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capsironunderoos · 4 years ago

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Hoth Chocolate

DINCEMBER - December 4 - Hot Chocolate

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Reader

CHAPTER 14 SPOILERS! S2:E6 SPOILERS PAST THIS POINT!

Summary: After the events on Tython, a tired Mandalorian finds himself back on Nevarro.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: SPOILERS! Also a very, very sad Din.

Author’s Note: Wow... So a lot happened in that last episode, and the only way I knew how to cope was to write. Thankfully Dincember exists, and I was able to do just that! This is very sad and has some angst in it, but some fluff too. It’s the fulfillment of the “Hot Chocolate” prompt for @dindjarindiaries Dincember, which makes this post just a tad bit late. Also, I learned that hot chocolate in Star Wars can be referred to as hot chocolate AND Hoth chocolate, and I literally love Hoth so much so that little bit of Star Wars knowledge will stick with me to my grave. Anyways! I hope you enjoy!

Here’s the previous prompt:

DINCEMBER - December 2 - December (Ariana Grande Version)

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“Cara- Cara said I could find you here.”

You’re jumping up from your seat at the sudden break of silence. The book you were reading drops to the floor, and the sound of the hardback spine landing echoes around the room.

The shadow standing just inside your doorway is one you have not seen in a long time, one you had accepted you’d possibly never see again.

You’re still standing in silence, trying to decide what he’s doing here, and how he got in, and how you didn’t even notice.

“Din?” You whisper, almost unbelieving.

Your brain tries to talk itself into believing this isn’t happening, that you’re dreaming, and in a few moments you’ll wake up, alone and nostalgic for days when the other side of your bed wasn’t cold.

The visor of his helmet is still focused on the ground, and you notice almost immediately that he doesn’t have the child with him.

You find yourself wringing your hands together, a nervous habit you’d picked up too many rotations ago to remember, and one that could only be calmed with the touch of the man who was suddenly standing before you.

A child screaming in a fit of laughter outside your door as they run by catches you both off-guard.

You jump at the sudden rupture of the silence around you, and Din spins quickly to look behind him.

Something has happened, you can see it in the way his shoulders rise at the sound of the child laughing, and then fall once they have passed.

You walk over to where he stands, still looking into the alleyway where the entrance to your house rests.

You never take your eyes off of him as you hit the button that triggers your door to slide closed.

The soft whoosh of it closing let’s Din know that it is now just you and him, that no one will ever know what takes place in this room besides you, and him.

He’s missed that feeling, and you have too, though neither of you will admit it, not right now.

Not when there are obviously too many other things to talk about.

You stand facing his side now, noting that he has yet to look away from the closed door.

“Din?” You try again, and a deep sigh falls from his lips, crackling into static through the modulator of his helmet.

“Something has happened, hasn’t it?”

You question and he still looks forward, as if acknowledging being here with you will also force him to acknowledge whatever he has been through.

“Where is,” you’re unsure if you should finish the question you so desperately want to ask.

You stop mid-sentence and clear your throat as your hands find each other again and repeat their motions from earlier in a desperate attempt to try and ground you.

You want to know what has happened, you want so very much to know where the child is, and if he is okay.

You want to know if Din is okay, and why he is here now, after so long.

“What happened, Din?” You whisper, barely audible, and for a moment you’re unsure if he’s heard you or not.

There is a beat of silence before his shoulders slump, and the visor of his helmet tilts so far down that his chin is almost resting against his chest.

Your hands ache so badly to reach out to him, to touch any part of him you can in order to reassure him that everything is okay, even though it so clearly is not.

“I,” he starts, and your chest tightens.

Are you ready to let him back in just like that?

Are you ready to hear the tragedies he’s endured since he left you, since you asked him to take you with him and he disappeared before you’d even had the chance?

Din seems to be weighing the answers to those questions as well, but you can hear his steady breathing through the modulator and you notice him turning slightly towards you.

His chin stays tucked into his chest as he continues.

“I lost the kid. He’s… gone.” Din whispers so quietly that his modulator almost misses it, as you do you.

The word “gone” ricochets around the room before crashing into your chest, and you feel the breath knocked from your lungs.

Your legs grow weak, and you steady yourself against the wall to keep from falling down.

“Din,” you murmur out softly, and he hears his name laced with both sorrow and comfort for the first time in his life.

You notice how the utterance of his name seems to physically strike him, watching as he flinches at the sound of it.

He clears his throat before shifting his weight and starting again.

“Moff Gideon followed us to Tython. I- I left the kid, I left Grogu, alone, and scared for one,” he huffs loudly, and when he speaks again his voice is gravelly through the modulator, and you know that he is trying so hard to hold back, to stay strong.

You just aren’t sure if he is trying to stay strong for you, or for himself.

“I left him for one second. That was- all it took was one second.”

The defeat in his voice is something you have never heard from him, and it is something you never want to hear again.

Your brain briefly latches onto the name the child has seemed to receive, and you wonder how Din came to know it.

Before you can ask, you hear Din take a deep breath.

He’s not finished.

“They blew up the Crest,” he mumbles, and your eyebrows furrow.

Surely you aren’t hearing him right.

“They blew up- it took one second!” He yelps this time, his voice breaking and causing the modulator to crackle so loud it makes you flinch.

“They blew up my home!”

He yells now, visor raised as he looks straight at you, begging you to try and understand where he’s coming from, as if him leaving all those rotations ago didn’t completely uproot the home you had created for yourself.

“That was my home. It was- I had so much of myself in that ship, so much of what makes me…”

His voice has quieted down now, but he still stares at you.

He can’t even finish his sentence as his hand reaches for something in one of the pouches on his belt.

Your eyes slowly travel from the visor of his helmet to his hand, where he is grasping a small silver ball.

You feel as if your heart will explode at the sight of it, immediately identifying it as part of the control panel of the Crest.

“All that was left, I couldn’t, there wasn’t…”

Hearing him struggle to speak has broken you into a million little pieces, and you feel your face growing wet from the tears you can do nothing to stop. You are frozen, and you are unsure what to do to offer even the smallest ounce of comfort to the man before you.

Normally he is the one providing comfort, helping those in need and making sure everyone is safe.

Now it is your turn to do the same for him, and you can do nothing.

You are completely shut down, unresponsive, as if you are a droid whose each and every circuit has fried.

Din’s shoulders begin to tremble ever so slightly, and before you can register what is happening he is dropping.

The Mandalorian is on his knees now, his chin resting against his chest as he cries.

The sound of his pain through the modulator is enough to snap you out of your stupor, and you are quick to follow him to the ground.

“I lost everything, everything. In minutes. I have nothing.”

He whispers, and the words are so strained, so full of hopelessness that you aren’t sure you even recognize the man before you.

Hearing him believe so strongly that he has nothing left creates a strain on your heart akin to a vice grip, and the pain of it shoots through you, but you know you cannot argue with him now.

Your role is to listen, to understand, to sympathize.

You raise your hands to his helmet, and they hang in the air for a moment as you listen to his whimpers.

Would he still allow you to see his face?

You had made his clan of two into three at one point, but you wondered if he even remembered what that felt like.

You had found sanctuary in each other, and in the way the both of you cared for the child, but it had seemed so long ago that you were unsure he even remembered a time when you were allowed to see him outside of the beskar.

You begin to move your hands back to your lap, content with wringing them against each other, but you freeze when his hands shoot up to grab yours.

His fingers are wrapped around your wrist, and holding them so tight that you are almost afraid he will leave unintentional bruises there.

His chin still rests against his chest, and his shortened gasps for breath let you know that he is still crying.

Din slowly begins to move your hands to his helmet, and he pauses for just a moment before bringing them to rest against the sides.

The beskar is cold underneath your palms, and you instinctively curve your fingers under the helmet.

His hands still grip your wrist, and with a final squeeze he lets go, his hands now falling limply into his lap.

“Din,” you state his name in wonder, and he knows why.

“Please,” he insists, begs, and it is all you need to hear.

You lift the helmet slowly, sitting it beside you on the floor as you turn back to him.

His hair has been cut, but you can still see the unruly mess of curls.

His eyes are closed as tears continue to slip between his eyelids, making their way down his cheeks and pooling into the fabric around his neck.

You inch ever so closer to him, gently taking his face into your hands.

A tear begins to roll down his cheek, and when your thumb moves to swipe it away he breaks.

A loud cry erupts from his chest, and the noise is so foreign to your ears that your brain can only register it as a feeling of unease and pain that spreads through your body like wildfire.

Din suddenly falls the rest of the way, landing on his bottom with a loud thud, pulling your hands down with him, but you do not let them move from their spot against his skin.

You have longed for one more chance to touch him, to hold him, and you would have asked for it in any way other than this, but this is all you have been afforded, and you will not take it for granted.

You follow his actions, sitting on the floor in front of him, but he is quick to catch you and pull you into him.

You straddle his lap, legs wrapped around him as he squeezes you into his chest.

His nose finds the crook of your neck and your hands move to wrap around his head, your fingers lacing through his dark hair.

You shake as he cries, both from his sorrow and yours.

Tears fall freely as your mind tries to wrap around everything he has endured, and the way he so freely trusted you with his stories.

You allow him to cry for what must be hours, neither of you moving or speaking.

He whimpers as if in pain, and his struggle to catch a deep breath shakes you each time he gasps for air.

You can feel his warm breath against your neck, and you can feel where he has soaked the collar of your shirt.

Your heart aches for him, breaks for what he has witnessed, and longs to know the status of the child.

After his breathing has begun to even out, and he has stopped shaking, you bring your hands back to his face, moving it to look at you.

His eyes are bloodshot, and the skin around them is puffy from crying for so long.

You can see that he is exhausted from the release of so many emotions, and you lovingly stroke his cheek.

The smallest hint of a smile graces his lips and is gone as quickly as it came.

“I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have left you.”

You start to protest but he does not let you speak.

“Gedet’ye, please, cyare, forgive me. I shouldn’t have left you here.”

You have begun crying again, and he moves his hands to cradle your face and wipe away the tears.

The both of you now sit in silence as you hold each others faces between the plans of your equally callused and bruised hands.

“I will always, always, forgive you. You are my heart, my home.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

I love you.

At your confirmation of his words, he pulls your lips to his, and the both of you continue to cradle the other as you share the softest kiss.

His lips are so familiar to you, as yours are to him, and it takes only a second for the pieces to begin to slowly connect once more.

When you pull away, a bit breathless and somewhat surprised, you notice that sorrow is still settled in the deep brown of his eyes.

“You know that I will do everything in my power to find the child, to return him safely to you. I know the attachment you feel to him, and how much he means to you.”

Din nods at your words, and you notice that he has begun to tear up again.

“I want you to tell me your plan to find him, because I know you, and I know that you were already thinking of one the moment he was lost.”

At the word “lost,” Din’s chin dips again, but you quickly raise his eyes back up to yours.

“And don’t you dare blame yourself for this Din Djarin. You knew the risks when you rescued him from the Client, you were aware of what could happen, and this tragedy has always been a possibility. The only difference is that now it is reality. Regardless, you are not at fault, and we will not abandon him.”

Din is crying again, and you swipe away each tear as quickly as they fall.

“Now, I want to hear that plan,” you prompt, and Din offers you a small smile.

“You always did love immediate action,” he states, and hearing the slight tone of tease in his voice makes your heart swell with affection.

You nod in agreement, and his smile grows.

“I will make a deal with you, Mandalorian,” his hands have long fallen from your face to rest around your waist, but he uses them now to pull you closer to him.

“Anything, cyare, anything.”

“You tell me your plan, and I’ll make Hoth Chocolate.”

He ponders your proposal for a moment, before a wide smile splits across his face.

“How could I ever refuse Hoth Chocolate?”

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saladejin · 4 years ago

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Admire | 06

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary: You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: There’s only one bed - but nothing too saucy lol, touching

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Just a mixture of fluff and angst for you guys hehe

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When you came out of the tiny bathroom that night, the lights were already off, and all you could see was the mounded shape of Seokjin underneath the bedcovers. He must have been pretty tired, as he’d been the one with the most hours of driving under his belt so far. You stood and appreciated the way the lamps from outside cast tiny slivers of light across the surface of the duvet.

You climbed in, wishing that the bed was a lot bigger so that you didn’t have to feel or sense his presence anywhere near you, the idea of little proximity making your knees weak … also considering his lack of shirt.

You wanted to be close to him, to feel his skin against yours, to hear the way he inhaled and exhaled small puffs of air as he slept, or even just the sound of his gentle heartbeat. Having that sense of closeness would make you feel so incredibly relaxed. You didn’t know how badly you craved it until now, and you didn’t know why that was.

Then he was turning over, and it was slow enough to make you panic, but not slow enough to give you the time to inch further away or turn yourself around. You were face to face with him, and his cursed eyes as they took in your slightly parted lips frozen from fear.

Why is he even awake?

He didn’t say a word, just blinked and waited for your tensed up muscles to loosen. As you sighed and ran a hand through your hair in frustration, he lifted one corner of his lips ever so slightly into a knowing smirk.

“You scared me, idiot,” you whined in a low tone, turning to face him again but keeping your eyes fixated to a point above his face. You couldn’t really bear the shame of looking into his amused gaze again. In truth, it didn’t seem like he wasn’t amused but rather just as curious as ever.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he wondered aloud with a certain rasp to his tone that you found much too attractive. A loud part of you wanted to ask him to just keep talking, not even caring what or who he talked about. You only realised then that you’d brought a finger up to start tracing the outlines of his shoulders leading into his collarbone, the feeling of his lean muscle putting your mind at ease for some strange reason.

“Physical contact, right?” he then said almost to himself.

Your finger stopped in its tracks and you lifted your eyes to his in confusion. You must have been way too tired to even form rational thoughts. Had you seriously just been touching his bare skin without hesitation?

“What?” was the only thing you could blurt out in your state of conflict.

He didn’t answer, but your shock was soon replaced by a tingling warmth when you felt one of his hands grazing the exposed skin of your waist, precisely where your shirt had ridden up the most. The way you shivered and sighed at the contact was too immediate to be considered normal, and you heard the way he softly inhaled at the reaction.

“You never really mention how badly you need it. I can barely understand it, or you,” he commented calmly.

“Your needs are different from mine. How can you understand something if you’ve never had to think about it? When you’ve never yearned for it so much that you almost lose your mind every time someone looks at you?” you said with a tinge of shame flaring immediately after the quiet outburst. You were too vulnerable, too much like an open book for him to read.

He seemed to be trying to keep his emotions concealed, but it was obvious how intrigued he was to watch your inner turmoil. He continued to run his hand downwards and then followed the slope of your hip back up towards your goose-bumped shoulders.

You were so happy to finally receive the touch and attention you wanted that you couldn’t help but shift closer to him. You heard a tiny murmur of disbelief rumble deep in his throat, but ignored it. You only moved to press your colder hand to his chest and run it upwards, and eventually burrowed your face deep into the crook of his neck. He was so warm, and it made you feel so unbelievably secure. You surrounded yourself with the scent of him and let out a large unbridled sigh of relief.

The wide hand that had stilled on your back from the shock began to move again. He gently brought your figure further into his and let his deft fingers continue tracing patterns onto your back over the fabric of the shirt.

“Since the wedding, I’ve made sure to keep my distance because I was sure we’d be out of this almost as soon as it started. I’ve always been reserved to people in my life and that hasn’t changed,” he said so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t been so close to him.

“So, I don’t get what you’re seeing in me now really. I know you better than to think you’re seeing me as a simple warm body, it’s much deeper than that. Why do you feel the sudden change in attitude, after all this time?” Seokjin murmured. It was questionably the longest time you’d heard his voice speak in succession.

“I guess I just wanted to be this close to someone for once,” you whispered with a sad smile. “It’s like that one time we were dancing but a zillion times worse. Since the start, I’ve battled with loneliness and thought of myself as self-sufficient and independent, but for some reason it’s all suddenly changing, and I don’t really know how to feel.”

Right then was when you’d let your walls crumble into a dusty pile of bricks and stone. You were so exposed; you may as well have been sitting stark naked in front of the man. All your insecurities were laid out on the slab for him to see … One. By. One.

You continued in a breathy voice, one beat away from breaking. “It has nothing to do with how you’re not the warmest or most companionable husband out there. That didn’t matter to me before, and it sure as hell doesn’t matter now. Think of the life I’ve lived…”

It was silent for a few moments as you let him mull over his thoughts. The rhythmic sound of his relaxed breathing soothed you into your next words.

“A partner. That is what you are to me, and that means you’re kind of irreplaceable since I’ve never had one before. It doesn’t matter if you’re distant, or cold, or even confusing at times because at the end of the day we only have each other to come home to. And if you’ll indulge me sometimes, I’d like to see you as the rock that keeps me grounded. The one common denominator reminding me that I’m not alone in that big, empty house.”

You paused, not knowing if you should continue due to the lack of response. When he seemed to still be running it over in his head, your sudden spark of confidence fizzled and almost died out completely.

“I’m probably the most selfish person for this, but to put it simply I’m using you as a security blanket. Wrapping myself up in the familiarity just to feel safe. Because you always just seem to have it together whenever I’m the one breaking down.”

He was just starting to open up to me as well, yet here I am scaring him away like a madwoman.

“That’s why you wanted to stick with me since the beginning, right?” he spoke surprisingly after a few heavy moments. “At all those first parties and balls you had no idea of what you were doing, so you asked to stay beside me because you were the outsider and I was the one stranger out of all of them that you just happened to know a little more.”

he mused, cast into a thoughtful sense of amazement. “I saw that you were scared, but didn’t know that you felt that way back then.”

You couldn’t help but shift your gaze upwards to garner any kind of visual reaction from Seokjin. When you only found his eyes looking down at you with a profound look of shining sympathy, you blinked away the tears pricking at the corners of your own and buried your face deep into the space between his neck and shoulder. He was a like refuge, and you were only hiding from your own disgrace.

The sound of his deep even breathing was lulling you into a sleepiness so strong that you could feel your lashes kissing your cheekbones every few seconds. Your chest was positively alight with a burning bittersweet combination of happiness and regret.

He was holding you close, giving in to your cry for help even though your past self would have never believed it.

Days passed, and ultimately so did your roadside adventure.

The last night was proving to be an absolute delight, with the whole group sharing toasted marshmallows on large twigs around a crackling campfire. The vehicles were parked around you, casting long looming shadows along the grass while you all reminisced about your healthy time spent away from work and life in general.

For you, the highlights had definitely been the beach. Feeling the sun-kissed sand underneath your toes and listening to the sounds of rolling ocean waves had almost put you in a trance of sorts, a serenity you could barely describe. Other memories were things such as shopping in the old town stores, dining on the most nostalgic meals, spending the summery nights gathering with family members and catching up on your busy lives.

These were all just some of your favourite moments spent on the trip, but they couldn’t compare to the ones you had experienced with Seokjin. Even now, as you sat near the campfire surrounded by the busy ramblings of your real family, his magnetic field of a presence drew you in.

There he sat next to your grandfather; three fingers pressed firmly to the strings of an acoustic guitar while the older greying man showed him how to strum out the chord. You felt your heart squeeze when Seokjin smiled lightly and took over from the elderly man. He began playing the instrument shyly, fingers still shaky from inexperience but getting the hang of skill as if it were something as simple as breathing.

“(Y/n).” His steady voice broke into your thoughts like a freight train. You brought yourself back into focus to see him tapping the tightened strings of the guitar gently. The warm orange glow of the nearby fire flickering its own cadence of hues onto his flawless features.

“I’m getting one of these when we get home.”

Everything within you stuttered at his matter-of-factly statement, and for some reason the smile plastered on your face began to falter.

‘When we get home.’

Why did these simple words cause your bottom lip to quiver ever so slightly, or your eyes to brim with unbidden salty tears? You couldn’t even pick apart the emotions within you to decipher whether they were ones of happiness or sadness. Everything was a jumble.

“Sorry,” you excused yourself before placing your stick covered in gooey marshmallow remnants on the flat log below. Nobody really took notice as you made your way briskly towards your motorhome, face tingling with pent up feelings and mind a whirring mess.

I’m happy, and surprisingly enough, that’s a bad thing.

You let the motorhome door click shut and threw yourself onto the soft pillowy bed face-first.

I’m happy on this trip, but that isn’t the problem. I’m happy with him…

A lonely tear of frustration escaped the confines of your willpower, trailing a warm path down your cheek in a sad descent. It soaked into the white fabric underneath.

I’m not meant to be happy with him! I’m meant to be just waiting it out until we go our separate ways. I’m meant to be disengaged, disinterested.

You gripped the bedcovers harshly, knowing that your own foolish need for his touch had gotten you into this chaotic disarray. You were so happy to know that he wasn’t an asshole, that he wasn’t some douchebag who had his head stuck up his own ass. You were ecstatic to find out that the man you’d been condemned to marry just wasn’t the whiny juvenile brat you’d expected.

“But why would everything be easier if he was?” you whimpered to yourself.

Then the door was being pulled open and the sounds of the chirping crickets flooded into the van, all the way to your throbbing ears.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

Hearing Seokjin’s voice after mentally recalling every aspect about him you admired only twisted the knife deeper into your gut. You knew you should have pretended to be tired and needing sleep, but under his watchful eye it just wasn’t going to happen. Slowly, you sat up and combed the flowing hair out of your face with firm unforgiving fingers.

At the sight of your tear-stained skin and blotchy eyes, Seokjin’s gaze softened and he exhaled loudly before making his way over. You were so upset at yourself for letting things happen the way they had, but this time you didn’t hide your emotions away out of courtesy.

“I’m sorry Seokjin.” You cleared your throat and sniffed. “I’m sorry for letting myself believe... I’ve gotten so used to fooling other people about us that I forgot to exclude myself. So, I’ve been fooled.”

By now the tears were gone, and the only evidence remaining of your explosive breakdown was the hoarse edge to your voice. You knew he probably wouldn’t understand the confession, and it wouldn’t hurt his feelings. You were the only one dumb enough to pull the veil back over your eyes. The veil convincing everyone watching that you were in love, and in turn seeing it all through the same shroud.

You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. You were in love with him.

#seokjin x reader #seokjin scenarios #seokjin smut #seokjin imagines #seokjin series #jin smut #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #arranged marriage au #husband jin #bts jin #bts smut #jin angst #admire #saladejin

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aggresivelyfriendly · 5 years ago

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Day Four: The One With The Metaphors

More wish fulfillment! I love this one, obvi- I love a metaphor. Anyway! Thank you so much to @dirtystyles for the read through and screams!

Send me screams! Reblogs are definitely love!

I’m starting a tag list as well for when I post- if you’d like- send me a note to add you! Thanks @awomanindeniall for the suggestion!

Elise woke up aware that something was wrong.

Amiss, that was a better word. Nothing hurt and she was supremely comfortable and warm, but something was off. It took a moment for her to puzzle it out.

The sun was high through the window, so at first she figured it was that she had slept in so unbelievably late. She'd been up to the wee hours last night. Elise could remember the clock on her iPhone saying 3:30am, lying in was not surprising, but a consequence. Her room was still, only her knee joints cracking when she stretched broke the silence.

The house was quiet too, but Harry had been a quiet housemate for the three days they'd been quarantined. He usually skulked about quietly in the morning to avoid waking her, and when she went down, he set about treating her like a treasured guest instead of the chick he sneezed on. Making her breakfast or doing her coffee immediately, like the world's best waiter.

Oh! That's what felt weird about today! She'd woken up in this stranger's bed in this stranger's house and didn't feel weird about it. There was none of the disorientation and then fear she'd got on the other mornings. The first one, she'd realized it wasn't her bed. Her bedding was an ombré of blues and purple, and while she liked the sheets, thought they were comfortable, she knew it would be hard to go back to them now. Harry's bedding was like the very plush stuff she had encountered when she went to see her one and only concert, by invite, of her friend Daphne. Elise wouldn't name the band. They'd stayed at a high end hotel. She'd been afraid to sit on the couch. She'd adopted an air of whatever by the time they made it to the bedroom, because she didn't want Daphne to notice how impressed she was. The friendship had petered out in high school, but they were buddies for a time. And Elise got used to her lifestyle, but never comfortable. She remembered the comforter in the hotel was down and over stuffed, and the sheets felt like a billion thread count. She doubted a cloud could feel better.

Harry's was better. In his guest room. Imagine what he had on his own bed! No- she wouldn't!

In any case, it was a glaring difference. On day one, or two, she'd need to nail down how to count the days, she realized, the blankets had caused a domino reaction. She'd reached behind her immediately and sighed in relief when she felt no body behind her. But they could have gotten up for the bathroom, maybe that's what had initially woken her.

So the next step in freak out containment was to smooth her hands down her body and confirm she was clothed. One night stands were not her style. It had happened once. Their sheets had not been this nice.

They had not been as nice as Harry in any way.

What would it be like to wake up, do her checks, realize she was in another's bed, and find it to be Harry. She giggled while she skipped down her own mental path. Waking up with Harry Styles, his actual bed, not the guest room one. That would have been a shock in every sense of the word. A pleasant shock, you might even do the walk of no shame from. In any case, this morning was different, but not that different.

Today, it just felt like this is where she woke up now. Her giggle broke the cold air, yeah, this was not a life she'd let herself get used too.

Poor international student and desert rat were still her bylines.

The plush bathroom was also amazing though, and she lingered over the heated floors. Just because she couldn't have them forever didn't mean she shouldn't appreciate them while she could.

It was 11:30 by the time she made it downstairs. In truth, maybe she was stalling.

She didn't want to tell him she disliked his favorite book.

Well, dislike was a strong word. The book was alright, but Harry loved it. Elise felt like he would want her to love it too. They'd found things in common yesterday and it was lovely and thrilling. His face would light up in a way Elise wanted to be the root of, but they didn't have this new thing in common. He made this happy puppy face, full of energy and youth when they hit upon a movie they both spent hours rewatching, or bands they loved, listening to albums on-repeat in adolescent bedrooms. She hated to tell him it didn't expand to Norwegian Wood. She'd even worked on a line to soften the blow.

I like the prose, but not the protagonist. That's what she would say.

Did Harry see himself as the protagonist? Did you have to identify with a main character to love a story? Maybe you did, though she didn't see herself as a swamp girl, like the main in the book she had recommended to him. She did feel like an outsider, she supposed. She suspected everybody did a little.

Did Harry feel ordinary, and torn between melancholy and merry? He seemed bright to her- like a little firefly in the dark, with his bright shiny teeth and crinkly eyes. She'd listened to his first solo album, it had been serious to say the least. Wistful, nostalgic, sad in mood, ultimately hopeful. Maybe that's what he was like inside, and he just wore an upbeat face. Was it a mask?

But Harry was anything but boring. He was extraordinary. She believed that long before she was stuck in a house with him. It had just been confirmed by proximity.

Elise felt like she should listen to his new album right now to get a handle on where he might be at the moment, or closer to the moment. She almost pulled it up of her phone.

Shaking her head, she existed out of Spotify, she'd have to listen to his new album tonight. Elise knew if she stayed up here much longer, her temporary housemate would be at her door. Probably with coffee, just as she liked it, and maybe even toast. Oooh, that sounded delicious, maybe she would wait.

She wouldn't.

Elise took light steps down the stairs, she had it in her head to startle Harry. It was a strange impulse, people always did it to her, and she always jumped a foot. Apparently, everybody always found that hilarious. She didn't. Must be being on the wrong side of it.

She was about to find out.

Except Harry wasn't in the kitchen where she had come to expect him in the mornings. Though there was hot coffee in the French press with her cup next to it. The mug that said more joy. She'd liked the sex one, but it made her blush a little, she avoided it.

He'd noticed her pink cheeks, given her the joy one, and sipped from the other, his green eyes over the rim, dancing at her reaction to every sip. She shook off the memory.

The first sip was hot and everything she loved about the break of day. Rich in smell and possibilities and full or flavor and energy.

Elise drank three more gulps before she set off to scare Harry. She poured carefully and was proud enough to do a tiny happy dance when she didn't spill any.

"Yay! Why are we twirling?"

That time she did jump a foot into the air, and she was glad she wasn't holding the mug to warm her hands like she usually did. It would have shattered on his beautiful floor, and she was sure it cost a million pounds. The floor, though the mug was designer, she knew. A mug couldn't cost a million pounds right?

"Jesus! You scared me!" Elise had a hand to heart, coffee dribbles on it.

"Sorry!" He didn't look contrite in the least. The purse of his lips trying to flatten them into a rubber band. How did he not know better? They didn't flatten, not effectively, ever. His lips weren't juicy persay, but they did seem a little overfilled, like an exuberant cupcake. This morning she noticed they were framed by extravagant scruff, it had been sprouting for a day or so, and honestly she thought it made his face look a little dirty, but today it was filled in, darker, and the frame around the fruited hues of his lips was distracting. As was the beautiful hazard of his curls on his head. All of it was better than the horror of his eyes.

When she was younger, and she'd jumped from Liam as her girlhood crush to him, it had been the green of his eyes. Later, when Taylor sang about them, Elise could totally understand.

She was a little breathless, from the scare, and there was still coffee to clean up. She shifted her eyes and grabbed paper towels.

"Well," he cleared his throat before he spoke. "I feel I owe you breakfast because I gave you a fright. You had a full English yet?"

She hadn't. "Isn't that a lot of trouble though?"

"Well, it takes a bit, I'm thinking we have the time though. And I wouldn't call it trouble, and we both have to eat, yeah?" He said this from the fridge where he was already pulling out the necessary articles. "And it's late enough that we should call it lunch too. You slept in today."

"I did." She nodded.

"Just exhausted, or?" He was slicing tomatoes. She was watching him. He had really long fingers. They curved around the tomato in a way that made her sad. Or curious.

"What?" He was really distracting today. She'd have sworn she was over this crush ages ago. She supposed the real person was different to the images she looked at and created in her mind.

"Why so tired today? Up late?"

Oh, he wanted to know about the book. "Yeah, um, I was finishing Norwegian Wood."

"Did you like it?" He was smiling like he knew the answer.

"Um, I liked the prose." She dissembled, left out the protagonist part to avoid offense.

He frowned over the bacon he was laying in the skillet. Round bacon still threw her off.

"The prose? But not the book?" He guessed.

"It was alright. I didn't really like Toru. He frustrated me."

Harry went to run his hands into his hair, and maybe it was the cooking, which she was thankful for or the new worldwide obsession with hygiene, but he stopped himself. "Oh, I quite like Toru. I think he is like, like most guys. And because you are in his head you kinda get why."

She wanted to tell Harry he was nothing like Toru, way more interesting, and for someone who apparently thought they were indecisive, he was really in charge of his life. That it wasn't a fluke, or luck, not entirely. That it was him. She wanted to tell Harry he was special.

"Did you like my recommendation?" She asked.

He made a funny face. Oh? He didn't. That miffed her a little and she suddenly understood his upset.

"Can I say the opposite? I like the story, and the characters, but not the prose." Oh she'd loved the prose style. The lyrical quality. Way more lush than his pick.

"We must just like different styles." She tried to shrug it off and was totally unclear why she couldn't. "I like my books to almost sound like they are lines lifted from a song."

"Oh, I kinda like minimalism, in songs too." Why did they both seem sad about it.

Breakfast was delicious, and it distracted them for a while.

When Harry was finishing up his last piece of vegan bacon ( he'd broken that to her after she'd praised it), chewing thoughtfully as a beaming smile lit up his face.

"I know- you find a song or album you feel like is exactly what you love, and I will too, and we can share. We may not ever like each other's books, but music, well I like all music." He was grinning and she thought the term firefly wasn't as apt as lightening bug.

"That's a great idea. Let's brainstorm and meet up in an hour." Her literal first thought was 1989, but she would not go there.

Nope.

Two hours later, she had a list of three albums, and trotted down the stairs to find him.

"Alright Styles, show me what you got!"

He looked up from the notebook he was scrawling in and he tried to smile.

"Hey, this is supposed to be fun Harry! It doesn't look like you are having fun."

He went to put the end of the pen in his mouth and moved it down to his chin. "This is harder than I thought. Only three? And I'm trying not to be too predictable."

"Just be honest," she shrugged, and plopped on the carpet next to him with her legs pretzeled, her air pods and her phone.

"I'll do one first. Are we doing the whole albums, or like songs that are great examples?" She asked as she opened her Spotify.

"Whole albums! What else do we have to do?" He quirked the more masculine side of his face and she realized she'd chosen to sit really close to him. It wasn't really necessary with the air pods, but he didn't seem to mind, he was leaning towards her.

"Alright, well let's go. I'll show you mine, then you show me yours, then again. Til we're done."

"Or naked!" He chuckled and she blushed, tried to hide it. He sobered and got back on task. "Can I have some honorable mentions?" He asked.

"Yeah, but those you gotta pick a song!" Elise nodded at her brilliant allowance.

"Deal!" He put out his hand and they shook. Then she placed an air pod in his hand.

"Let's go!" She pulled up the first album she had in mind. "This one is Oh Wonder's self titled."

"Oh, I know them a little."

By the end of it, Harry had scrawled his favorite songs, and downloaded a few.

"Good?" She asked.

"Yeah, they sound great together, and lots of metaphors."

"That's what I like!," she said.

"You'd like Arctic Monkeys, specifically AM." He told her, so she made a note of it. He'd already mentioned he liked them when he was younger. She knew of them, but they must have been much bigger in Britain or something, she'd download something.

And then he played her Astral Weeks, and they wound up laying back on the floor with the cord of his ear buds laying slackly between them. And she got what he meant about minimalism. She usually liked it wordy, got her emotion from lyrics, but she still felt a lot, even without the words.

"Alright, I feel like you are bringing the oldies, Styles. All of mine are this decade."

"Yeah, I thought about that, but I only have one from this decade."

She laughed, "I'll allow it. This one I'll bet you know." She put on Hozier and if she thought sitting so close had been overwhelming, him singing in his lower register, essentially in her ear was wholly distracting. He knew most of the songs.

"I feel like it's not my favorite, but it's clearly amazing!" He said when it was over.

"Well, what's your favorite?" She sat up with him and they were facing each other, their knees were touching and her yoga pants were hot all the way up her thigh.

"This one." He spent a moment looking for his ear phones snake like cord and turned back to her. She was glad when he arranged them side by side before Harry Nilsson started to play.

"Like it?"

"Yeah-!" She butted into him with her shoulder. "He uses some figurative language." She raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose he does."

"But he does that sound thing you like." She mused.

"How do you know I like repeated sounds?" Oh, he looked amused.

"I like your first album." She confessed.

He bit his lip and dimpled and Elise had to turn away. This was normal. He was the only person she'd seen in days, and well he looked like, was, him. She was gonna forgive herself the butterflies. "Um," she picked her phone back up. "Do you want to get a snack? Or keep going. I need some water at least."

He was spooling up his cord and standing. "I got an idea." And he was gone before she could follow him. Elise sat for a moment. Should she follow him? He didn't really invite Her. Did you have to be invited to follow your de facto housemate? She supposed she'd just wait.

But that was an awful decision, because she just sat there and thought about how this quarantine day felt like the best date of her life. Dammit. She was gonna wake up tomorrow sad she wasn't in his bed. She could just tell. She was also probably going to have to touch herself to sleep. She knew exactly what she'd think about. It would be when she turned to her side and watched his mouth form around the deathless death lyric in Take Me To Church.

Elise was actually fanning herself by the time Harry came back in.

"Is it hot in here?" He asked.

"Oh, no, I was just dancing a little." God she was lame.

"Oh! Hold that thought for my last album. And I've brought provisions!" His eyebrows were so high and perfect. She liked his proud face.

He'd brought alcohol. That was exactly what her libido needed. Shit.

"Pick your poison. I have an excellent red, or we can just skip to the party with tequila shots."

"Yeah, no tequila, sun's still out."

"Oh, is this a rule of yours? No tequila until sundown." Why did he look like he found that hilarious?

"Not if you want me to keep my clothes on!" She resisted the urge to slap a hand over her mouth.

"Right!" he crowed. "Tequila it is!"

"No, no, I'll take wine." She pulled his hand down from opening the bottle of amber liquid and started on the darker bottle.

"You are a party pooper!" He laughed.

"Can we plan the tequila party for another day?"

"Oh, we should do that. I have a pool! We can make margaritas and lounge."

"Harry, it's March! In London," she added. Because it was definitely pool weather in Arizona.

"Well, I have a hot tub."

She swallowed and focused on getting the bottle opened. "Are you having what I'm having?"

"Yeah, I guess. But in a couple days, we are opening the other bottle, deal?" He handed her the waters he'd brought in too. She needed to drink that first, and between, and after. To slow her intake down.

"What's with you and hand shakes?" She laughed and handed him his glass instead of taking his dangerous palm.

"I dunno, gotta seal the deal!" He shrugged. "So what's next?"

"Right!" She scrounged to find both earbuds and they cheesed to the beginning notes of 'Red.'

"I already said you love her. Typical! And well, I can't blame you." He mused towards the end.

"Why?" She felt like that would be a slight, but he didn't say it like one. Typical stung just a little. Basic Arizona bitch sounded in her head.

"Just you like lyrics, and she is so clever and relatable, and I'm not an American, or a girl, but I imagine it's more specific to you." He titled his head.

That made her feel better. Was kinder than she'd been to herself. "Yeah, yeah, I've liked her since I was way younger. I saw her at a county fair really early on and fell in love."

"And you like this one better than her newer ones?" He asked. "I haven't gotten around to listening to Lover yet." He had a look that meant he may never. She wondered about that but decided to pull him from his dip in mood.

"Well, actually, 1989 is my favorite, but I thought it would be too weird to listen to that with you."

"Ha!" He burst out laughing at that, and they giggled helplessly, aided by the bottle of wine they'd finished. "Well, I'll thank you for that thoughtfulness. We need another bottle." He started towards the door. "But it's my favorite too!," he threw back over his shoulder as he got just around the door.

"I'll bet." She said to herself.

His last album was a surprise.

"I'm surpirsed it's not Stormzy Everybody here talks about him all the time." She mentioned when they started.

"Nah, though I love him, and his music, he's very clever. But Kendrick is more honest." They danced to the upbeat songs and Harry shocked her when he pulled her close and danced up on her a little. She tried to chalk it up to the wine, but the feeling of his thighs cradling her ass was gonna follow her into her bedroom, into sleep, and maybe forever.

By the end of the second bottle, they'd gotten the munchies and were raiding the fridge.

"Should we do take out?" He asked.

"Nah, let's cook something." And they spent an hour making squash stuffed with quinoa scented with maple syrup. He was a good cook too. Fucker.

"Can we do my honorable mentions now?" He asked after they had popped the third bottle of wine and were sleepy and full and a little wine drunk.

He was on the couch and she was sure her jaw was gonna unhinge when he stayed stretched out and opened his arms like he wanted her to come lay with him.

"Do you want to?" She made some idiotic motion between them.

"Yeah, I sat my headphones down in the kitchen and can't be fucked to go get them. We can just play it out. Come cuddle me."

How could she say no to that. Should she disclose her ear buds were nearby? What didn't he have ear buds? She went to him and laid down. Because the opportunity was too compelling.

They listened to Dark Side of the Moon, well he did and she mostly listened to his heart.

When he put on Otis Redding, well, she already thought she was in trouble. She was hoping he hadn't given her coronavirus, but if he kept acting like this, she was gonna have caught more than a bug, and she was sure it would last more than 14 days, or three weeks, or however long the world was on pause.

Feelings didn't have a pause.

She was trying to figure out if she was too tipsy to get herself off him gracefully, when she realized he was asleep. She looked up at his smooth face, all gorgeous angles and bright spots.

She was infected.

Elise was steady on her feet while escaping up to her room. She was less steady as she revisited her morning musings. Harry wasn't a Toru, he wasn't an Everyman, he wasn't like anybody she'd ever met.

He was lightning in the night.

Elise was surprised she hadn't gotten anxious yet? Normally she would be itching to go, do. She wasn't even missing the parks she had on her list of things to do. She felt content.

It must be that she felt excited most days to go downstairs, to see what she and Harry would get up to on any given day of their quarantine. She had loved dance time tonight, and she'd plug in headphones and share conspiratorial smiles over Harry Nilsson with Harry Styles any day.

There was a part of her that wanted to listen to this with him. Have him explain it to her. She'd liked it the time she had listened. Liked the singles enough to stream and download them.

Elise imagines laying next to him on the couch as the"dun-dunnnunas" started playing in her ears.

She didn't think much at any sensations for the next forty minutes, she let herself drift away on Harry's Fine Line. She had to listen again to answer her earlier question about whether Harry was melancholy or merry.

He was both, she decided.

Maybe he just needed to see that he was a fine line too. And the duality between sad boy and pop star was what made him everybody's favorite fixation.

Elise knew she was a fine line as well, she hoped she ended up alright.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #quarantine fic #day four #the one with the metaphors

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alloftheimagines · 5 years ago

Text

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part two

masterlist | series masterlist | part one

words: 1k+

warnings: mentions of death, arguing, smoking

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter. sorry this has no billy in it but I want my OC to be as much a part of the story as the other characters and you do get dad!hopper and sister!el.

summary: she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

"Look at that," Hopper says by way of greeting, a disapproving look on his face as Frances shuts the door behind her. He and El are sat at the table, microwave dinners still in their plastic containers in front of them. He doesn't even bother to use goddamn plates anymore. "She decided to grace us with her presence."

In response, Frances flashes him a sarcastic grin, taking a seat at the table. The chair wobbles under her weight, far from sturdy. The furniture had been here almost as long as the cabin itself, and it wasn't hard to tell with the damp wood that had never dried and the looming feeling that all of it would crumble beneath them if they so much as sneezed too loudly.

El sits opposite her, picking gingerly at her peas with a fork—a metal one, thank god. Frances has saved a real smile for her, and El returns it, though even now, after almost a year, her big brown eyes are like a deer's caught in headlights.

"You wanna tell me where you've been?" Hopper questions, mouth half-full with food as he scrapes around for the last few pieces. "You promised me you'd be here tonight, Frances."

"I was with Jonathan. I lost track of time." The lie came naturally now, though she and Jonathan barely spent any time together outside of school anymore.

"Funny, since he was looking for you on my way home. Told me you made a dash for it after school. You kids still play hide and seek or are you lying to me?"

She pauses, blushing despite herself. "Maybe we were feeling nostalgic."

"Don't lie to me, Frances." His sarcasm was gone, replaced by a severity that surprised even her. "You said you'd come straight home after school. The kid needs you here."

"I'm not a babysitter," she spat back, standing up and causing the chair's legs to screech against the floorboards. "I was busy."

"Doing what? Chain-smoking?" He drops his fork and towers over her, his blue eyes piercing as her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. Gravy has splattered against his shirt. "I can smell it on you."

Frances raises an eyebrow. "You sure that's not your own breath?"

Inhaling sharply, Hopper closes his eyes for a moment, fists pressed against the table angrily. "You're unbelievable."

"Stop," El whispers, drawing Frances's attention away from her father.

Hopper pinches the bridge of his nose, and when he opens his eyes and looks at her again, his eyes are steely. "You're grounded." His voice is low, steady. "I want you home at three every night for the rest of the week. No going out this weekend, either. You disobey me again and that camera can find a home in my locked desk. How's that?"

Frances clutches the camera instinctively, narrowing her eyes. "Fine," she says finally, pushing her chair back under the table and walking to her room. She closes the door behind her, letting out a ragged breath as she pulls the camera from her neck and places it on her desk.

Her eyes drift to the window, where the forest is bathed in shadows and the moonlight floods through the branches, casting fractured, pointed silhouettes onto her face. The nature used to be a comfort to her, but now she can't help but imagine them creeping in the darkness, waiting for blood.

A small knock on the door breaks her out of her reverie, and she jumps, shutting the curtains quickly and turning on her lamp to light the room in a soft, rosy glow. When she turns around, she finds El standing in the doorway, hand still on the door knob as though she's debating whether she should come in.

"Hey," Frances greets softly. El presses her lips together — her version of a shy smile — and enters, the door clicking shut behind her. "I'm sorry for fighting in front of you. You shouldn't have to put up with that. And I'm sorry for not coming home earlier."

"It's okay," she shrugs, planting herself sheepishly on Frances's bed, causing a few of the teddies propped against the wall to tumble.

"No, it's not." Frances collapses beside her, taking her hand. "It wasn't your fault. If you weren't here, we'd find something else to argue about."

"Like?"

Frances sighs. "Like how he drinks too much and is never around. Like how after Sa..." She swallows, her sister's name getting stuck in her throat.

"Sarah?" El questions, understanding.

At the sound of her name, tears prick in Frances's eyes. She blinks them back, looking away from El as she replies. "Yes."

"You miss her."

"Yes," Frances breathes, finding the one photograph she has left of herself and Barb tucked in her mirror opposite. They're smiling at the request of Barb's mother, a documentation of their first day of high school. Frances's right arm has fallen naturally over Barb's shoulders, and she stands on her tiptoes to maintain the pose while Barb stands hunched, books tucked under her arm and glasses she hadn't yet grown into slightly askew. "I miss a lot of people."

El follows her gaze, squeezing Frances's hand tightly. It snaps Frances out of her daze, and she wipes her eyes quickly, uncaring if it smudges her cheap mascara. "You wanna read before bed tonight? Make up for me coming in late?"

Eleven nods, grabbing the book they were in the middle of from the bedside table and handing it to Frances. The book was tattered, the spine near falling apart, but it had been Sarah's and Frances had never been able to bring herself to throw it away. At least now she had some use for it.

There is a sadness in her voice, thick and heavy as though something is caught in her throat, as she reads to El softly. She hears her door creak halfway through, feels her father's watchful eyes on her, but she makes no effort to turn around.

She finds herself wondering when her family became this.

part three

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louistomlinsoncouk · 5 years ago

Link

Q&A: Louis Tomlinson On 'Kill My Mind,' Taylor Swift, Oasis And More

Louis Tomlinson released his invigorating new single, the indie-rock leaning "Kill My Mind," this past week. The song has become an instant hit, earning raves from his massive fan base and critics.

When I spoke to him by phone this past Friday morning as he was leaving rehearsal for an upcoming show in Madrid, Spain, he said, "With this song I feel like I'm finally comfortable musically."

As a fan who grew up on bands like Oasis and the criminally underrated British band James, both of whom were featured on Tomlinson's recent playlist of "Kill My Mind," influences, Tomlinson is very excited to explore his rock side.

I spoke with Tomlinson about what led to the new direction musically, the love he still has for One Direction fans, why he admires Taylor Swift's social media skills and Liam Gallagher's rock star attitude and more.

Steve Baltin: How gratifying has the response to "Kill My Mind" been?

Louis Tomlinson: I think for anyone who works creatively it's always important to take risks and get out of your comfort zone a little bit. But, for me, with this song I feel like I'm finally really comfortable musically. I think I played around with a few different sounds on my previous singles. And I think I really found my home now. Before I was kind of making music that I think I assumed was the music I was supposed to make as opposed to just following my heart and doing what I love. I feel really comfortable and really confident in this song.

Baltin: It's comfortable for you, but for the fans it is still a little new. So that's what I meant about the response being gratifying.

Tomlinson: Yeah, you're right. It's taking a risk I suppose with the fan base. But I think also where I'm lucky and what my fans have reacted to is they see how comfortable I am and how natural this is for ne. And I think they feed into that. The reaction has been absolutely incredible, it has been amazing. I feel great about the whole process.

Baltin: Do you feel like you are more comfortable in general as you get older and that is extending to music?

Tomlinson: Yeah, and I think as you grow up you're more confident and use your experience and trust yourself really. I think in this process it was important for me to trust myself cause when I first played the song for the record labels they were probably a little bit shocked, when I say record labels I mean my American label and UK label, but very excited. I think it's very important to push the boundaries and it makes me feel a lot better.

Baltin: Do you feel like this is the direction you want to grow musically?

Tomlinson: It's definitely taught me a lot and the reaction being so great, like the playlist I uploaded, this is a lot of my inspiration and a lot of my influences. I think this is probably the biggest statement off the album.I wrote this song with the deliberate intention of feeling a little bit shocking and exciting.

Baltin: Is "Kill My Mind" indicative or does it set the tone for the rest of the album?

Tomlinson: Definitely, I did a long of songwriting over the last two to three years and I've worked with a lot of different people. I wrote three or four songs with Jamie Hartman, who's obviously on "Kill My Mind." And that was the first of that bunch and it made the songwriting after that a lot easier. One thing I did just want to mention is on the sonics of the song, other songs I released were really emotionally heavy. It was a great song for me and I needed to get it off my chest, but that's also kind of what made me excited also about the sound of "Kill My Mind" and the album kind of following on from that. It feels exciting, fun and nostalgic as opposed to being too emotionally heavy cause I didn't want to be defined as an artist who writes sad songs. That's now what I want to be.

Baltin: But every great artist has that diversity, from Elton John to the Stones, they have that range of sad songs and rock tracks. Who are those artists that inspire you for their evolution and range?

Tomlinson: It's a good question because sometimes in music, I'm not gonna mention any names, you get those bands that follow the radio trends. You lose a bit of identity and who they are as artists. If I think about my favorite band ever, Oasis, and I think about Liam Gallagher, I think it's almost as impressive he's retained such a strong and well-known sound, but still makes it different enough and exciting enough. People have been listening to Liam Gallagher for however many years and still they're interested.

Baltin: I have interviewed Liam multiple times and part of what makes him so special as an artist is he just doesn't give a damn.

Tomlinson: No he don't (laughs). It's refreshing.

Baltin: Going back to the playlist, James for example is a band I love. It's interesting because it often takes time when making a record to gain perspective on what a song or record is about. Did you feel all these influences right away or did it take a minute to hear them?

Tomlinson: I think that playlist, when I put it together, it was kind of a combination of general inspiration to me across my life and also specific to that song. But where I'm from in England, the North of England, that band sound was very prominent anywhere. And it's something that I've always loved and is a little bit different to your average One Direction fan's music choice. I've made some other playlists as well. It's really amazing for me for fans of mine who haven't heard someone like a Sam Fender, unbelievable, and just to get that moment of me sharing what I love listening to music and them giving their feedback is really nice.

Baltin: What would be the coolest thing you could hear someone say about these songs you turned them on to?

Tomlinson: For me, I'm big on lyrics and I suppose that's why I mentioned Sam Fender, I think he is a fantastic lyricist. And if there's a song or a lyric or something that I resonate with and then I get feedback from the fans that they also like that, it makes us feel even more connected and even more on the same page. And social media in general, obviously that is a massive conversation and there are of course pros and cons and everyone can be on social media less. But the amazing thing for me is it gives me a chance to have a real, genuine, direct relationship with my fans. I know that I wouldn't feel as close to my fans without social media. What is great when Taylor Swift, and she is f**king amazing with her fans, does these listening parties and brings fans to the house, the involvement of the fans is never ending. Nobody knows better than these people. So I'm always looking for clever and different ways to involve them and feel like they're included in the whole creative.

Baltin: Talk about how bringing this song to the stage excites you and also invigorates other older songs as well.

Tomlinson: Yeah, and that I have trouble with, putting a set list together because there are certain songs that fans gravitate to. I feel like, especially with my earlier couple of songs, like the Steve Aoki song, I love the song and it was a great song for me at the time, but musically it feels so different to where I'm at with "Kill My Mind" that we actually did completely strip that and start again and made a bit of an indie-pop version of it, my version of it. So it fits more in line with the rest of the stuff.

Baltin: What songs are you excited to bring to the stage and see how people respond to them?

Tomlinson: Well "Kill My Mind" obviously, I'm very excited to do that live. It's a song that naturally leans to a good live show. So that's an obvious one. But I think there are a couple of, on the album in general, songs that are written with fans in mind. So a little bit more sentimental songs and those are always special moments where, like you say, I can make eye contact with people in the first few rows and I can watch their brains thinking about the lyrics and how it relates to them.

#louis tomlinson #kill my mind promo #kmm: forbes #wow #08sep19

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dailytomlinson · 5 years ago