened. Your makeup was slightly smudged around your eyes, likely from laughing too hard earlier, and your face had a faint shine from the heat and sweat of the crowded bar. But Merlin, you’d never looked better.

You were watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite place.

“You’re a mess,” you said gently, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

He laughed weakly "Yeah, well, nothing new there.”

“Come on,” you said, looping your arm through his to steady him. “Let’s get you some water and sit you down before you pass out.”

Sebastian shook his head, resisting the gentle pull of your arm. “I’m not going back in there,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He wobbled slightly as he straightened, leaning back against the cold brick wall of the bar. “Still nauseous. Don’t want to risk it.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie—his stomach was still a volatile mess—but the thought of returning to that table, to him, was what truly made his chest tighten and his head spin. The way Ethan had leaned into you all night, the way you’d laughed at his every word, every touch, was enough to make Sebastian want to turn around and walk straight into traffic.

You frowned slightly, studying him, but you didn’t press. You never did. That was one of the things about you that always made his chest ache—that quiet patience, that unshakable understanding that gave him space without making him feel abandoned.

“Okay,” you said softly, stepping back but keeping your hand lightly on his arm. “We don’t have to go back in. Let’s find somewhere quieter.”

He blinked at you, caught off guard. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you interrupted gently, your tone leaving no room for argument. “Come on. There’s a bench just around the corner. You can sit, catch your breath, and I’ll find you some water.”

Sebastian hesitated, searching your face as though you might be joking, but there was only sincerity in your eyes. Even after he’d emptied his stomach on the pavement right in front of you, his breath sour with alcohol and probably vomit, you didn’t flinch.

“Fine,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Lead the way.”

You smiled faintly, slipping your arm through his again to steady him as you started walking. The rain had eased to a faint drizzle, the cool mist brushing against his flushed skin as the two of you made your way down the street.

When you reached the bench, tucked under the glow of a streetlamp, you guided him to sit down. He sank onto the wooden slats with a heavy sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. You stood for a moment, watching him, before crouching down in front of him, your hands resting lightly on his knees.

“Stay here,” you said softly. “I’ll grab some water. You’ll feel better once you drink something that isn't alcoholic.”

He nodded wordlessly, his eyes flicking to yours. The way you crouched there, so close, your expression calm and steady, made his stomach twist.

He wanted to say something—to thank you, to apologize, to tell you how much it meant to him that you hadn’t just left him there. But the words tangled in his throat, too heavy to form.

You seemed to understand anyway, your lips curling into the faintest of smiles. You gave his knee a small squeeze before straightening up, your heels clicking softly against the pavement as you turned back toward the bar.

Sebastian watched you go, the sound of the door swinging shut behind you leaving him alone with his thoughts. He tilted his head back, letting the drizzle cool his flushed face, and exhaled a slow, shuddering breath.

Even now, as the alcohol dulled the sharper edges of his feelings, one truth remained painfully clear: he was utterly, hopelessly in love with you. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending otherwise.

The sound of the door opening pulled Sebastian back out of his spiral. You emerged a moment later, a takeout cup of water in one hand and a few paper napkins clutched in the other. Even through his drunken haze, Sebastian could see how the drizzle had soaked through your dress. Your hair clung damply to the sides of your face, and the smudged remnants of your makeup had smeared further down your cheeks, dark streaks underlining your tired but still warm eyes.

You crossed the street toward him, shivering slightly as the night air bit at your damp skin, but your steps didn’t falter.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice low and rough, tinged with guilt.

You shrugged, brushing it off like it didn’t matter. “It’s just water,” you said lightly, holding the cup out to him. “Here. Drink.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering between your face and the cup in your hand. Then, finally, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took it from you.

“Thanks,” he murmured, looking down at the cup as though it might offer some kind of answer to the mess in his head.

“You’re welcome.” You sank down onto the bench beside him, shivering slightly but making no move to go back inside. “I told the others you weren’t feeling well. Garreth offered to come check on you, but…” You trailed off, glancing at him with a knowing smile. “I figured you wouldn’t want that.”

Sebastian snorted softly, taking a cautious sip of the water. It was cold and crisp, settling uneasily in his stomach, but he forced himself to take another sip. “Yeah, thanks for sparing me that particular nightmare.”

You laughed quietly, the sound soft and warm despite the chill in the air. “It’s the least I could do.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the rain falling softly around you, the distant hum of the city filling the gaps. Sebastian kept his gaze fixed on the water in his hands, but he was acutely aware of your presence beside him—the faint warmth radiating from your body, the way your damp dress clung to your skin, the quiet steadiness in your breathing.

Sebastian glanced sideways at you. “Why didn’t you sing tonight?” he asked.

You turned your head toward him, blinking in mild surprise at the question. “Oh,” you said, smiling faintly. “I actually put my name in while you were up there.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed. “You did?”

You nodded, pushing a damp strand of hair away from your face. “Yeah, but I missed my turn. They called me while I was out here with you.”

Your tone was light, matter-of-fact, and there wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in your voice. You said it like it didn’t bother you at all, like it wasn’t a big deal that you’d given up your moment in the spotlight to sit outside in the rain with him.

But it made Sebastian’s stomach twist.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Seb,” you interrupted gently, your voice steady. “It’s fine. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze dropping back to the cup in his hands. “You were looking forward to it, weren’t you? And I—

“Stop,” you said firmly, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “There’s always next time.”

Sebastian swallowed the tight knot of affection that rose in his chest and forced a smirk onto his face. “Wise words," he said, his eyes narrowing. "So wise, in fact... are you sure you're drunk?” he said, trying to shift the tone to something lighter.

You laughed. “I'm completely sober, Seb,” you replied, your voice light but matter-of-fact.

Sebastian blinked, his brows furrowing as the words sank in. He hazily tried to piece together the night’s events, though the drinks had turned everything into a fuzzy blur. He couldn’t recall seeing you with a drink, but he’d been too caught up in his own misery to notice much of anything.

“You are?” he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. “Why?”

Your expression faltered, the easy smile you’d worn slipping into something more guarded. You shifted slightly on the bench, turning your gaze away from him to focus on a crack in the pavement. “Just… didn’t feel like drinking tonight,” you said softly, your tone deliberately casual.

But it wasn’t casual—not to Sebastian. He knew you well enough to recognize when you were deflecting, and the way your shoulders tensed told him there was more to it than you were letting on.

He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied you. “Did something happen?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Nothing happened.”

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, the rational part of his brain—the one that knew you’d been patient with him—telling him to let it go. You’d come out into the rain for him, stayed with him, got water for him. He owed you the same patience in return. But the alcohol coursing through his veins was making his tongue loose, his thoughts bolder, and his emotions louder than they should have been.

“Then why?” he pressed, his voice softer this time, but still insistent. “That's not like you. You're usually trying to compete with me."

You tensed beside him, your shoulders stiffening just enough for him to notice. You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed firmly on the pavement.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmured, but the casual tone you were aiming for fell flat.

“It’s a big deal if you’re lying about it,” he countered, and even as the words left his mouth, he knew he should’ve bitten them back.

Your head snapped toward him, your eyes sharp now, guarded in a way that felt like a knife twisting in his chest. “I’m not lying,” you said, and though your voice was calm, there was a clear edge to it.

Sebastian cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I want to make sure you're okay."

You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze still fixed on the crack in the pavement. It was the kind of sigh that made his chest tighten, like he’d hit on something you’d been trying to bury all night.

“It’s Ethan,” you said quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear.

Sebastian froze, his jaw tightening. That name was like a lit match against dry tinder, and he could already feel the heat rising in his chest.

“What about him?” he asked, trying—and failing—to keep his voice steady.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your damp dress. “It wasn’t a big deal. Last time we went out, he made a… comment.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of comment?”

You let out another sigh, this one more frustrated than anything else, and finally turned to look at him. “He said I… I didn’t realize how many calories were in the drinks I was ordering. That I might want to be more mindful about it next time.”

Sebastian stared at you, the words hitting him like a physical blow. “He what?” he said, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch.

“Seb—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “No, don’t ‘Seb’ me. What exactly did he say?"

You sighed again, still not looking at him. “It wasn’t a big deal. He just said that maybe I should slow down if I didn’t want to—” You cut yourself off, your voice catching slightly, and shook your head. “It wasn’t meant to be mean. He was trying to be kind about it, I think. And he wasn’t wrong. I’ve put on some weight. Relationship weight or whatever.”

Sebastian froze, his stomach flipping at your words. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if the heat rising in his chest was from the alcohol or the sheer, unfiltered rage he felt boiling beneath the surface.

“Kind?” his laugh was sharp and humorless, his hand running through his hair as he tried to process what he was hearing. “That’s not kind, that’s insulting. That’s manipulative. That’s—”

“Sebastian,” you cut in, your voice firm but quiet. “It’s not that big a deal. Honestly. Maybe he has a point. I mean…” You hesitated, looking away again. “I have gotten a bit, um. Squishy.”

Sebastian stared at you, the shock of your words rooting him to the bench. For a moment, he couldn’t even breathe, let alone speak.

“You’re joking,” he said finally, his voice low and disbelieving.

"...what do you mean? Obviously I have, none of my jeans—”

"No, not that," Sebastian cut you off sharply, his voice firm now, almost trembling with the sheer intensity of his frustration. “I mean you thinking he has a point. I mean you letting him make you feel like there’s anything wrong with you.”

You blinked at him, startled, the guarded tension in your expression faltering. “Seb—”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, the cup of water forgotten in his hands. The alcohol in his system buzzed like static in his head, loosening the leash he usually kept on himself. Every ounce of frustration, every unspoken feeling, and every burning thought about you—and him—rose to the surface all at once.

“I hated him the second I met him, you know,” Sebastian started, sitting back up and staring straight ahead. His hands were shaking, and his voice was louder now, frustration bleeding through. “I hated his perfect little smile, his smooth charm, the way he always had something clever to say. But now? Now I have a real reason to hate him. Because he’s clearly delusional.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth opening slightly in shock, but Sebastian didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was like he’d opened Pandora’s box, and everything he’d ever wanted to say was spilling out in a flood he couldn’t control.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he demanded, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re sitting here, trying to convince me that he has a point—as if there’s anything about you that needs fixing. Relationship weight? Fuck, if that’s what relationship weight looks like, then you should wear it proudly. Because Merlin help me, you—” He gestured to you vaguely, almost wildly. “You look damn good, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him that he can’t see that.”

You froze, staring at him as though you hadn’t heard him correctly. But Sebastian wasn’t done. Not even close.

“You know what? No, screw that. You’re more than that,” he continued, his voice rising. “You’re fucking gorgeous. Do you have any idea what you do to people? What you do to me?" His voice cracked slightly, and he let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Everything about you—everything—is perfect. And he… he’s too blind to see it. Too blind to see how lucky he is to have you.”

Your mouth fell open, your eyes wide as you stared at him in stunned silence. The streetlamp above cast a soft glow on your damp skin, your hair still clinging to your face, but to Sebastian, you’d never looked more radiant—or more surprised.

He exhaled sharply, his heart pounding in his chest as the words kept coming. "Do you know how many times I’ve imagined what it would feel like? To touch you?” he leaned back, his voice lowering, raw and trembling with emotion. “Do you even know what it’s like to ache for someone the way I ache for you? To imagine every curve, every inch, every soft part of you like it’s a map I’ve been dying to trace? You have no idea what you’ve done to me. No idea how much I’ve wanted—needed you.”

His breathing was uneven now, his chest rising and falling as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “And it’s not just the way you look, either,” he continued, his voice rising again, his frustration spilling over. “It’s you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, the way you always know exactly what to say to make everything feel okay, even when it’s not. Everything about you was designed to dismantle me, and it has been. For ten. Fucking. Years.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” he muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “He never did. Because if he can look at you—you—and make you feel like you’re anything less than perfect, then he’s a fucking idiot. And if I were him... If I were him, you'd never question how much I love you—” Sebastian’s voice caught, suddenly painfully and acutely aware of how much he’d just said.

Fuck.

You were still staring at him, your chest rising and falling as though you couldn’t catch your breath, your expression completely frozen in shock.

Sebastian looked away, his gaze fixed on the pavement. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have said all that. I shouldn’t—” He broke off, his hands gripping the edge of the bench so tightly his knuckles turned white.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even blinked, your lips parted slightly, your breath coming in shallow, uneven waves. The streetlamp’s light cast a soft glow over you, illuminating every detail of your stunned expression.

Sebastian's heart was pounded so hard it felt like it might burst, each second of your silence a knife twisting deeper into his chest. He had ruined it—he knew he had. He had taken the fragile balance of your friendship and shattered it with his drunken, reckless confession.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath, raking a shaky hand through his damp hair. “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

Still, you didn’t say anything, your gaze locked on his, your expression unreadable. The dread pooled in his stomach, hot and acidic, as he stumbled over his next words. “Just—forget I said anything, okay? Chalk it up to the drinks or—”

But then you moved, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Your hand shot out, cupping his face. His eyes widened, his mind reeling as your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek, wiping away the drizzle that clung to his skin.

“Wha—” he started, but the words never made it out.

Because the next thing he knew, your lips were on his.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant—it was deliberate, firm, and warm in a way that stole every coherent thought from his mind. The faint taste of cherry chapstick hit him first, followed by the soft press of your mouth against his, and Sebastian froze, his brain short-circuiting.

You were kissing him. You were kissing him.

Holy shit.

It was better than anything he’d ever imagined.

His initial shock melted away, and he responded instinctively, his hands moving on their own as they found your waist. His fingers curled against the damp fabric of your dress, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, as his body surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation of you.

It was messy and uncoordinated—his head was still spinning from the drinks, and he was sure he tasted like regret and bad decisions—but none of it seemed to matter. Not when you were holding his face like he was the only thing that existed, not when your lips were so soft and sweet and utterly addictive, not when you leaned into him like this was exactly where you wanted to be. In fact, Sebastian thought he might actually die from how perfect this moment was.

When you finally pulled back, just slightly, he let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes fluttered open, and he found you staring at him, your cheeks flushed, your lips still parted like you couldn’t quite believe what had just happened either.

“Did that—” he started, his voice hoarse, but he swallowed hard and tried again. “Did that just happen, or am I drunker than I thought?”

You let out a breathy laugh, your thumb brushing against his jaw. “It happened,” you murmured.

Sebastian blinked, his mind still struggling to catch up. “You kissed me,” he said dumbly.

You smiled faintly, your hand still cradling his face. “I did.”

“And you…” He hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not… regretting it?”

Your smile widened just slightly, your gaze warm as you leaned in again, your lips brushing softly against his in a way that made his chest tighten. “Not even a little,” you murmured.

Sebastian exhaled shakily, his hands tightening on your waist. "...You know I just puked my guts out right?"

You laughed, the sound warm and bright, breaking through the tension like sunlight through storm clouds. “I���m painfully aware,” you teased. “But for some reason, I don’t really care.”

Sebastian stared at you, his chest tightening at the way your eyes sparkled, even in the dim light. “You don’t care,” he repeated, his voice still tinged with disbelief.

You shrugged, your smile softening into something more tender. “I figured if you could pour your heart out to me, the least I could do was give you an honest answer.”

“By kissing me,” he said, still dazed, though a crooked grin was slowly tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“By kissing you,” you confirmed, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

Sebastian’s grin widened despite himself, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol in his system. “I didn’t know that was an option,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Because if I’d known, I might’ve poured my heart out a lot sooner.”

You laughed again, the sound soft and light. Your hand was still cradling his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek in a way that made his pulse race. “Well,” you teased gently, “better late than never, right?”

His chest tightened at the way you were looking at him, your eyes so open, so full of something he’d dared to hope for but never believed he’d see. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Better late than never.”

For a moment, you both just stayed there, the soft rain misting around you, your foreheads resting together as your breaths mingled. It felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you, the city noise fading into a distant hum, and Sebastian let himself get lost in the moment—in you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Even like this. Especially like this.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you tilted your head slightly, your smile turning a little shy. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

“I’m saying that because it’s true,” Sebastian countered, his voice firm but soft.

The sincerity in his voice seemed to catch you off guard, your lips parting slightly as you stared at him. He could see the faint tremble of your bottom lip, the way your eyes flickered like you were trying to process everything at once.

“I love you too,” you admitted suddenly.

Sebastian froze.

The rain pattered softly around you, the city’s distant hum faded to nothing, and those three words echoed in his head like a bomb going off. He blinked, staring at you as if he’d misheard, as if he couldn’t possibly have understood what you’d just said.

“What?” he croaked.

You smiled at him, small and unsure but real, your eyes shining with a vulnerability that made his chest ache. “I said I love you too,” you repeated, your voice steadier this time. “I always have."

The words broke something loose in him—something fragile and aching that had been buried for far too long. A soft, shaky laugh escaped his lips, and before he could stop himself, he kissed you again.

“Ten years,” he murmured against your lips. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted ten fucking years.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, and it felt like a balm against all the years of longing and regret. “Well,” you teased, your fingers carding through his hair, “you’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “So… does this mean you’ll dump Ethan?”

You laughed, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, your breath warm against his neck. “Yes, Sebastian,” you said, your voice laced with amusement. “This means I’ll dump Ethan.”

“Good,” he said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

You laughed, the sound filling the cool night air, and Sebastian swore he’d never heard anything more beautiful. In that moment, soaked to the skin and still buzzing from the night’s chaos, he realized something with startling clarity.

He was hopelessly, irreversibly, entirely yours—and for the first time, he wasn’t scared of what that meant.