#what do you mean it is the style that I love the most
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RIBBON a harry styles christmas one-shot; 15.4k words cw: intercourse (m/f) summary: harry, a cynic during the holidays, meets marianne, who turns his holiday blues into the prettiest colors of reds, greens, and whites. happy holidays <3
The only thing that Harry hated more than Christmas was the obligational Christmas parties that would precede it.
Anything that revolved around Christmas seemed to harsh his mellow; it was a build up to a day that truly didn’t seem to mean anything to him. He wasn’t religious, wasn’t surrounded by the family anyone would call supportive or happy, and most of all, he was alone most of the time beside his friends that seemed to keep him grounded. But they all had lives, families of their own to celebrate with.
Maybe it was because he never felt the joy in it—the simplicity of laying around the fire in the morning, sipping coffee as he looked out at the snow falling in heaps from the sky.
The holidays felt like a chore, like something people did because they always felt that they had to. Harry didn’t want to, so he just chose not to. Maybe that disillusioned cynicism led him to be more Scrooge than Frosty, but his hatred of the color red, twinkling fairy lights, and eggnog didn’t seem to cease when he was walking towards a house with a gift tucked under his arm, and a bottle of red wine was held in his other hand.
His friend, Manuel, had invited him for a holiday party—while he had attempted to say no, the office where he worked seemed to convince him that it wasn’t just about the party, but more about the conversations and refreshments that would also be involved. Drinking was a hobby that Harry could definitely get behind, so he found the bit of holiday joy in him.
Just for an hour, anyways, he had told himself.
Harry had been sat at his desk, staring at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. It mocked him, a silent reminder of the article he had promised to deliver three days ago, but had been caught up on his phrasing, which meant that his true journalistic tendencies had given him the worst imposter syndrome since he had begun working there over five-years prior.
The topic was festive cheer in London—a piece meant to capture the magic of the holidays for his editor’s seasonal roundup. But every time he tried to summon the right words, his mind wandered to the irony of it all.
Harry, the self-proclaimed Grinch of his social circle, tasked with romanticizing a season he barely tolerated. Yet, there he had been, writing about the holiday markets, sending letters to Santa, and the most festive places to find the holiday lights.
The idea of writing about twinkling lights and joyful carolers felt disingenuous, like trying to paint over a gray sky with glitter. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe he’d made a mistake trying to test his abilities on writing what he didn’t know—he had decided to try something new in taking on a project that he didn’t necessarily love. He was good at writing what he liked, so he was trying his hand in writing something he knew nothing about.
Now, the only person to hold accountable for choosing this was himself. It mocked him; Harry’s cynicism made every attempt to write about holiday joy feel like a bad joke.
It was then that he heard Manuel approach his desk, a sly look on his face as he started off with, ‘I know that you probably won’t come, but.’. Harry had rolled his eyes, but kept the smile on his face to let his friend and coworker know that he wasn’t just doing this for the holiday, but that he was still a good member of society, and a social one, at that.
So, instead of complaining, he had found a small gift for Manuel and his girlfriend, Franny—again, against everything that Harry was, and found it in himself to at least look the part of joyful.
When he had approached their home, Manuel looked him over with a already drunken, precarious smile that welcomed him as soon as the door opened.
“There he is,” Manuel laughed, pulling Harry inside, “Didn’t get the memo that you were supposed to wear red or green, but I guess I can’t be picky.”
Harry looked down at the black jumper that coated his body, the black denim pants making him stand out against the bright, bold colors of the holiday season. He handed Manuel the small gift—which was a puzzle of Dachshunds with Santa hats sitting around a fireplace. He knew that Manuel and Franny had two, so he was a bit chuffed with himself that he could find a gift that would actually make sense.
“Red and green just aren’t my colors,” Harry told him with a smirk. “Coal is black—still Christmas themed.”
Manuel laughed, “Only for the bad boys and girls.”
Harry shrugged with the same smirk that he had been wearing; Manuel took Harry’s coat, along with the gift and led him to the kitchen. “You can put the wine there in the kitchen—feel free to open it and get yourself a glass.”
The flat was already buzzing with the chatter of partygoers and the faint strains of Christmas music when Harry arrived. The scent of mulled wine and spiced biscuits lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional waft of a fresh pine wreath hung by the door.
Warm fairy lights draped across the walls cast a golden glow over the room, illuminating the sea of faces as people laughed and mingled, their cheeks rosy from the warmth and alcohol. It seemed that Harry knew most people here���knew was also a strong word, but he had been familiar with a lot of the faces here.
Harry could hear bursts of laughter coming from the kitchen, where someone was loudly debating the merits of figgy pudding and the actual necessity for fruitcake in the holiday season. The whole scene was a chaotic patchwork of holiday cheer, meticulously curated to appear effortless. He scanned the room, his writer’s mind noting every detail as potential material, before grabbing a glass of mulled wine from a nearby table and retreating to the sidelines.
Manuel’s place was decorated within an inch of its life: fairy lights twinkled around every doorway, garlands adorned the walls, and a massive Christmas tree dominated the living room, its branches weighed down by an excess of ornaments—each one meticulously placed. Harry stood with his glass of mulled wine from the kitchen and tried to blend into the background, his writer’s mind quietly cataloging the clichés for potential use later.
That was the way his mind worked, using every ounce of inspiration he needed was standing in this room with him.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The voice caught him off guard from his studying of the atmosphere. He turned to see a woman standing beside him, her dark hair tied up in a loose bun as strands fell into her face. She had an easy smile and the kind of confidence that put people at ease; the reindeer on her sweater was wearing an elf hat, which Harry took note of quite quickly.
“It’s... definitely festive,” Harry said, lifting his glass took take a small sip of the warm liquid, nodding to himself. He hadn’t recognized the woman, not knowing if she had worked in his building or not.
“Festive?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing in mock offense. “You’re not a Grinch, are you?”
Harry took a moment to look at her, wondering if she had been serious with her approach. When she saw her smirk and lifted eyebrow, he bit the inside of his lip and shrugged at her.
“I prefer the term ‘realist’,” he countered. “But sure, I guess we can villainize the term with ‘Grinch’.”
She laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made him smile despite his deepest will to not show any smile at all.
“Marianne,” she said, extending her hand out to him; her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, almost matching the doe-like creature on her sweater. Her lashes fluttered, long and full of volume to brighten them in a way that Harry felt intrigued by.
“Harry.” He shook her hand, noting the faint speck of paint on her knuckles. “Artist?”
“Teacher,” she corrected. “And you?”
“Uh, a writer,” He nodded, referencing Manuel who had been standing next to the tree, talking to a few other coworkers of his, “I work with Manuel, actually. Same agency. Currently battling a deadline, actually. Thought I’d come tonight to find some… inspiration.”
“Ah, the glamorous life of the creatively tortured,” Marianne teased, which made Harry’s heart skip a beat at the nonchalance of her wit, “What are you writing about?”
Harry sniffled, feeling his body get warmer at the thought of her initial intrigue; she was watching him intently.
“Uh, well,” He swallowed, “Really just writing about the festivity of London during the holiday season. What makes everyone so happy this time of year. That kind of thing.” Harry looked down into his cup, almost like he had been ashamed that he was unable to come up with those areas in his life.
Marianne nodded in understanding, humming along as she thought about it.
“You’ve really got that ‘I’d rather be anywhere else then here’ look, which is ironic considering this party is practically a Hallmark movie, and I’m not sure I know anyone that would pass up a comfy little Hallmark movie.”
Harry felt the smirk he had been wearing continue to creep up on his face. “Don’t let Manuel hear you say that. He’s very proud of his aesthetic,” Harry looked at the 8ft tall tree, “Lots of… color.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Did you see the mistletoe over the door? Also, very subtle.”
Harry turned towards the mistletoe that he had been standing underneath in the doorway from the kitchen space to the living space. A flush grew on his face as he took a few steps forward.
Marianne noticed, biting the inside of her cheek at his forward awkwardness before she took in a breath.
Harry licked over his lips before he turned back towards her, “So, how do you know Manuel and Franny?”
Marianne held onto her own mulled wine taking a gracious sip, her other hand in her back pocket before blinking a few times. “Uh, well, I work with Franny, actually. We work across the hall from one another.”
It occurred to Harry that he recalled Franny being a teacher, “Oh, right—I knew that. I mean—I knew that she was a teacher.” He corrected himself. His eyes looked up at the television that had started to play Last Christmas, people’s faces were audibly excited to hear it. Harry took in a breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sound of it.
Marianne hummed, “Yeah, she teaches older kids, but I’m with the little ones,” She showed him her knuckles again, “As you can see by the lack of coloring inside the lines.”
Taking another long swig of the mulled wine, Harry cleared his throat noticing that it had gone down rather smoothly. His shoulder was bumped by someone trying to get by, and he took a step towards Marianne. But this time, he was tackled by the smell of an ocean breeze, coconuts and the salty air.
He furrowed his brows before shaking his head.
Harry glanced at her knuckles, biting back a smile now that he was a bit closer to her. “You have the hands of someone who truly understands chaos.” He teased her dryly, licking his lips to taste the subtly of the mulled wine remnants.
Marianne raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Ah, yes, artist. I think some artists may be offended by the comparison. Don’t expect me to pull out the crayons and start coloring in the lines with you, Harry.”
Harry chuckled, the sound light and easy, then his gaze flickered back to the TV, where the first few notes of Last Christmas were filling the room. Again. He groaned, shaking his head. “If I hear that chorus one more time tonight, I might just start questioning my life choices.”
“Poor Harry,” Marianne said dryly, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Are you going to cry into your mulled wine now? Do I need to get you a tissue?”
“My empty mulled wine cup,” Harry shot back, half-joking. “I mean, it’s basically a Christmas carol written by a sadistic mastermind who knew exactly how to ruin people’s will to live. It’s basically Stockholm Syndrome in song form,” He rolled his eyes, “But I only give it a small pass because it’s Wham!”
Marianne snorted into her drink, clearly trying not to laugh. “Honestly, though, I get it,” She raised her brows, “The Wham! part, I mean. I love George Michael.”
Harry said, a playful edge to the tone in his voice. “We’re all trapped in this toxic cycle of holiday cheer, Marianne. How are we supposed to be happy in the state of the world?”
Marianne shot him a look, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right? Did Santa spit in your eggnog? Maybe you should think more about being thankful that your world is supplying mulled wine and Last Christmas on repeat rather than the worst parts of the world right now.”
“Sounds kind of dirty.” Harry said, leaning in with a grin, ignoring her attempt to turn his thoughts around, “Don’t want to think of Santa spitting anything.”
Marianne flushed at his comment, “Oh, so you’re freaky, too? Who thinks of Santa doing salacious acts?”
“You’re telling me Santa isn’t getting it on up there?” Harry quipped, “You’re telling me there’s other things to do in the North Pole than having salacious affairs with his wife?”
Marianne’s eyes widened in mock horror, and she nearly choked on her mulled wine. “I—what? Oh my god, Harry, stop.” She quickly wiped her mouth, though her face was flushed with both laughter and embarrassment. “I did not sign up for this version of Santa Claus. I’m just trying to have a holiday conversation here, and you’ve turned it into... whatever this is.”
Harry leaned back with an exaggerated look of innocence, grinning ear to ear. “What? You’re telling me you never wondered why Santa is so jolly all the time? Living in the coldest place on Earth... how do you think they stay warm?”
Marianne rolled her eyes, her expression a perfect blend of disbelief and amusement by his conversation. She hadn’t found this kind of conversation all night. “I don’t even know where to begin with that. First, no one needs to know about Santa's... extracurricular activities. And second, you're really going to make me picture Santa in some very inappropriate situations, aren’t you?”
Marianne reached into the kitchen, grabbing an open bottle of red wine before pouring more into each of their cups.
“Hey, I’m just trying to broaden your holiday perspective on the why,” Harry teased, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe you’ve been too focused on mulled wine and Christmas carols and not enough on the real holiday truth of it all.”
Marianne let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be exasperated, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Yeah, because Santa's private life is exactly what we need to be focusing on. Forget world peace. Forget the spirit of giving. Let's talk about Santa's salacious affairs with Mrs. Claus, maybe that’s what will save our Christmas joy.”
“I’m just saying,” Harry shrugged with a playful grin, “some things need to be looked at a bit more closely.”
“Well, maybe it’s you that needs to be unpacked,” Marianne quipped, she raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I think this may have some underlying tones for you. I saw you walk away from the mistletoe, but,” She bit her lip, “Maybe you’re ignoring some aspects of your life.”
Harry looked into his cup, pursing his lips to the side before he felt a chuckle leave him.
“All I’m saying is ff I’m not here, who will remind you that everything isn’t as wholesome as it seems?”
“True,” she said, taking a longer, deliberate sip of her drink, clearly still flustered but enjoying the chaos of the conversation. “But next time, could we please talk about something that doesn’t involve Santa Claus' imaginary affairs, or the world’s most depressing Christmas carol?”
“You’re just mad I’m ruining this precariously false magic of Christmas for you,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “But, fine. Next topic: What’s your big Christmas wish this year? Aside from not having to think about Santa’s... extracurriculars.”
Marianne gave him a long, pointed look. “It’s for world peace and... if you make sure the wine stays full.”
“Well,” Harry grinned, taking the bottle that she had just sat down back on the table. He tilted it up pouring in a bit more to her cup, “that’s a wish I can definitely make come true.”
Her eyes narrowed for a split second as she studied him. “I mean, you’re tolerable. For now.” She took another sip of her wine, then leaned back against the wall, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “But honestly, I don’t know how you manage to be such a Scrooge with the Christmas spirit in the air.”
“I’m just realistic,” Harry replied, winking. “You can’t expect people to act like happy little elves when they’re being force-fed Last Christmas and peppermint lattes all month long. It’s exhausting.”
Marianne shook her head with a smile, clearly enjoying the banter between her and Harry now. “Maybe you just need to let loose a little. Have some fun. I don’t know... maybe kiss someone under the mistletoe or something.”
“Did the wine go straight to your head, then?” Harry’s grin widened as he met her gaze. “Is that an offer?”
Marianne shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference. “Only if you stop conspiring about Santa and his possible sexual affairs with Mrs. Claus. I must paint the holidays in a positive light for you, it seems.”
“Bold move,” Harry said with a half-laugh. “But I think I might need some help doing that, however, with your painting skills, I don’t know how well that will work.”
In a confident pass, Harry took a large step backwards, letting himself standing under the doorway that the obnoxiously large mistletoe had been hanging. Leaning against the doorframe, he took another large sip of the maroon wine before raising his brows at her.
Marianne soon felt a rush of adrenaline; her eyes landing on his green ones that had somehow been completely thought upon until they met in that moment. Taking a step or two, Marianne moves closer to him, letting her hand move to the nape of his neck. Taking the initiative, she let the distance between them close—her lips landing on his quicker than he had expected.
When they kissed, it was impulsive but electric, the kind of spark Harry hadn’t felt in a long time. His breath hitched as their lips met, the warmth of her touch grounding him in a way that startled him. Marianne’s fingers brushed against the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, while his free hand instinctively settled on her waist, pulling her closer. Their hips touched, brushing against each other.
For a moment, the room around them blurred—the music, the chatter, the festive chaos fading into an unimportant hum.
Harry’s mind raced, caught between the raw intensity of the moment and a nagging disbelief that this was actually happening. Marianne tasted faintly of mulled wine, her kiss both confident and exploratory, as if testing the boundaries of this unexpected connection. The steady rhythm of his breathing had grounded her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, both catching their breath even when neither had exerted any energy whatsoever. Something about it was breathtaking.
Harry chuckled softly, his voice low and a little unsteady. “Well, that was... unexpected.”
Marianne let her hand drop, a bit confused by his statement, “You knew it was coming, right?”
Harry blinked, swallowing as he shook his head then, “Oh—yeah. I wasn’t talking about… that.”
Marianne blinked a couple of times as if trying to process what just happened, seeing his eyes sparkle by the help of the twinkling lights that hung around the living space filled with people. But, in some odd way, she had found herself drawn to the one person who sat in the corner on his own.
“So, there you go,” Marianne took a step back, letting the space between them became vacant again, “Just making sure you are given the first-hand experience for your Christmas writing piece.”
Harry raised his eyebrows, a smug grin creeping across his face. “I’m just here for learning the traditions.” He looked in his cup, wondering how it was empty again. But the dizziness of his head had started to make more sense, he thought.
She tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but there was a flicker of humor in her eyes. “You know, I don’t think you’re as smooth as you think you are.”
“Hey, I’m just going with the flow,” Harry said, shrugging dramatically. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally charming. You were the one telling me I should take part in the mistletoe of it all.”
She narrowed her eyes, a hint of mischief in her smile. “Oh, I see how it is. You think this is your grand holiday conquest? I’m just one of many victims of your holiday charm?”
“Victims is a crazy word to describe yourself in this moment, Rudolph,” Harry’s thumb nudged the redness of her nose, knowing it was a fresh blush from the wine—possibly the kiss they partook in, “Now I’m the villain in your Christmas story? I was just trying to make your night a little more interesting.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” Marianne replied, her lips still slightly parted, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement at the way that he had certainly waltzed into her life. “But I’m going to need a little more than a holiday kiss to think you’re anything other than trouble. A quiet, Grinch sitting in the back of the Hallmark movie of a party. How do I get myself involved with your type?”
“Trouble?” Harry chuckled, leaning against the doorframe casually, still watching her with that confident smile. “I’m nothing but a good time, Marianne. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying yourself.”
“I’ll enjoy myself more when you stop making me think about Santa's love life,” she shot back quickly, her tone still playful at him. “You seriously ruined that whole festive fantasy for me, by the way.”
Harry grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “What can I say? I’m a truth-teller—it’s a gift. Someone has to keep you grounded in this reality.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “That’s what you think, huh? Well, I’ll admit, the night wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without you here. I had a conversation with someone who was a banker. Don’t know if I made great financial decisions this holiday season after that convo.”
Harry stepped forward again, not too close, just enough to keep the tension hanging between them. “I’m pretty sure that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night,” He licked over his lips, which he noticed she had taken quite an interest in, “Being a tortured poet, or whatever you called me.”
The words sat between them when Marianne tucked her hair behind her ear, the parts that had fallen out of the messy bun. The moment stretched between them, the playful tension still hanging in the air like the faint scent of mulled wine.
Harry broke the silence first, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced toward the door that he hadn’t walked in too long ago. “So… want to get out of here?”
Marianne blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion, but the idea wasn’t entirely unappealing—she was just a bit unsure that he had offered at all. She took a small step back, still holding onto her drink. “Really? Just like that?”
“Well, yeah,” Harry said, his grin widening as he stuck a hand in his pocket. “It’s the holiday season. The lights are up, the streets are empty, bit of snow on the ground... I don’t know. Seems like the kind of night you’re supposed to be doing something a little reckless.”
“Reckless, huh?” Marianne repeated, arching an eyebrow as she looked him over. “Is that the angle we’re going for now? I’m supposed to just follow some guy I barely know into the night and trust it’ll be… memorable?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping him. “Fair point. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. But, y’know… it could be fun. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to exchange deep secrets or anything.”
“Right,” she said, her voice slightly guarded but still curious at his intentions. “A walk could be good. In the cold. And no deep secrets—got it.”
Harry took a step closer, his eyes flicking to the door as if to give her the opening to say no if he was being a bit too forward. But he felt that he had been listening to and reading the signals correctly. “Well, if you’re not too afraid of a little adventure, I’d be happy to escort you around.”
She gave him a look, trying to read him, her lips quirking up at the corners despite herself. “I don’t know. A walk with a guy I just met. Seems a little… risky.”
“That’s the fun of it,” Harry said, his voice lowering slightly, his smile taking on an edge of uncertainty as if he was testing the waters himself. “Who needs safety when you’ve got the Christmas lights and a bit of mulled wine to keep us warm, right?”
“Mm, right,” Marianne murmured, her eyes flicking between his, the flicker of doubt still there but quickly overshadowed by something else entirely. “You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”
“It’s the innate journalist in me,” he answered with a soft chuckle. “But maybe I just really want to know where this night goes, and it’s something I have to investigate for myself.”
She paused, still unsure, but the weight of the moment—the chance to step outside her own box, to experience something unexpected—tempted her. “Okay, fine. But only for a little bit,” she warned, her voice light but serious, as though setting a boundary. “I’ll have to get my coat.”
“I’ll make no promises,” Harry replied, grinning. “But I’ll try my best.”
Marianne took a deep breath, then reached for her coat that had been hanging by the front door. When she had moved towards the door, he turned towards the open bottle of wine, taking it in his hands nonchalantly, hiding it against him before following her.
“Here, take this,” He handed the bottle to her, putting on his own coat, finding it within himself to tease her further, “Figure we don’t need a cup. Already shared lips, and all that.”
Marianne rolled her eyes, attempting to be disgusted by his charm but it was seemingly working against her.
“Alright. Let’s go, then. But I’m warning you—I’m not some easy Christmas miracle.”
Harry’s eyes sparkled as he held the door open for her. “You don’t have to be, but I’m already smiling in the face of a ten-foot tree filled with nutcrackers and elves, so you’re already doing something right.”
As they stepped outside into the crisp winter air, slipping away from the noise of the party, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that this walk—this simple, uncertain step into the night—was somehow an attempt at him moving outside of his sheltered, inhabitable box. But, then again, they barely knew each other. It could be awkward. It could be nothing. Yet, as the chilly air hit his skin, he found himself hoping for a little something.
Their conversation meandered from the absurdities of Christmas traditions to a shared love of books. With each few steps, Harry took a sip, passing the bottle to Marianne before she’d stop at a house and marvel at the lights that covered the snowy homes.
Marianne lit up as she described her favorite art books, her hands animated as she talked about the way colors and brushstrokes could evoke emotion. Harry, in turn, shared his fascination with biographies, his voice gaining energy as he recounted tales of writers and their chaotic lives.
“So, what’s the most pretentious book you’ve ever read?” Marianne asked, a teasing glint in her eye as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her long coat.
“Easy,” Harry replied, his breath frosty in the air. "Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. Took me two years to get through it, and I’m still not sure I understood half of it."
She laughed, tilting her head. "Two years? That’s dedication. I gave up on it after fifty pages. Life’s too short for that much existential pastry talk."
“Pastry talk?” Harry chuckled.
“You know, the whole madeleine thing? It’s like an entire chapter about a biscuit or tea cake or whatever the hell it was. Something about taking the time to look back.”
Harry smirked at the way that she described it, almost laughing at her memory. “Fair point. What about you? What’s the most overrated book on your shelf, then?”
"The Great Gatsby," she said without hesitation. "It’s just rich people being sad."
Harry gasped in mock offense. "That’s a classic! That actually has a good point to it.”
"Sure, if you like a story where everyone’s miserable and nobody learns anything and it doesn’t even have a happy ending—Daisy just succumbs to societal pressure, and Gatsby lets her get away. And Tom is a fucked-up man with residual trauma and blood on his hands."
Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over at her, clearly intrigued by the passion in her voice over talking about the story. His own thoughts and curiosity raging inside of him as he continues to question and push her thoughts, “But I still think there's something about the way it captures the illusions we all chase, right? The idea that money can buy happiness—or at least the appearance of it. Gatsby just sits in that large house, waiting, and longing for something that money can’t buy him.”
Marianne snorted, kicking a small patch of snow off the sidewalk as they walked. "That’s exactly it. It’s like a big, glittery metaphor for capitalism. Everyone’s just pretending to be happy, but underneath, they’re all screwed up. Like… it’s not even about Gatsby wanting Daisy—it's about him wanting the dream she represents. The 'American Dream' that’s totally unattainable and hollow, if you ask me."
Harry gave a low whistle. "Okay, you're really passionate about this." He smirked, trying to tease her, but buying into to rile her up more, "Maybe you're right. Or maybe I just like reading about rich people doing dumb things. It's... comforting in its own way."
Marianne shot him a side-eye, amused by his statement. "You would. You’re probably one of those people who reads Gatsby with a glass of scotch in hand, pretending to understand the intricacies of wealth and how the story itself was stolen in the first place."
Harry took a swig of the bottle of wine, handing it over to her, kicking a bit of snow himself. "Okay, maybe not the scotch part, but... you can't say it isn't fascinating. The idea that these people are stuck in their own version of the dream, but none of them can see how messed up it is because they’re just blind to their own misery. Gatsby is kind of tragic, in that way."
Marianne raised an eyebrow, her breath misting in the cold air. "I’ll give you that," she said, turning to face him, a teasing smile on her lips. "Maybe you're not as much of a lost cause as I thought. Understanding tragedy in a way that Shakespeare would be proud of."
Marianne took her own swig of the bottle; the warmth of her fingers was thankful for the liquor flowing through her veins.
Harry grinned, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets as they walked through the snow, the soft crunch of their footsteps blending with the gentle fall of flakes around them; he grinned at the sight of them falling from the dark sky. "Do you think it’s a love story? Gatsby?”
Marianne shook her head, laughing softly. "It’s not a love story. It’s an existential crisis in a green light. A beautiful, well-written existential crisis."
"Now who’s the cynic?" Harry remarked, his tone warm despite the teasing. "You know, for someone who seems to always look on the bright side, you’re sure good at analyzing all these sad, tragic romantic stories."
She shrugged nonchalantly, her breath visible in the cold before she felt a ping in her chest that was going to lead them down a different road of conversation.
"Sometimes the most realistic thing about life is that it doesn't end the way we want it to. And that’s fine. People don’t always get happy endings. So, yeah, maybe I’m a cynic in that way, but I do try to think about happy endings. But I think the stories that end badly are the ones that have the most to say."
Harry’s eyes lingered on her, a little more serious than before. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe we just don’t know how to recognize a good ending when it’s staring us in the face. So used to being cynical you forget there are happy parts sprinkled into the story.”
For a moment, the lightness of the conversation faltered, the cool air between them carrying a heavier silence. Then, as if breaking the spell, Harry smiled, nudging her with his elbow. “But hey, I’m still not convinced Gatsby was a waste of time. He had a plan—he had the right idea for how to be romantic, but it just didn’t turn out in his favor that time. At least it’s better than reading a book about some random guy pretending to be some tragic, tortured soul who ends up alone, right?”
Marianne shot him a smirk at his placed words. “You wouldn’t happen to be describing yourself, would you?”
Harry’s grin grew wider, shaking his head. "Well, I did just say I wasn't the tragic type—so... guess we’ll never know."
Marianne felt the laughter dance out of her, the sound light and genuine, and they both slipped back into an easy rhythm as the snowflakes danced around them, each of them lost in the moment but strangely at ease with one another despite how little they really knew about each other.
Their banter flowed easily, the conversation peppered with playful jabs and surprising insights. By the time the topic shifted to their favorite holiday stories, the space between them had shrunk. Harry found himself watching the way Marianne’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, while she noticed the way his face softened when he spoke about writing. The connection between them deepened, unspoken but undeniable, as the night carried on.
As the night wore on, their banter became more flirtatious, the space between them shrinking until they were leaning in closer than necessary, arms practically touching each time they would stop to linger and look at the lights of the house. The way that the wine worked was in their favor, letting them be loose with the spirit of the holidays wrapping around them—even if Harry hadn’t expected it.
When they were stopped for a moment, Marianne turned her head into a tilt as she stared at the house in front of them. There happened to be a slur in her words as she mumbled out, “I have a bad astigmatism, and don’t have my glasses on, so these lights are kind of wigging me out. Feels like I’m on one and I really don’t know how I feel about the stupid light up gnomes.”
Harry bit his lip as he started to laugh at her remarks, trying his best to keep it inside. But when she turned to look at him, she noticed that the dimples in his cheeks were trying extraordinarily hard not to bust out laughing—which in turn, made her start to laugh even harder.
Tears started to build up in her eyes as she found it harder to breathe then, pulling her sweater over her face. She used her hand to push at Harry slightly, “Stop laughing,” She said, finding her breath, pointing her finger at him.
But it didn’t stop—he didn’t stop. Instead, he found himself laughing harder. Marianne wiped at her eyes, feeling the coolness of her fingers before shaking her head.
Harry let out a snicker, still grinning from the laugh she’d triggered. "I’m sorry, but you’ve got to admit it’s hilarious. Gnomes, really? Someone got paid and spent their money on Christmas gnomes? Horrifying. Especially if you can’t see that well."
Marianne rolled her eyes, trying to fight off the smile that threatened to spread across her face. "You're awful. I’m out here having a moment with these damn lights, and you're over here cackling like some evil villain."
Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening at her accusations. Unfortunately, his lips hurt from the amount of smiling he had done that evening, "I can't help it! You’re too easy to amuse. You’re all serious about gnomes, and then—" He stopped himself, letting out a breath of laughter. "Sorry. Can we pretend I’m a gentleman for, like, five more seconds? I liked that part of the night."
She bit back another laugh, wiping at her eyes. "You are ridiculous. You know that, right?"
"Hey, I’m just appreciating the moment." Harry stepped closer, trying to hold his composure. "Look, we’re out here in the snow, freezing our asses off. Gnomes are the least of our worries, except if you’re you."
Marianne tilted her head slightly, her eyes still glinting when she took another close look at him. "Yeah, maybe we should get out of here before it gets worse."
Harry’s expression was far too immodest to hide from her, suddenly looking at her with the same glitter in his eyes that he had shown he before stepping under the mistletoe. “And you were the one saying it was too risky to go on a walk. Now you’re taking me home? Sounds like a perfect excuse to find somewhere warm.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, the weight of his words starting to sink in as she felt herself warming from the inside out. “I mean, if you’re cold, I do have a warm place nearby,” she said, her tone garnered in a bit of a tease now, though a little less controlled than before.
Harry’s expression shifted, a teasing spark in his eyes as he tilted his head. “A warm place, huh? What, like Mrs. Claus, offering me a drink to get me in out of the snow?”
Marianne found herself laughing again, shaking her head. "You’re seriously comparing me to Mrs. Claus now? Maybe I’ll just have to start baking cookies to seal the deal."
"Honestly, though, that’s probably how she got Santa in bed." Harry smirked, crossing his arms as he gave her a sideways glance; he rolled his eyes in a bit of mocking manner, “I mean, you can’t just offer someone warmth without it leading somewhere.”
Marianne chuckled, shaking her head but giving him a sidelong glance to match his. “Oh, you think you're that irresistible, huh?”
“I mean… you’re the one inviting me to warm up at your place,” Harry stepped closer, his voice lowering, the flirtation more obvious now. “So, if the shoe fits.”
She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar at the way his gaze softened, but she shook it off, trying to keep the conversation light. "Alright, alright. If you’re really that desperate for warmth, my place is a couple blocks away." She shrugged, pretending to be casual, but the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her as she fell into his touch a bit more; his hands moved to the sides of her arms before she turned to look at the gnomes once again.
Harry raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. "Well, you are offering warmth... can’t turn that down, can I?"
The air between them shifted. Marianne swallowed, her heart suddenly beating a little faster. “You sure about that? It’s not like I’m offering you a hot tub and a massage, you know. It’ll be more…” She thought for a moment, “More momentary than that.”
Harry chuckled, stepping even closer, “I’m sure. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst case, I end up on your couch with a drink and no gnomes. Preferably no Christmas lights. Not exactly the worst way to spend a night,” He shrugged, “But I guess I could also get behind us taking our clothes off and lying next to each other to conserve body heat—preferably you on top of me, if that is an option I can choose.”
She met his gaze, biting back a smile. "You’re intolerable."
They started walking again, the snow falling more steadily now, the night feeling warmer despite the chill. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the tension thick but unspoken, a shared understanding between them as they made their way down the street, the promise of something more hanging in the air.
When they arrived at Marianne’s home, she walked up the small steps before reaching for her keys in the jacket pocket. They were both covered in a bit of snow, as it had started to fall more than before. The streets were starting to line with it; Harry stood with her under the awning to hide from the weather.
Her hands slipped the key into the lock before opening the door, the warmth of the house meeting Harry as he walked in behind her.
“Shit, it’s cold,” She cursed, kicking off her shoes and hanging up her jacket. “You can—I mean, just throw your stuff down there.”
Harry nodded a few times, kicking his own shoes off and placing his coat on the hook next to hers. The moment now started to feel a bit more real as he turned to notice her home around it. It was the definition of warmth and comfort; the space smelled like gingerbread, his eyes homing in on the garland wrapped around the staircase railing.
“Would you like something to drink? Hot Toddy maybe?” She offered, shuffling her way towards the kitchen, throwing away the empty wine bottle she had been carrying, “I can also do just tea if you think the alcohol limit has been breached.”
Harry put his hands in his pockets, moving his way into the kitchen to follow her. “Uh—whatever you’re having is fine with me.”
Marianne licked over her lips, tucking her hair behind her ear before she set the kettle on the stove and turned on some hot water.
“I—you know what, actually,” Harry made a remark as they stood in the kitchen. His eyes turned to her as he watched her lean against the counter, her arms were crossed over her chest as she watched him approach her with a look on his face that melted the frigidness of her hands.
Instead of speaking again, his hands reached to grab at her face, pulling her into him with a swift motion. The fluttering of her stomach nearly making her drop to her knees as he tilted her head back, letting his lips roam around hers.
Marianne felt herself moan into the kiss, her hands reaching to hold onto his wrists that held onto her so delicately, but with a needed force that had practically picked her up off her feet.
Pulling away for a moment, Marianne caught her breath; the kiss was unsuspected but entirely encouraged. “Okay, so— uh, let’s—”
“We—I think—” He pieced together, nodding, letting his nose rub against hers.
“Sofa—that’s fine.” She hummed, letting her eyes dim at the feeling of his hands wrapping around her waist. In an instant, his hands picked her up, placing her on his hips as she let her legs hold against him tightly.
The soft feeling of his black jumper under her hands was welcomed as he took them into the living room, placing her down on the sofa—she fell quite a bit from his hips, but laughed at the feeling when her back hit the cushion.
Harry’s eyes stayed on hers but flashed up to the window before he scattered a chuckle, “Window’s fully open.” He murmured, walking over before closing the curtains dramatically quickly. “Your neighbors almost saw you get fully rattled.”
Marianne placed her hand over her eyes in a flush of embarrassment by his words, shaking her head at the way that he spoke. Her feet hung off the edge of the sofa arm where he had left her, “You’re just so charming.”
Harry pulled the jumper off over his head, revealing the white t-shirt he had underneath, his eyes a bit dazed in the heat before he returned to his called upon place. Practically crawling, he found his way above her, the giggle coming from her made him smile. Her legs opened to allow him space for him on the sofa before her hands ran down the cotton of his t-shirt.
Marianne pulled herself up, letting her head rest against the accent pillow closer to the other armrest. Harry braced himself with one hand on the armrest, the other slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. His grin softened as his eyes scanned her face, lingering on the flush in her cheeks and the way her lips parted slightly now, caught somewhere between teasing and expectation.
“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “for someone who just called me charming in an entirely mocking way, you’re making it really hard to believe you’re not into it.”
Marianne raised an eyebrow, her hand still resting against his chest, fingers curling slightly in the soft cotton of his shirt. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself too much. This is about getting warm, remember?”
Harry let out a soft laugh, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against her ear. His nose making it nudge against her throat as he felt her sink into the feeling; her eyes shut at the way that his tongue softly lapped at her jaw. “Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting—or, well, crawling—it feels like you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. Maybe vice versa.”
Her lips twitched into a smirk, but she didn’t move away. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just easy to manipulate.”
His laughter faded into something softer, lifting his head as his gaze dropped to her lips. “Dangerous words, Marianne. You keep talking like that, and I might have to prove you wrong. Play hard to get and all that.”
She met his gaze, her pulse quickening as the air between them thickened. “Big talk for someone who was just crawling.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” He whispered, his mouth finally brushing against hers, tentative at first, as though testing her reaction. “I have a feeling that you could get me to crawl anywhere right now.”
Marianne didn’t hesitate. Her hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It was slow but deliberate, a mixture of heat and resistance, the kind of kiss that felt like it could spiral out of control if either of them let it.
When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his as they both caught their breath. Marianne let out a shaky laugh, her fingers still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well… this escalated quickly. I thought my night was just going to be mulled wine and ginger biscuits.”
Harry’s grin returned, lazy and utterly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I told you that holiday shit was overrated.”
Marianne rolled her eyes but didn’t move away from him.
Harry tilted his head, his fingers lightly tracing circles on her waist as he felt he needed to draw her attention back a little. “Maybe we’re both a little to blame. You’ve got this whole�� 'irresistible' thing going on.”
She laughed, the sound more genuine now, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You realize we’re strangers, right?”
Harry nodded, his grin softening into something more sincere. “We know each other’s stance on Gatsby, and you’re calling us strangers? At the very least, Marianne. At the very least.”
When he pulled back, she let out a soft sigh, the weight of the moment settling over them. “Well,” she said after a pause, her voice lighter but with a subtle edge of mischief, “if you’re feeling so confident, maybe we should find another way to get warm. A heater would work splendidly in your place.”
Harry laughed, his voice low and rich as he leaned closer. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? A heater?”
She smirked, nudging him with her knee. Instead of reacting, Marianne took her fingers at the bottom of his t-shirt, letting it wrap in her fingers before pulling it up. The reveling underneath made her mouth dry at first; she didn’t want to give him too much attention, or it would only make his confidence stronger.
As their lips met again, Harry’s hands cupped Marianne’s face gently, his thumbs brushing along her cheekbones as though he were committing every detail of her to memory. The warmth between them intensified, their breaths mingling as the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate. Marianne’s fingers found their way into his hair, tugging softly, and he exhaled a low, contented sound against her lips.
The room around them seemed to fade into the background—only the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting a soft, warm glow in the dimness. Harry shifted, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pulled her closer, their movements unhurried but full of intent. Marianne let out a soft laugh, her head tilting back as she felt his lips trail along her jawline and down her neck, each kiss sending a flutter through her.
“Harry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of hesitation and invitation. Her hands moved to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.
He paused for a moment, pulling back to meet her gaze. His eyes searched hers, a question lingering in their depth. She smiled softly, her hand brushing along his jaw, answering him without words as she leaned in to kiss him again. The way she melted into him left no room for doubt.
Harry stood, pulling her with him, their bodies fitting together effortlessly. His hands lingered at her waist, steadying her as they moved toward the sofa, her laughter soft against his shoulder as they stumbled slightly. He eased her down onto the cushions, the glow of the Christmas lights illuminating the warmth in her expression as she looked up at him.
Their movements slowed, deliberate yet electric, each touch and kiss building the connection between them. Neither rushed nor hesitant, they navigated the space between them with care, the world outside falling away entirely. It wasn’t just the warmth of the firelight or the blanket that had been tossed aside earlier; it was them, discovering something in each other that felt both new and undeniably right.
As they drew closer, their hands found new places to hold to steady, and their breaths fell into sync. In the quiet of the room, surrounded by the soft hum of Christmas melodies and the faint scent of pine, their closeness became something unspoken, a silent understanding that this moment was theirs.
His hands moved to quickly remove her pants, threw her sweater off, his pants were off. The touch of their skin was electric as he practically panted into her kiss, noses nudging one another as he moved to touch along the edges of her panties.
Marianne bit on her lip as his fingers moved against her, she pressed herself against him. Harry moved the edge of her panties away, letting his fingers brush against her without the barrier between them. She gasped the feeling, knowing that she had been practically dripping for him without direct touch. The teasing, the night they’d had had been building to this moment before she threw her head back in anticipation for what she needed most.
“Don’t wanna’ wait any longer,” She murmured, the wine felt like it had been sitting on her brain, making her decisions cursed, “No messing around.”
Harry nodded into her neck, kissing her softly before he took himself in his hand, pushing open at her entrance before he let his mouth drop open slightly. He had been ready from the moment that she wrapped her legs around his waist. His brows furrowed at the feeling; the way that she wanted to surrender to him so quickly. When he pushed in, they both gasped at the feeling.
“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathed out, his eyes shutting before he clenched his fist on the armrest, his shoulder holding him up. He knew if he opened his eyes, he’d look down to see Marianne looking up at him with the bright, chocolate brown eyes—the demeanor of two people just needing affection to the highest.
It had been quick, no frills. They had barely undressed; her sweater was off, the black lace of her bra pushed against her breasts, her underwear pushed to the side, the thrill of their need for someone—anyone—had gotten the best of them as Harry’s hips pushed her legs apart.
The warmth that enveloped him was almost overwhelming. Marianne let out a soft gasp, her fingers digging into his hips as she pulled him closer. The urgency of their encounter left no room for gentleness or finesse; it was raw and intimate and something that neither of them had expected going into that night, but only what could have possibly been the best outcome.
Harry's hips began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing fervor. The creaking of the sofa that held their bodyweight beneath them punctuated their ragged breaths and muffled moans. Marianne arched her back, pressing herself against him, seeking more contact, more friction from their compromising position that was entirely unsuited for what they both desired.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "Look at me. Please."
He hesitated, knowing that meeting her gaze would make this real, would shatter the illusion that this was just a nameless, faceless encounter. But the pull was too strong. Harry opened his eyes, looking down to find Marianne's warm brown eyes locked onto his, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and passion that made his breath catch in his throat. In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in time with the only light of the lamp in the dark living room space.
Marianne's lips parted, her breathing shallow as she reached up to cup Harry's face with trembling hands. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted sharply with the urgency of their coupling, adding a layer of intimacy that neither had anticipated. She hadn’t expected to feel the way she had, only knowing him for so long but the feeling of their skin on skin had somehow felt right.
"I—" Harry started to say, but the words died on his lips as Marianne pulled him down for a kiss. It was deep and desperate, their tongues tangling as they sought to convey through touch what they couldn't through words.
The kiss seemed to ignite something within them both. Harry's thrusts became more purposeful, angling to hit the spot that made Marianne gasp and shudder beneath him. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red marks in their wake, a physical manifestation of the intensity building between them. The pain mingled with pleasure, driving Harry to push harder, deeper, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach.
Marianne broke the kiss, throwing her head back against the arm of the sofa. Her legs wrapped tightly around Harry's waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she met his thrusts with equal fervor. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, punctuated by their shared gasps and moans.
"God, Marianne," Harry groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply with a groan following, drinking in the scent of her perfume mingled with sweat and arousal. It was intoxicating, clouding his senses and pushing him closer to the edge.
Marianne's hands tangled in Harry's hair, tugging gently as she felt the familiar tension building within her. Her body trembled beneath him, every nerve ending alight with sensation. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of that all too familiar feeling of want, desperate for release but wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.
"Harry, I'm close," she whispered breathlessly, her lips brushing against his ear. "Please, don't stop. Please. Fuck."
Her words spurred him on, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own climax. The couch creaked dangerously beneath them, but neither paid it any mind, too lost in the sensations coursing through their bodies.
Marianne's back arched sharply, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she finally tumbled over the edge. Her inner walls clenched around Harry, pulling him deeper as waves of pleasure washed over her like the ocean of her dreams. The sight and feel of her coming undone beneath him was too much for Harry to bear.
With a deep, guttural groan, he followed her over the precipice, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, the shaking of his body only stilled that her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer for the relief he desperately needed.
For several long moments, they remained locked together, bodies trembling with aftershocks as they struggled to catch their breath. Her chest pushed upwards as she breathed; their lungs practically touching as Harry laid upon her, feeling light as a feather. The reality of what they had just done began to seep in as he stared at the nape of her neck for a few moments, replacing the mystical haze of lust with a mixture of confusion and lingering desire.
Harry slowly lifted his head from Marianne's neck, his eyes meeting hers once more even when he realized that he shouldn’t have. The vulnerability he saw there made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss for words.
What could he possibly say to make sense of this unexpected turn of events?
Marianne's hands slid from his hair, trailing down his back before coming to rest on his shoulders. She bit her lip, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features as she searched Harry's face for any sign of regret or disappointment that could have possibly been lingering in that moment. Finding none, that she could notice, she let out a shaky breath, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.
"I... I don't know what to say," Marianne whispered, her voice barely audible. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "This wasn't... I mean, I didn't expect..."
Harry nodded, understanding her unfinished thoughts. “Me neither," he admitted, his voice rough.
It was unspoken; but he concluded that he was still inside of her, blinking a few times in the heat of the moment. He shifted slightly, suddenly aware of their still-joined bodies and the awkwardness of their position. With a soft groan, he carefully disentangled himself from her, immediately missing the warmth of her embrace.
It was the odd feeling of wondering why he missed it then; he had only met her, but he knew that could have been the first and last time.
Marianne sat up, pulling her underwear back into place and readjusting her bra. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her discarded sweater, pulling it over her head.
Harry watched her, feeling a strange mix of emotions as he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up his jeans. The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken questions and lingering desire. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to gather his thoughts before either of them was able to speak again.
Harry cleared his throat, licking over his lips as he sat next to her, fully dressed in her still in her underwear.
"I should probably..." he began, gesturing vaguely towards the front door.
Marianne looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "Oh," she said softly, disappointment evident in her voice as she realized that he hadn’t wanted to stay. She glanced towards the window, where she could see the snowflakes lashing against the glass, driven by howling winds in the silence between them. "I-I mean, it’s really coming down out there."
Harry followed her gaze, noticing for the first time the storm raging outside. He'd been so caught up in the moment, in Marianne, that he hadn't even registered the sound of the wind or the snow that seemed to harbor on the glass.
"Yeah," he agreed, his voice hoarse. He hesitated, torn between the desire to flee from the intensity of what had just happened and the practical need to not walk back to his place in the weathering mix of snow and ice. "I suppose it wouldn't be safe to walk back home yet, then.”
Marianne nodded, a flicker of hope crossing her features. "You could... stay, if you want. Just— I don’t know, of course, whatever you want." she added quickly, not wanting to seem too eager or presumptuous that he would want to stay the night.
Harry considered her offer, his eyes roaming over her face. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he found himself drawn to her, unable to ignore the connection that had sparked between them. "Yeah, okay," he said softly. "Thanks."
A small smile tugged at Marianne's lips as she stood up, smoothing down her sweater as she placed it over her; leaving her in her panties that had the pink lace over the waistband. "I'll get us some tea," she offered, padding towards the kitchen on bare feet. “You— uh, if you’d like to clean up, you can head upstairs to the bathroom. I can be up there in a moment.”
Harry watched her go, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips as she disappeared into the kitchen. He let out a long breath, running his hands over his face as he tried to process everything that had just happened. The sudden intimacy, the intensity of their connection - it was all so unexpected.
With a soft groan, he pushed himself up from the couch and made his way upstairs. The bathroom was small but tidy, decorated in shades of pale blue and white. Harry caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink and paused, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and there was a faint red mark on his neck where Marianne had nipped at his skin.
As he washed his hands and splashed some cool water on his face, Harry's mind raced. What did this mean for them? Would things be awkward now?
Harry stared at himself for another moment longer, looking directly into the mirror before he pushed the hair off his face. When going to leave the small upstairs washroom, he found himself standing in the hallway near the stairs; tension in the room was palpable as Marianne returned, two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. Harry had settled to follow her into her bedroom, his hair still damp on the front from the quick wash in the bathroom.
Their eyes met, and a spark of electricity seemed to pass between them.
Marianne set the mugs down on the nightstands; first one side, and then the other, her hands shaking slightly. She hesitated for a moment before sitting next to Harry at the end of the bed, close enough that their thighs brushed. The contact sent a shiver through both.
"I..." Harry began, but words failed him. Instead of being able to finish his words, his face turned towards hers when he felt her reach out, cupping Harry’s face in her hand. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut as they faced one another now.
In an instant, the tentative atmosphere shattered. Their lips crashed together in a desperate kiss, all thoughts of tea forgotten, once again. Marianne climbed onto Harry's lap, straddling him while his hands moved to push her down onto his crotch; the feeling of her once again drove his eroticism to a new height.
“Wait,” Harry told her softly, holding onto her wrists to pause her action. His hands reached to hold onto her in an affection to let her know that he hadn’t wanted to push her away, but to give him a moment. “Marianne, uh,” He swallowed, but felt her hips push into his, causing a moan to escape his lips unintentionally, “Fuck. I—I forgot.”
Marianne chuckled a little bit, her tongue leaving a small lick on his upper lip as she teased him.
“Was it important?” She asked, her voice a bit hazy and erotic. “You’re not married, are you?”
With a heavy breath, Harry held her hips into place again, letting a grin take over before he shook his head. “No, no—uh, but,”
Marianne stopped at his word; a bit curious to his need to speak then. Her eyes searched his face. Harry’s sentence hung in the air, unfinished as Marianne tilted her head, her darkened eyes searching his face. Her breath was warm against his cheek, her lips still ghosting over his as if daring him to finish the thought. She moved her hips slightly, testing his resolve, and Harry’s grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her waist as though anchoring himself.
“But what?” Marianne prompted; her voice soft yet dripping with playful challenge. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his jawline now, teasing him further. “You’re not exactly making a convincing case for stopping.”
Harry let out a breathless laugh, his head tipping back against the air as his hands slid to her thighs, squeezing gently. “It’s not that I want to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough with the strain of holding back. “I just... I don’t usually—”
“You don’t usually what?” she interrupted, her lips trailing down to the corner of his mouth. “Get this lucky? Because trust me, I don’t usually climb into laps, either.”
That earned a laugh from him, one that was half-frustration, half-admiration. “You’re relentless.”
“And you’re stalling even thought we could already be halfway through round two by now,” she countered, her fingers brushing over the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “So, unless you’re about to tell me that you’re some kind of undercover royal or a spy with a secret identity, I think we’re good here.”
Harry’s lips parted as if to say something, but instead, he caught her mouth in another kiss, silencing any further conversation. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. His hands roamed her sides, sliding beneath her sweater to find the bare skin of her lower back, and Marianne gasped softly against his lips. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, drawing a low groan from him that reverberated between them.
Marianne leaned into him, pressing her chest against his as she tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she murmured, her voice edged with impatience. Harry obliged, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the shirt over his head before pulling her back to him.
The warmth of her skin against his sent his pulse racing, and his hands found their way under her sweater again, mapping out the curve of her spine. Marianne shifted on his lap, her movements deliberate now, and Harry’s grip on her tightened instinctively.
“God, you’re trouble,” he muttered against her lips, his voice laced with both amusement and desire.
“You love it,” she shot back, her smile audible even with his eyes shut, even as she kissed him again.
Marianne pushed at his chest so he would lay on his back, letting the softness of the flannel blanket that laid across her neatly made bed touch his hot skin. As she crawled up his body, letting her lips flutter against his, he smiled again.
“You’re really going to make me go again? Christ, Marianne, you’re a bit of a minx.”
She paused for a moment; letting the tension sit with him. When he responded, making his lips yearn for hers, she had the answer that she desperately wanted from him.
“Seems like the want is mutual.” Her voice was a whisper, hot against his lips—his were parted, letting a moan fall through them.
Harry shook his head, “I’ll go all night.”
The tension between them crackled like static, the rest of the world falling away as their shared laughter melted into something deeper, something raw. The flicker of the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes as they lost themselves in each other, the cold night outside forgotten in the heat of the moment.
Marianne woke to the faint light of dawn streaming through her window. For a moment, she lay still, her mind piecing together the events of the night before. The complete covering of her body under the covers kept her warm, taking in a deep breath.
She turned her head, half-expecting to find Harry still beside her, but the bed was empty.
The night had been overwhelming in the most unexpected way; she rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Pushing her hair away from her face, her thoughts traveled to how the night had unraveled a stream of ribbon – her skin felt hot remembering the touches of his hands on her.
It had been a while since she had been that intimate with someone like that. One of the deepest regrets was knowing that she was waking up with him not there. It was always unspoken; waking up in the morning from the night before, padding out of the room with a mission to leave before you wake the other. She should have expected this, but in her mind, it had been more than just going home with someone.
She had felt that her and Harry had a connection of some sort. She wouldn’t even know how to get in contact with him if she wanted—she didn’t know his last name. She supposed that she could ask Franny at work for his contact information, but given that he wasn’t there the next morning, she figured that maybe he didn’t want to hear from her.
It had been a whirlwind. Making their way to the bed that night felt like a triumph in itself; she hadn’t expected their lingering touches to last, but almost every hour she would feel his hand creeping along her side, almost like he had been thinking in his sleep.
As Marianne sat up, she tried to not think too much of the night before but think more of the upcoming day instead. She stretched up, letting her arms dance above her head as her shoulders and neck felt tight.
When her feet hit the floor, it felt cold beneath her. She searched through her drawers, finding a long-sleeve cotton sweater that hung to her thighs. She threw her hair into a bun on the top of her head, before making her way to the stairs.
Padding into the living room from the staircase, she found him standing by the front door, his coat in hand. He looked up, startled, as she made her entrance.
Even in the morning, hair tousled with sleep, eyes a bit puffy from the early morning rise, he looked good. It looked like he may not have slept too well, which made her heart sink at the thought that she may have kept him awake.
“Sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head. His coat dangled from his arm. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just heading out.”
“Couldn’t figure out the lock?” She teased, her voice still husky with sleep.
Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I—yeah.”
Marianne crossed her arms, leaning against the railing. “Guess you can’t get away that easy,” She took in a deep breath, “Or without saying goodbye first.”
Harry took in a breath, putting one hand in his pocket as he turned towards her then. “I—I mean, I didn’t want to just leave, but I- I didn’t—”
Marianne shook her head, “No, I get it. Hook-up etiquette is…”
“Weird.” Harry bit his lip, “I’m a bit out of practice, I guess.”
“Hooking up with a lot of broads, then?” Marianne’s tone was teasing, and she smirked when the flush returned to Harry’s cheeks.
They stood in a beat of silence before she cleared her throat, trying to make the most of the time that he had been standing there—maybe to break the awkwardness that had come into the room yet again.
“Well, if you’re here, you might as well help me with something. I have a hard time doing it by myself—physically.” She bit her lip, eyes widening at the way her words may have been perceived, “Oh! I mean—not that, uh,”
“I mean, I guess we can go again, then. I guess I was pretty good at it last night, wasn’t I?” He chuckled, interrupting her to make the joke, then shrugged. “But, yeah, I can help with whatever.”
“Decorating the tree,” She pointed to a box of ornaments and a slightly crooked artificial tree standing in the corner of the room. Harry followed her gaze, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “I can’t reach a lot of the top. It’s just easier with two people.”
“You’re really leaning into the Christmas spirit, huh?”
“When you live alone, you’ve got to make your own magic,” she replied, already pulling the tree upright. “Or are you going to stand there and criticize my technique?”
Harry sighed but set his coat aside on the edge of the sofa. He had taken note that she still hadn’t put on pants, her underwear now had small bows of ribbon patterned in red, “Alright, then. Let’s do this—uh, is there any way that this can involve coffee?”
Marianne lit up, “Oh—yeah, of course. Let me go make us some. Can you start to take items out of that box?”
On her way to the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee, waiting for enough for the two of them. Harry had begun to look through some of the items that she had for decoration.
Marianne opened the second box when she returned, setting a cup of coffee next to Harry on the coffee table. When she looked in the box, she was suddenly met with the remembrance of last Christmas; the way that she hadn’t put the lights away alone but was going to have to bring them out alone if Harry hadn’t been here. As they worked, untangling fairy lights and hanging mismatched ornaments, their banter softened into a rhythm that felt almost natural, like they had done this a dozen times before.
"Do people actually enjoy untangling these?" Harry muttered, holding up a knot of fairy lights with a grimace.
"Maybe they see it as a metaphor for life," Marianne quipped, carefully hanging a glittery bauble coated in silver. "Unravel the mess, and you find the beauty."
Harry snorted at her cute remark, "That sounds like something out of a self-help book."
"Hey, some of us need a little optimism to get through the day and the holiday season," She shot back, though her tone was light. "Besides, it beats your Grinch-like grumbling."
"Touché," He admitted, smirking. "Alright, Cindy Lou, where do these go?" He held up a string of lights, their multicolored bulbs catching the morning light.
Marianne stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his as she guided the string toward the tree. "Around the middle, I think. It needs some sparkle in there."
As they worked together, the conversation drifted from playful teasing to quieter, more introspective topics. Marianne shared snippets of her life—how she’d recently picked up pottery to distract herself after the breakup that past spring, how her students had surprised her with handmade ornaments last Christmas, especially when Harry picked one up and examined it with a bit of curiosity.
"One of them made this," she said, holding up a slightly lopsided clay star painted in bright primary colors. "He told me it was supposed to be ‘abstract.’ Big word for a four-year-old."
Harry chuckled as he looked up at it, he placed a red bauble on the tree, "Abstract is a solid excuse for anything that doesn’t go as planned."
Marianne gave him a warm gaze, letting her eyes fall to the way that his sweater sleeves had been rolled up. She watched the way that he took a step back, letting his eyes fall over the way the that the lights cast a soft colorful light over the room then. It was still early, but it looked like he had been contemplating for a moment.
Harry hesitated before speaking, then confessed, "I think I’ve been stuck in my own mess for so long that I forgot how to step back and just... appreciate things."
Marianne looked at him, her expression softening. "Maybe untangling fairy lights wasn’t such a bad metaphor after all."
The morning light filtered through Marianne’s small space, highlighting the modest but cozy living room. The faint smell of coffee mingled with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree standing bare in the corner. Harry stood beside it, holding the string of tangled lights, his hair still slightly disheveled. Marianne sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box of ornaments, her sweater slipping off one shoulder as she worked.
“Alright,” Marianne said, holding up a particularly gaudy ornament shaped like a snowman. “This one’s either going on the tree or in the trash. Thoughts?”
Harry tilted his head, inspecting it with mock seriousness. “Trash. Absolutely trash.”
She laughed, tossing it to the side. “Wow, you’re ruthless. Remind me not to let you near any sentimental ornaments. My niece made me that.”
He smirked, kneeling beside her and picking up a small, glittery star. “This one’s safe, though, right? It’s classic.”
“Classic,” she agreed, handing him a hook for it. “Go ahead, looks like the last one.”
Harry rolled his eyes but stood, carefully placing the star on one of the branches. He stepped back, pretending to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. The tree’s basically done now, right? The lights are placed right?”
“It looks great,” Marianne shrugged, letting her smirk take over with a quick tease, “Well, the parts I was involved in.”
He chuckled but didn’t respond, his smile faltering slightly as he stared at the tree. Harry took a seat on the sofa, letting his gaze over the tree settle. Marianne noticed the shift in his expression, the way his shoulders tensed just a bit. She crossed her arms over her chest, her voice softening. “Hey. You okay?”
Harry glanced at her quickly, hesitating as if he didn’t want to answer, before he shrugged. “Yeah, just… thinking.”
She moved over to take a seat next to him, brushing her hands on her sweater as she moved closer to him. “Thinking about what? I—I mean, I don’t know if you have something against Christmas, I figured it was just your sense of humor, but…”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not really my favorite time of year,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. There was a part of him that felt odd giving her any information like this, but he figured that she had more intimate memories of him, so this didn’t seem quite as big, “Never has been.”
Marianne frowned, folding her arms. “I think it can be difficult for a lot of people, for a lot of reasons.” She trailed off, watching him closely.
He let out a soft laugh, though it lacked his usual warmth. “Shouldn’t be.”
She didn’t press, just waited, and after a moment, he continued.
“It’s just… growing up, I didn’t really have a family to spend it with. My parents… they weren’t around much. And when they were, Christmas was more about them fighting or making a show for other people than it was about actually being together, just the three of us, you know? By the time I got older, it just felt pointless to even try to get everyone together. They were never happy memories. Everyone else was celebrating, and I was just… there.” He gestured vaguely, as if searching for the right words. “I guess it just became this reminder of what I didn’t have.”
Marianne’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Harry, I’m sorry. That sounds… really lonely.”
He shrugged again, his gaze fixed on the tree. “It was what it was. But there just didn’t seem to be any reason to make any memories surrounding it. I just ignored this time of year.” He glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“It—but this is nice. I like this,” He chewed on his bottom lip before he stared at the way that her hand settled on his forearm, his fingers brushing hers for a moment. “Thanks, Marianne.”
“For what?”
“For… I don’t know. Letting me be here, I guess. For not making this weird.”
She smiled, her expression soft as she took in a deep breath, “Everyone deserves to have one happy Christmas memory, at least,” She swallowed, looking back at the tree then, “I hope this is one of those.”
He nodded, swallowing hard as he looked back at the tree. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, “Very much so.”
For a moment, silence settled between them, not awkward but contemplative. Harry felt a quiet shift within himself, a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t ready to dismiss. Marianne’s sarcastic edge gave way to quiet vulnerability, while Harry’s usual cynicism melted into genuine curiosity about her. She told him about her students, and her decision to spend Christmas embracing her independence this year.
Harry glanced at her; her face illuminated by the soft glow of the fairy lights. For a moment, he felt the tension of his deadline and his usual holiday cynicism slip away, replaced by an unfamiliar warmth that tugged at the edges of his guarded heart. The glow of the fairy lights and Marianne’s quiet presence seemed to momentarily bridge the gap between his disillusionment and the simple joys he had long dismissed.
The multicolored lights blinked haphazardly, casting a kaleidoscope of hues across the room. A patchwork of ornaments dangled from the branches—some glittering with polished perfection, others endearingly imperfect like Marianne’s lopsided clay star. Tinsel shimmered unevenly, catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. Harry tilted his head, his critical eye scanning the mismatched decorations. It was far from magazine-perfect, but something about its imperfections made it feel... genuine.
"It’s a little chaotic," he murmured.
Marianne smiled, nudging him gently. "Kind of like us, don’t you think?" He glanced at her, the warmth in her eyes mirroring the soft glow of the tree, and felt his usual cynicism begin to wane.
"I think it’s perfect," he admitted quietly. It was far from perfect—the lights blinked unevenly, and the ornaments clashed—but it felt oddly right.
Harry let his gaze linger on Marianne, taking in the way the soft light caught the curve of her smile and the slight furrow of her brow, as if she were deep in thought. He wondered what was going through her mind, whether her thoughts mirrored the strange mix of contentment and uncertainty that churned within him.
Marianne, for her part, noticed the way Harry’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the side of his mug, betraying a nervous energy he seemed intent on hiding. It was a moment suspended in time, the world outside the small flat fading into irrelevance as they sat side by side, each silently grappling with the fragile, burgeoning connection between them.
Marianne glanced at him, her resolve to keep things casual wavering.
It was then that Harry decided he should be getting home. Marianne agreed, nodding a few times before Harry lifted from the sofa. She had followed him to the door, his coat in his hands before they stood in front of the door again.
“I had a great time,” He finally said, “With you.”
Marianne let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she felt the cold from behind the door already. She pulled her top lip in her mouth before she cleared her throat, contemplating whether she wanted to say anything else. She noticed that he had been baiting her to speak, tilting his head.
“What are you doing tonight?” She asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry looked at her, his usual cynicism replaced by something warmer, softer. “No plans.”
Marianne bit on her bottom lip, taking every part of her independence away as she stared at him with a longing glance that caught his attention
“Would you like to go,” She shrugged, “On like, a real date?”
Harry pushed his hair off of his forehead, trying his best to hide the smile that caught on his face. It somehow wouldn’t go away. “I—yeah. I would, actually.”
Letting out a breath of relief, Marianne rested her hand on the back of her neck. “Great. Great—yeah.” She grabbed a piece of mail that sat next to the door, using a pen to write down her phone number. She stood to hand it to him, “Text me when you get home, and we’ll set something up.”
As a gesture, Harry took the half of the envelope she wrote, to write his own number—just in case they were to lose touch. Harry took the empty envelope she wrote on, folding it and putting it in his pocket before he leaned in kiss her. It was a soft kiss this time, one that melted for a moment before he pulled back and let his eyes fall over her. The breath was held in his lungs before he nodded a few times.
“Will do,” He told her, reaching for the front door, “Bye, Marianne.”
“Bye.” She stated softly, watching as he pulled the door behind him, a last fleeting glance.
Marianne stood by the door for a moment after Harry left, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, running her fingers through her hair. The reality of the night settled over her like the falling snow outside—quick, fleeting, and somehow magical.
She wandered back to the couch, sitting down and pulling the throw blanket over her lap. The Christmas lights on her tree twinkled softly, casting a warm glow around the room. She sipped the last of her coffee, the faint hum of the music station still playing faintly in the background.
For a moment, she thought about texting him first but decided against it.
“Let him make the move,” she whispered to herself, smiling at the memory of his crooked grin, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.
Across town, Harry walked briskly, his hands buried in his coat pockets, the envelope she’d written on folded neatly inside one of them. The snow crunched under his shoes, the cold biting at his cheeks, but he didn’t care. His mind replayed the way her lips felt against his, the sound of her laugh, the spark in her eyes when she teased him. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—lightness, as though the weight of the world had been lifted.
When he reached his flat, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, pulling out the envelope at the quickest moment he could. Her handwriting was rushed but endearing, the kind of messy scrawl that hinted at a bit of chaos, a bit of charm. He smiled as he unlocked his phone and began typing.
Harry: Made it home in one piece.
Harry: Free all day. Don’t want to sound too desperate, but I’d love to have dinner tonight.
He hesitated for a moment before sending another text.
Harry: Would love to do more Christmas light viewing, too.
He stared at the screen for a second longer than he needed to before hitting send. Tossing the envelope on his nightstand, he leaned back against his pillows, his mind drifting back to the warmth of her apartment and the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just passing through.
Back at Marianne’s place, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up, her smile growing wider as she read his message. With a grin, she replied:
Marianne: Glad you didn’t freeze. Dinner and a walk would be great.
Harry’s reply came almost instantly.
Harry: Pick you up at 7?
Marianne laughed softly to herself, leaning back into the couch as she typed her response.
Marianne: I’ll be the one in the ugly Christmas sweater.
Harry bit his lip, shaking his head.
Harry: I’ll be the one in black.
As Harry set his phone down on the nightstand, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The faint glow of the sun trying to peak from behind the grey clouds outside his window cast long shadows across the room, but his thoughts were nowhere near the cold night or the city beyond. Instead, they lingered on Marianne—her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she’d somehow made him feel less like a cynic and more like someone who might just believe in the magic of the season again.
He stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a contented sigh.
Christmas had always been something he tolerated rather than celebrated, a time of year that often felt more like a reminder of what was missing. But now, as he thought about seeing her again in just a few short hours, the easy way they fit into each other's company, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.
For the first time in a long time, Christmas didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like a beginning.
#hs#harry fanfic#harry styles fanfic#anon ask#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#harry styles x original character#harry wattpad#ask#harry styles#harry#harry styles one shot#harry styles stories#harrystyles#ribbon
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Hii, I hope you are doing great !
I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering if you could write something about y/n not being famous and she is not accepted and treated badly by Harry’s celebrity group of friends which will put to test her relationship with Harry.
Thank you so much, and happy holidays !! 💕
A/N: This was such a fun request to write! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. It’s a mix of angst, fluff, and a lot of emotion. Thank you for trusting me with this idea, and I hope it resonates with you!
Triggers: Emotional manipulation, unkind behavior, insecurity
Pairing: Harry Styles x Female!Reader (Y/N)
Word Count: 2,167
You knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Being with Harry meant stepping into a world so far removed from your own that at times, it felt like you’d fallen through the looking glass. It wasn’t that you doubted your love for him or his love for you—it was undeniable, unshakable. But you weren’t naïve. You knew his fame came with its challenges, and the hardest one wasn’t the paparazzi or the scrutiny from strangers on the internet. It was his friends.
They weren’t all bad, of course. There were a few who made an effort to get to know you, to see you for who you were beyond the label of “Harry’s girlfriend.” But most of them… most of them didn’t.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The party was at one of Harry’s favorite spots in Los Angeles, a sleek, exclusive venue where everyone seemed to glitter with a level of confidence and beauty you couldn’t help but envy. You’d been nervous from the start, clinging to Harry’s hand as he introduced you to people whose names you struggled to remember.
“Just stick with me, love,” he’d said earlier that evening, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’ll be fine.”
And for a while, it was. Harry stayed close, his arm around your waist as he guided you through the room. But then he was whisked away by someone wanting to discuss music, and you were left standing near the bar, nursing a drink and feeling utterly out of place.
That’s when the whispers started.
At first, you tried to ignore them, telling yourself you were imagining things. But the pointed glances, the half-smirks, and the subtle head tilts in your direction were impossible to miss.
“Does she even know who she’s talking to?”
“She’s cute, but… I don’t get it. Harry could do so much better.”
“She looks so uncomfortable. It’s kind of painful to watch.”
The words stung, each one landing like a small, sharp jab. You kept your head high, determined not to let it show. But when one of Harry’s friends—a model you’d met once before—approached you with a patronizing smile, your resolve began to crack.
“So,” she said, swirling her cocktail as she looked you up and down, “how’s it going, Y/N? Adjusting to all… this?”
“It’s fine,” you replied, forcing a polite smile.
“Must be overwhelming,” she continued, her tone dripping with faux concern. “I mean, it’s not really your world, is it?”
You clenched your jaw, searching for a way out of the conversation. But before you could respond, she leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Don’t take it personally,” she said, her smile sharp. “It’s just… we’ve all known Harry for years. We’ve seen him with people who… well, let’s just say they were a better fit.”
Her words hit you like a slap, and you felt your chest tighten with a mix of hurt and anger. You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she’d gotten under your skin, so you excused yourself, heading for the nearest exit.
The cool night air was a welcome relief as you stepped outside, leaning against the railing and taking deep breaths. You tried to shake off her words, to remind yourself that they didn’t matter. But they did.
“Y/N?”
You turned to see Harry standing in the doorway, his brows furrowed in concern. He crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hand coming to rest gently on your arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft but urgent. “I’ve been looking for you.”
You hesitated, unsure how to put your feelings into words. “Nothing,” you said eventually, though the shakiness in your voice betrayed you. “I just… needed some air.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, and you could see the gears turning in his head. “Y/N,” he said, his tone firmer now. “Tell me the truth. What happened?”
For a moment, you considered brushing it off, pretending everything was fine. But then the hurt bubbled up to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out.
“I don’t belong here, Harry,” you said, your voice breaking. “I’ve tried, but your friends… they don’t want me here. They think I’m not good enough for you.”
Harry’s expression shifted from concern to something darker—anger, though not directed at you. His jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if trying to rein in his emotions.
“Who said that?” he asked finally, his voice low and controlled.
“It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly, not wanting to cause a scene. “It’s not just one person. It’s the way they look at me, the things they say when they think I’m not listening. They don’t think I’m… enough.”
Harry’s hand moved to cup your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “You are more than enough. You’re everything. And if they can’t see that, then that’s their problem, not yours.”
You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. “But what if they’re right?” you whispered. “What if I’m just… not the kind of person who fits into your world?”
Harry shook his head, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Y/N, my world is wherever you are. None of this”—he gestured toward the party inside—“means anything without you. And if anyone thinks they can make you feel unwelcome or unworthy, they’ll have to answer to me.”
You let out a shaky laugh, the weight on your chest easing slightly. “You can’t fight all your friends for me, Harry.”
He smiled then, his expression softening. “I won’t have to. Because once I’m done having a word with them, they’ll know better than to treat you like this again.”
Before you could respond, Harry pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. You felt the tension begin to melt away as you rested your head against his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.
“I love you,” he murmured into your hair. “And nothing—no one—is going to change that.”
—————
True to his word, Harry didn’t let the matter drop. When the two of you returned to the party, he made a point of staying by your side, his presence a clear signal to anyone who dared to question your place in his life.
Later, you found yourself sitting on the couch in his dressing room as he paced back and forth, recounting the conversations he’d had with a few of his more tactless friends.
“They’re idiots,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I told them that if they can’t respect you, they can’t call themselves my friends.”
You watched him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. “Harry,” you said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
“Yes, I did,” he said, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his lap. “You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you know that.”
You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Thank you,” you whispered.
He kissed you then, slow and sweet, as if to remind you of everything you shared. And in that moment, you knew that no amount of judgment or criticism could ever come between you.
Because what you had with Harry was real. And nothing else mattered.
#harry styles#harry#styles#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry’s house#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles x y/n#one direction#imagine harry styles#harry styles ff#harry styles one shot#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#x reader#harry styles x fem!reader#harry styles x#hazza styles#fanfic request#harry styles request#harry styles fanfic rec#fanfiction requests#harry styles masterlist#hazzashouse
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Gifts that Obey Me! Characters would get you!
Warnings: not proofread, fluff, lingerie mentioned in Asmo’s (but nothing sexual happens.) Some may be longer than others. Pairings: Mammon, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Thirteen (romantic.) Luke (platonic.) This is written with christmas in mind but no holidays specified.
Note: Does Thirteen not have any Christmas cards??? I couldn’t find any 😔 2nd Note: I plan on doing the rest of the characters but they may come out after after Christmas/end of Yule. I’ll try to release them sooner though!
Mammon:
First and foremost, this man goes all out on gifts for any and every holiday for you. Anything that reminds him of you, things he knows you collect, random obscure artifacts that was probably supposed to be in a museum. Ya’ know just the basics! If there’s one thing I can guarantee that you won’t get for the holidays is a decent wrap job. This man cannot wrap for shit, truth be told it looks like a 5 year old did it… But it’s the thought that counts!
Asmodeus:
Mostly fashion and skincare/beauty. Asmo has your hair and skin type memorized. All the issues you may have beauty/health wise, including allergies. He takes this all into account when deciding what to get you! He compares ingredients, reviews, etc. Asmodeus only wants the best for your health. Also only buys from the most trusted brands. Another thing he likes to buy you is clothes, especially lingerie. If he can’t find clothes that fit your style, size, are favorite fabrics; he’ll just make you a couple of pieces. One of a kind. ♡ Unlike some of his brothers his wrapping skills are on point. He even ties bows on every present, they’re all picture worthy.
Belphegor:
I’m not gonna lie he was definitely too lazy to wrap your gift. So either he just hands it straight to you or had one of his brothers pick up a gift bag for the gift. Belphegor is likely to give you something soft. Sometimes that means blankets, comfy clothes, or a plushie that he definitely didn’t tease you for. This man knows what a soft fabric is too. Whatever he gifts you is gonna be soft as heck or as fluffy as a cloud. Every single thing he buys you is probably gonna be used when you guys cuddle so might as well make it comfortable for him too.
Luke:
Baked goods is his go to. We all know Luke (probably) makes delicious baked goods. He has not so sneakily written down some notes on what your favorite flavour is. Totally had Simeon and/or the other angels help with making the perfect treat for you. You can tell every dessert is hand made with love. (i could go for some chocolate rn.) All of the treats are in cute little boxes or baskets. There’s sometimes also a little card that he made himself saying happy holidays on it. Once he sent a picture with him and Simeon in it.
Thirteen:
Poor Thirteen, busy as ever. Holidays tend to be very busy days for reapers, as many tend to get hurt while celebrating. So she tries to make at least a couple of hours of space for you two to celebrate. If Thirteen is unable to free her schedule completely she’ll gift you a big box of chocolates the day of. (She also definitely steals a lot of your caramel chocolates.) Then on one of the following days she’ll make up her lack of time on a cute little date night between you guys. I can see her taking y’all to an arcade for the date, only to get super competitive when playing against you.
If you enjoyed please like, reblog, and/or reply!
fisshbones©2024 do not repost or translate.
#credit for divider at: bernardsbendystraws#mouse writes#obey me asmo x reader#obey me x reader#obey me shall we date#obey me asmodeus x reader#asmodeus x reader#obey me thirteen x reader#thirteen x reader#obey me belphegor x reader#belphegor x reader#belphie x reader#mammon x reader#obey me mammon x reader#luke x reader#obey me luke#obey me luke x reader#obey me thirteen#obey me mammon#obey me belphegor#obey me asmodeus#omswd x reader#omnb x reader#gn reader
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Why Helluva Boss Surpasses Hazbin Hotel In the Best Way Possible
The Helluva Boss Christmas episode dropped and I caught up with Season 2. I love this show so much for so many reasons. But that doesn't diminish Hazbin Hotel in any way at all. In fact, because of the show, it gives us a much deeper appreciation for what Helluva Boss is doing. I mean Hazbin Hotel was cool on Prime, but I want to talk about why Helluva Boss is the "Shrek 2" of the R-Rated animated musical series by a YouTube Animator. And that's a weird mouthful.
Getting Better with No Reward
Helluva Boss makes pretty clear that the "evil" demons of Hell are basically regular people with problems. Whether a majority of demons are born in Hell or damned souls, it's clear that they grow up from children to teens to adults. They have jobs, families, homes, and all the mundane things in our lives. And do in fact die. Possibly? That part is vague in whether they just get erased from existence or reincarnate Chainsaw Man style. But with those in mind, what would exactly be the point of being a "good" or "bad" person?
Throughout the series, many of the demons have some moral code, ethics, empathy, or rationale that sets them apart from the more chaotic and stereotypical demons. What I saw with a lot of characters is they willingly try and change for the better, all without Charlie Morningstar or the promise of Heaven, but redemption. This is especially in the case of Blitzø with a silent O.
Blitzø is one of the more unhinged characters you would see as a demon: immoral, selfish, hedonistic, all those demony things. But we, the audience, get to see his life, his failures, and his pain and how it shaped him. While it doesn't excuse his actions, it does make us understand. Once realizing these feelings, Blitzø tries to confront the consequences of his actions, with some trial and failure. Reconciling with his twin sister Barby: failed. Apologizing to his exes: failed. Talking with Fizzoralli: okay but still some scars, literal and figurative.
In fact, both Blitzø and Charlie share one major quality: attempting to change the status quo of Hell. But Blitzø wants to be seen more than a lackey to other higher demons while Charlie wants to prove people can change for the better. While Charlie's reason is more rooted in selflessness and hope, Blitzø's feels more human and genuine. From what I could see from the show so far, Hell is getting a whole lot bigger in what it can offer.
What's The Big Difference?
Helluva Boss is a more grounded and relatable show than the epic musical of Hazbin Hotel. The show allows for a lot of worldbuilding moments with the different rings of Hell along with their functions and associated demons. We're introduced to imps at the bottom of the demon hierarchy, demon royalty through Stolas and the Goetia royals, and six of the Seven Deadly Sins.
It seems the Seven Deadly Sins hold the most authority compared to the Overlords. It might be that the Overlords are more rich people like CEOs, industrialists, and entertainers while the Sins are like government officials, both holding power and influence but in different areas of life.
Whenever Hell is used in a show, it's represented in a myriad of ways ranging from classic burning pits to existential or nihilistic despair. It does make it clear that Hell is more a dark reflection of life on Earth, but more dirty, vibrant, and chaotic nonetheless. Even the Earth depicted in the show isn't really different aside from the whole demonic powers and magic stuff.
What Makes it More Interesting than its Predecessor?
Helluva Boss uses episodes as vehicles for their characters. Basically, getting to know who we're watching, why they're important, how they are as people, and so on. It doesn't have an overarching story that builds to a final battle. They're just chilling with exploring characters and their impact to others and the present stories in different episodes. Although there are interconnecting plots and stories, the show is mostly episodic.
Its strongest element include the characters, its main cast, supporting, and even one-off jokes, they all leave impressions on anyone who sees them. Millie is given more exploration in later episodes with why she always put up with Blitzø and believes in their business despite his total incompetence and hangups. You think Millie is just this bubbly tank, but shows a much more vulnerable side who wants to be seen more than her "intended role."
Stolas is another character is breaks the mold of his role. With disastrous results for everyone he cares for. Stolas is the love interest of Blitzø who aids IMP with his magic. He slowly breaks out from being a prince into someone else he hasn't found yet. We see his royal comfort implode in the Sinsmas finale, he loses his status, power, and even his daughter because of a perceived fantasy or escape that would free him. But, like a lot of caged birds, he doesn't fare so well in the real world. Now left with truly nothing but the very person he made his "sacrifice" for. Even uncertain of that as well.
But, the songs from both shows are incredible!!!!
My favorites include Loser, Baby performed by veteran Keith David and newcomer Blake Roman and U 2 Me performed in "Apology Tour" by Bryce Pinkham. Both those songs really connect with me while conveying character moments. The songs in Helluva Boss develop and explore character like a musical would use them for those big "Declaration of Something" anthem. Defying Gravity, We Don't Talk About Bruno, even Cell Block Tango, all are songs that explore one's mindset, opinions, and personal struggles.
Why Should I Watch...?
The Characters, the plots, the songs, the animation, so much F^$King things to admire and love that I can't... I just... 😣 😩 ... I don't know.
Just Watch It and See for Yourself!!!
#helluva boss#hazbin hotel#blitzø#charlie morningstar#angels and demons#hell#viziepop#vivienne medrano#keith david#blake roman#angel dust#husk#stolas goetia#stolitz#stolas#bryce pinkham#chainsaw man#fizzarolli#alex brightman#christmas#sinsmas#helluva spoilers#helluva boss spoilers#hb spoilers
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hey, i hope you're doing great! i feel this may be unorthodox, but i really wanted to reach out to extend my engagement?— awe?— solidarity?— (some variant of those, anyways) with your most recent "workposting" art. i don't normally do this. I've maybe sent 3 asks in my whole life. there's no pressure to respond to this, as i mostly just wanted to cheer you on. also, I'm really sorry this is so long.
i only just recently landed my very first freelance art job, at a start-up company dedicated to making comics + DND inspired art content. I've always felt that "Its nothing to call home about", and so i really resonated with your feelings regarding your work for Brawl Stars. I felt kind of ashamed of my job, that its just a small start up— that I'm not enough and that i should be trying harder, or something like that. Specifically i resonated with your comment of "presenting brawl stars art feels like showing my anime girl oc to an art teacher" and i don't think i could have solidified any better.
Anyways. all's to say. I really found your work quite jaw-dropping. I was shocked when i read it was for Brawl Stars. I didn't know anything about it, but when i did some research i was even more amazed. they're really, really compositionally beautiful... i mean, i know its just "work" to you ultimately, but it really does feel lively, and everything about it makes it feel like you care. I think sometimes you're just able to tell when an artist genuinely cares about their work; about its end outcome. there's so many intricacies. and a lot of attention to detail. you kept the style that was necessary of you but i also can feel the warmth and the care of the artist behind it— its not corporate, or stale, it doesn't come across as "just work".
since you mentioned League, i genuinely do think it serves an equal purpose and weight to what League of Legends would produce. from a biased standpoint, i would actually value your work more. Its not even that its "more obtainable"/"more realistic" but that there's genuinely more feeling to it. Compositionally/artistically, yeah, League makes great stuff, but occasionally, the feeling or the sense of warmth and care from the creator of the art is lost along the way. I value seeing the artist within their own art a lot, which is why I've admitted to a degree of bias. either way. what you put out there is really gorgeous, and crazy impressive.
I know a stranger with a dumb, fandom-oriented art blog cant solve the self-indited art elitism (you and me both, man💀) and that you've already received plenty of love/reblogs saying similar things, but i wanted to extend my feelings anyways. Its really heart-warming, i guess. It brings me hopefulness, and deep adoration for the craft. I'm not very good with words. Anyways. don't undersell yourself. seeing your work meant more to me than you can imagine. I'm obviously nowhere near your skill level, but it meant more to me as an aspiration. i think that regardless of who you work for, your work is really valuable and downright incredible. because you bring that sense of warmth, care, time, and patience regardless of the media it portrays. and you're able to do that while being objectively talented— utilizing great compositions, colour pallets, shading, characterization, mood, etc. That is more valuable. That is much much cooler than working for Riot. imo.
Initially, i also wanted to ask you some questions about how you assembled your portfolio, if you went to school, (if so) what it did/didn't provide for you going into the art field, and just how you landed the job in general. But i respect you and your time, and wouldnt want to be a burden or anything. If you ever have time for it, i would love to ask them, among others, and we can chat in DM if you'd prefer. Absolutely no pressure. Im happy just watching from the sidelines. I dont anticipate anything from you to begin with! I just hope youll know how influential your post was to read & see, to someone like me!
Oh man. I. How. Where do I even start except
This is one of the most uplifting, touching and encouraging messages I received in my life. I read it thrice. And I still can't believe how full of love it is. This is such high praise, I want you to know I will cherish it and carry it with me for a long long time. It's not often that an artist gets to learn how their art is perceived, not to mention in such a positive light. It really means a lot to me.
It makes me so happy to hear that my work illustrations retain a piece of me that is visible to others. I myself can't see it, but I imagine my closeness to the matter at hand heavily impacts my ability to see objectively at all. There was a time where I was worried that work was overriding the me that makes my art mine, that I was becoming a corporate rendering machine and that what I did at work (the shape language and style) was bleeding into my personal art. There is a part of me that is now breathing easier after reading your message. I would love to answer any questions you have, it's the least I can do to repay you! Feel free to send an ask or even an email, I'll try to be as thorough as I can be with my answers. I wish you happy holidays! Take care! And again thank you so much for taking the time to write this message!
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My villain origin story be like:
Kant: opens his mouth in Bison's vicinity
Haters: ugh you can't trust anything he says every word out of his mouth is a lie
Kant: tells Style he mustn't fall in love/mustn't see Fadel again/must move on and get over it (as he falls in love/visits their restaurant/drinks alone with his big brown eyes of sorrow very clearly Not Moving On Nor Getting Over It)
Haters: ugh how can he be so indifferent and heartless see he's a crap friend and his feelings for Bison clearly aren't that strong
...so NOW you think he means what he says?! Do they not understand that Kant lies to himself most of all?! At this point surely the ignorance has got to be wilful!
Style wears his heart on his sleeve because he can, and that's lovely. Kant, however, has spent a good part of his adult life having to navigate and negotiate between the Scylla of the criminal underworld and the Charybdis of law enforcement, where his very survival depends on his ability to mask how he really feels/who he really is. Of course they don't react in the same way! Argh!
HEAVY on kant lies to himself most of all. like genuinely he doesn’t have any actual CHOICES in all of this i feel like thats just being missed. no matter how real his feelings are, he still had to do everything he did. he still wouldn’t be able to have bison in the end regardless. so WHAT are his options. seriously i would love everyone that has a complaint about the way he handles things to give an an actual, legitimate way he could have gone about all of this differently that would not have had drastic consequences for him personally regardless. because there isn’t one! he loses in any situation! god forbid he try to protect his heart a little in the process - even if he and everyone with eyes knows damn well it isn’t working
#like. god i’ve never gotten the kant hate but this episode made me so much more protective of him than i was even before#because he wants so badly. he loves so hard. but he can’t have.#the heart killers#kant pattanawat#asks#bonnie’s
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boyfriend!sukuna who youve caught humming songs will he does random stuff around his palace
boyfriend!sukuna who says the most outrageous things in public without shame. i mean whos gonna say something to him? they know not to mess with him
boyfriend!sukuna who instead of sending you flowers to your job like a normal boyfriend would sent a bomb threat just so you could have the day off
boyfriend!sukuna who youve asked many times about his nails to which he responds with a snarky remark about his nails being naturally black
boyfriend!sukuna who loves hates when you mock him
boyfriend!sukuna who keeps his tough act up even when its just you and him. you see right through it ofc
boyfriend!sukuna who finds himself constantly teasing you because he enjoys seeing you upset and all flustered, just for you to ignore him for the next few hours then come back to him with your arms crossed, demanding and apology from him
boyfriend!sukuna who would genuinely crash out over you only to deny ever doing anything if you ask him about it
boyfriend!sukuna who would randomly come behind you and bite you on the shoulder just because he wants to, whos gonna stop him anyways ?
boyfriend!sukuna who instead of demanding a kiss from you, would grab you by your neck, not hard enough to stop your oxygen but not soft either, smashing his lips onto yours roughly
boyfriend!sukuna who doesnt let you do anything that involves you lifting a finger, who just wants you to sit next to him and look pretty for him
boyfriend!sukuna who doesnt bother remembering his servants names so he gives them insulting nicknames (uraume as the exception)
boyfriend!sukuna who would punish / torture anything that so much as looked at you the wrong way
boyfriend!sukuna who always asks you why you need all the gels and creams for you hair
boyfriend!sukuna who doesnt care much for your protective styles and much rather prefer your natural hair
boyfriend!sukuna who leaves gifts for you on your vanity and wont say a word about it unless asked about it (which he will still deny over and over again)
boyfriend!sukuna who undeniably wants to make you queen forever. who will never ever let you leave him. no matter what.
#black reader#jjk x black reader#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna boyfriend headcannons#sorry the post is 2 hours late
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Year-End Writer's Roundup: 2024 edition
It’s that time of year, writer friends: time to take stock of what we’ve been up to this year! Tagging to literally ANY AND ALL WRITERS who would like to participate — seriously, if you write and you see this, please take this as an invitation to fill it out! — but I’ll throw down some tags from the top of my head: @contrivedchaos @iamcayc @midnightacrobat @elveny @johaerys-writes @crackinglamb @alyssalenko @vorchagirl @auntie-coagulant @sweetorangepoptart @himluv @mwasaw @varric-tethras-editor and GENUINELY anyone else who wants to join in!
Words written (published or not, WIPs totally count too!!): 882 674. A decrease compared to previous years, but there is a good reason for this (even though I need to keep reminding myself that it’s a good thing) — more details below.
Smut scenes: 44 — similar to the past few years.
New things I tried:
I wrote a fully-fledged poly ship for the first time with Halsin, Astarion and my Tav, complete with feelings and all! I’ve written sexual-only threesomes/moresomes before, but this is the first time I’ve had there be actual romance as well as sex.
Significant M/M sexy time, including anal sex. I probably won’t write anal sex again for personal reasons, but I’m glad I dabbled at least.
I wrote something that I do not intend to post publicly, purely just for me. More on this later.
Fic I spent the most time on:
My Astarion/Tav fic, just based on sheer number of words alone.
Fic I spent the least time on:
My Zoro/Reader fic, Relentless. These three chapters came together (HUEHUE) so quickly based on the sheer force of Zoro thirst. NOTHING LIKE THAT THREE-SWORD STYLE TO GET US WANTING HIS FOURTH SWORD 🤣
Favourite thing I wrote:
This is tough this year aaaaaaaa. The Teia/Viago fic was one that I’d been wanting to write since 2020, and I’m grateful to the Veilguard hype for resparking that flame and making it happen. I LOVED writing all of my Halsin smut because Halsin just makes me SO CRAZY (I genuinely think he might be the one singular videogame boyfriend I’ve felt the most feral about). My Rolan/Tav fic felt like it was born from a very bright spark of inspiration, and I had a fun few weeks just blasting through writing that.
But my #1 fave thing to write might have been the One Piece Sanji/OC fic that I am not planning to publish. Not publishing means there’s been no pressure to “make it good” or to figure out every detail of timelines/lore/OC backstory etc, so I can just do whatever I want. And that freedom to just make the fic mine, for me, has been really valuable this year.
Favourite thing I read:
Oh fuck, I read basically nothing this year HAHAHA. But I did read this one Sanji/Nico Robin smutfic that I REALLY loved. And I absolutely devoured a novel by one of my fave authors (Grown Ups by Marian Keyes) during our mini-vacay to Florida in February.
Writing goals for next year:
My only goal for the coming year is this: to write only what I really WANT to write.
This probably sounds obvious, but it’s a whole thing that’s tied up with expectations of myself and self-worth and blah blah blah, so the rest of this post will be a bit of a personal essay that you can feel free to pass on HAHA.
I started therapy last year, and I’m in the part of my “therapy journey” now where one of the things I’m working through is the fact that I hold unhealthily high expectations of myself in basically every realm of my life. I force myself to suppress/compartmentalize/ignore my own feelings because I prioritize other people’s feelings over my own, and I spend a lot of my time focusing on things that I think I “should” be doing, at the expense of my own comfort levels/needs/physical or mental health etc. (ELDEST SISTER SYNDROME ANYONE?) And unfortunately, over the years, this way of operating has insidiously snuck its way into my writing.
When I first started writing fanfic in 2017, the writing was entirely born from an overwhelming desire to just get out this story in my head and make it a reality. I started writing for no other reason than because I wanted to. But as time went on and I gained a lovely following of readers, I started prioritizing my readers’ desires over my own. In particular, I’ve gotten too caught up by the idea of being That Writer™ who posts frequently and who finishes her fics: two qualities that I have often been praised for. This led to a habit of sticking to very strict schedules of always posting at least one chapter of something every single week — and if I was working on more than one fic, I would pressure myself to post a chapter of each fic every week. I would pressure myself to do this even when my back pain and migraines started flaring up in 2020, because I did not want to disappoint my readers.
To be clear: all of this was pressure coming from myself. Nobody was telling me I need to post every week or that I need to finish everything I write; I was the one holding myself to these insane standards. But for years, I’ve been able to meet these standards, and it hasn’t been a problem — or so I thought.
Then this year happened. Therapy stuff happened and health stuff got worse, and for the first time ever, I started having days where I just could not make myself write. I would sit at the computer for hours, unable to conjure any words. For some of my fics, this meant weeks or even months between updates. Sometimes when the words finally came, the writing felt like a struggle or a chore rather than an act of love, because I was doing something that I felt like I had to do rather than something I really wanted.
This has been absolute fucking torture for me. I felt so shitty about myself for not being able to do the one thing that I legitimately love doing the most in the world. This was especially distressing because I have given writing advice before stating that when you’re writing a long fic, you sometimes have to write shit you don’t want to write before you can get to the good stuff. And the fact that I’m struggling to do this now has left me feeling like a hypocrite and a failure for not being able to follow my own advice.
To make things worse, some of the fandoms I’ve been writing for have been… unresponsive. The ratio of hits to actual comments has been pretty abysmal. The lack of engagement and encouragement just added onto the feelings of shittiness and inadequacy, as though I was failing to meet readers’ expectations somehow, and I can’t lie: it was part of why I stopped writing for one fandom this year, and I’ve never felt so bitter about finishing any fics as I did with a couple of the fics I wrapped up this year.
With time, a lot of tears and self-castigation, and ongoing therapy sessions, I’ve slowwwwwly realized that I am being unkind to myself by holding myself to such high expectations, and that I need to actively combat these expectations by refocusing on writing things that I want to write rather than worrying about disappointing my readers. I’m also working on writing only when I want to and when I feel good, i.e. not forcing myself to write when my head is throbbing or when I’m in too much pain to sit in my office chair.
To this end, I have been writing some One Piece fic that I have no plans to post publicly: fic that is entirely self-indulgent fun. And it’s actually been the best exercise in returning to the hedonistic selfish joy of writing what I want, which is why I started doing this in the first place. Moving forward, I’m going to keep working on writing for myself first and foremost. I’ll strive to write what only what really sparks joy for me, and if that means my word count keep dropping year after year, I will try to remind myself that this is a good and healthy thing, since any words that I write should be a gift to myself first and foremost.
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I love Devlin so much, she really embodies what The Dark Urge is! Did she ever meet the Drow twins at Sharess' Caress? I like to imagine she really let her freak flag fly! 😂
Thank you!! That means a lot because The Dark Urge storyline really resonated with me so I’m glad that comes across in the way I’ve written Devlin. 🖤
I’ve been chewing on this question for a bit and it’s actually more complicated than I expected!
The short, silly answer is:
She met them, she thinks they’re hot, but alas she did NOT bang them (much to the chagrin of her sexually frustrated horny self.) Though I bet she begged them for stories of their escapades to live vicariously through while she battled her unwavering Urges.
The longer, more serious answer:
In-game, she talked to the drow twins and while she finds them attractive, she didn’t actually end up pursuing anything with them because of her relationship with Astarion at this time. By this point, they had committed to giving their relationship an honest go. She takes him seriously when he says he’s not up for it with the twins and she feels especially sensitive to how uncharacteristically awkward he was about it too. Devlin loves flirting for the fun of it but she could see his vulnerability during this time so she doesn’t even tease.
They’re both in a pretty vulnerable state at this point in the story. Devlin learns of her origins as a bhaalspawn (followed by the worst conversation with Gortash, as seen in this comic LOL) and Astarion meanwhile is psyching himself up to confront Cazador. And based on the dialogue with Halsin it sounds like Astarion and her are taking a break from sex.
Devlin is 100% respectful of that…BUT DEAR FUCKING LORD IS IT HARD FOR HER. She has never really done the “voluntary celibacy” thing. Even after waking up with amnesia from the nautiloid she immediately started fooling around with Lae’zel and soon after Astarion (…and I have to confess…she also slept with Gale but she’s too embarrassed to talk about it.) She ALSO had a weird night with Halsin which honestly just further solidified her position of only wanting to be with Astarion.
I see this as actually a huge period of growth for Devlin. It’s the first time she’s entered a REAL relationship that asks her to make sacrifices for another. Which is new for her! And it leads her to make choices differently, like thinking about her lover's well-being before her own. She also realizes that she has been using sex as a way to distract from her Urges. It’s an unhealthy coping strategy and what she really needs to do is confront her father which becomes the driving force for her choice to resist bhaal.
Flirting and teasing is one thing but ultimately she only wants to share her heart with Astarion. And while I think they’ll eventually have fun partaking in the occasional threeway or orgy, it just feels like most of act 3 is not the best time for them.
The only other alternative would be that maybe she ran into the drow twins in the past, pre-tadpole. BUT she had this nasty habit of killing people after sleeping with them, tarantula style. And seeing as they’re very much alive I can only assume they’ve never met before!
ANYWAYS thank you for the ask! Sorry for the long ass reply LOL 😂
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⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | a trickster's bargain⌟
╰ ⌞🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷 🇮🇳🇩🇪🇽⌝
❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘
Your body tensed, panic bubbling to the surface as your mind immediately leapt to the worst possible conclusion. He's here to drag me back to Apollo. I'm dead.
Your mind raced with every possibility, none of them good. You didn't know what the gods did to thieves who dared rob them, but you were sure it wouldn't end with a pat on the back and a "nice try."
Your muscles tensed instinctively, as if preparing to bolt again, but the way Hermes looked at you—sharp, curious, like he was reading your every thought—made it clear you wouldn't get far.
He might've been lounging, acting lazy, but there was something dangerous about him. Something that told you he could catch you before you even took a step.
"W-ha—" Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard and tried again. "Why are you here?"
Hermes' grin spread wider, his golden eyes flashing as if this was all one big joke. He sat forward just slightly, his elbows on his knees, his staff still twirling in his hand as though it weighed no more than a twig. "Relax. I'm not here to drag you back to back to my dear brother, if that's what you're worried about."
You blinked, your breath hitching. "You're... not?"
"Pfft, no," he snorted, as though the idea itself was ridiculous. "Dragging people off for punishment? That's not really my style. And besides..." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, his grin turning downright wolfish as he twirled the staff faster. "...I'm not mad. I'm impressed."
You froze, staring at him like he'd just grown a second head. "Impressed?"
Hermes didn't answer right away. Instead effortlessly pushed off the branch, floating down to the forest floor with the lazy grace of a leaf on the wind. The wings on his sandals fluttered quietly, barely disturbing the air around him. He landed softly, his staff tapping once against the earth before he turned his sharp gaze back to you.
"You heard me," he said, smirking. "Do you know how rare it is for someone to pull off a stunt like this? Robbing Apollo's shrine—and living? Oh, the other gods are going to love this one." He clapped his hands once for emphasis, laughing to himself like he'd just heard the world's funniest joke.
You didn't laugh. You didn't move.
Your arms curled subconsciously around your satchel, pulling the heavy bag closer to your chest as if that could somehow shield you. "S-So... what?" you managed, your voice thin and cautious. "Does that mean you're not going to kill me?"
"Kill you?" Hermes snorted again, shaking his head as if the thought was absurd. "I don't do that kind of thing. I'm the god of travelers, thieves, merchants... tricksters, you might say. You?" He gestured to you with the end of his staff, smirking. "You're practically one of mine already."
That didn't make you feel much better. Your eyes never left him as he began to move, stepping—not walking, exactly, more like floating—around you.
You stiffened, your back pressing harder against the boulder as he circled you like some predator inspecting its prey. And then he did something that made your breath catch.
He stepped into the creek.
You blinked. He didn't sink. The water rippled softly around his sandals but didn't seem to touch him.
It was wrong in the way only something divine could be, and yet he acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The tiny wings fluttered lazily as Hermes walked—no, glided—across the water's surface, the reflections of moonlight dancing beneath his feet as he continued to circle you like a shark.
The staff in his hand twirled lazily, but his golden eyes never left you.
You swallowed, clutching your satchel tighter.
Hermes' gaze flickered down at the movement, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. "Touchy, touchy," he teased, his golden eyes watching how your arms curled protectively around the bag. "You act like I'm going to snatch it from you."
"You might," you shot back before you could stop yourself.
He paused, eyebrows arching as his smirk twitched into a lopsided grin. "Oh, you're fun." He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. "Relax, little thief. I don't need your scraps."
"Scraps?" you repeated, scowling before you could think better of it.
Hermes snorted again, spinning the staff effortlessly in one hand as he stepped back onto solid ground. "Compared to the Sunstone hanging around your neck?" He tilted his head, his sharp gaze flickering to your chest, where the faintest golden glow still pulsed beneath your shirt. "Yeah. Scraps."
Your face twitched as your fingers brushed instinctively over the stone's warmth, still hidden but alive.
You couldn't tell if he was mocking you or not. Probably both.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the goblet was gone from the ground, plucked right out of thin air.
Your head snapped up. Hermes was standing right in front of you, holding it casually in one hand like it had always belonged to him.
You froze, still seated on the ground, staring up at him in disbelief. You hadn't even seen him move.
One moment, he'd been a good few paces away, circling like a hawk with that smug grin, and now he was here—close enough that you had to tilt your head back to see his face.
The goblet gleamed in the moonlight, the last droplets of water dripping from its rim.
"Pretty little thing," Hermes mused, holding it up to inspect it, turning it this way and that like he was deciding whether it was worth anything. "Not quite worth Apollo's wrath, but hey, you've got guts."
You swallowed hard, muscles locking up as you instinctively curled your arms tighter around the satchel. He hadn't touched the bag—you'd know if he had—but his presence alone made every bit of treasure inside feel like it might vanish at any second.
"Give it back," you muttered, glaring up at him.
Hermes' grin didn't falter. If anything, it deepened. He turned his golden gaze down to you, the faintest huff of amusement escaping him as if your bravado only entertained him more. "Fiesty."
You clenched your jaw, refusing to look away. You were still sitting there, half sprawled near the creek, knees bent and back pressed against the boulder, while he stood above you like the smug, impossible god he was.
It was maddening—the way he loomed without even trying, that sharp golden gaze pinning you down.
You wet your lips, fighting to keep your voice steady. "What do you want?" you demanded finally, harsher than you intended.
Hermes tilted his head, his curls catching the faint light as he lowered the goblet just slightly. He planted his staff into the dirt beside him with a faint thud, the polished wood glinting faintly, and leaning against it lazily with one arm. "I'm glad you finally asked."
You stiffened. Here it comes.
"See, here's the thing," Hermes started, his tone light and conversational, as though you were two friends discussing nothing more than the weather. "You're good—better than most, actually. I like that. And you've entertained me tonight, which doesn't happen often."
He pushed off the staff and crouched slightly, his golden gaze now level with yours.
You couldn't help but flinch slightly at the proximity—the way his golden eyes pinned you to the spot like a butterfly on a board. His smirk softened just a little, but there was still something calculating in it. "Sooo, I'm going to offer you something in return."
Your stomach dropped. "An offer?"
He nodded, still grinning like he knew something you didn't. "I'll help you."
"...Help me? ...How?"
Hermes' eyes gleamed brighter, playful and sharp, like a knife disguised as a smile. "Mask your trail, of course. I'll cover your tracks. It'll keep Apollo's fury off your back, at least for a while." He twirled the staff in one hand, the movement unnervingly casual; his voice was sing-song, almost amused. "You're clever, little thief; don't get me wrong, but you're playing with fire here. Without me? You'll burn."
You stared at him, trying to decide whether to be relieved or terrified. Probably both.
"And... what's the catch?" you asked cautiously.
Hermes' grin widened, his teeth catching the moonlight. He looked almost proud, like you'd just passed some unspoken test. "Smart girl," he said approvingly. "Of course there's a catch."
You stayed frozen, barely daring to breathe as he leaned closer, and even though he wasn't touching you, his presence pressed against you like a physical weight.
His grin was playful, boyish even, but there was something darker beneath it—a flash of calculation, of something far more dangerous hiding in plain sight.
"For my help," Hermes said softly, voice dipping low enough to make your skin prickle, "I'll expect a favor in return."
"What kind of favor?"
Hermes straightened, shrugging one shoulder with a nonchalance that didn't fool you—that same wolfish glint still lurking in his golden gaze. "I don't know yet," he said, twirling the goblet now like it was part of some grand joke. His eyes glinted again, mischievous and sharp. "But when I do? You'll owe me."
You blinked at him, trying to process his words. "That's it?"
"That's it." Hermes straightened, his staff clicking against the ground as he did. He spun the goblet in his other hand and then, with an exaggerated flourish, held it out to you like some grand prize. "So, what d'ya say?" He extended his free hand toward you, palm up, waiting for a handshake. "A small price, don't you think? For your life."
Your eyes flicked between his outstretched hand and his expression, every part of you screaming to hesitate.
Your brain screamed at you to think—this could be easily be a trap. It probably was a trap, the kind that ended with you back in Apollo's shrine, dragged before an angry god with no hope of escape.
Because, let's be real, Hermes wasn't just a god; he was the god of tricksters. That grin of his might as well have been a warning sign.
But the other part of you argued back, desperate and practical. Hermes was your best shot. He wasn't wrong—you had entertained him tonight, which was probably the only reason you were still breathing.
He might be chaos wrapped in charm, but Apollo's wrath was something you couldn't outrun on your own.
And besides, it wasn't like you had gods lining up to be on your side already.
Your eyes flicked back to his face, then to his hand, still waiting patiently for yours.
Hermes watched you closely, the corners of his grin twitching, but there was something calculating in those golden eyes.
Always watching. Always two steps ahead.
"C'mon," he said, wiggling his fingers as though coaxing a child. "Tick-tock, little thief. Apollo won't stay mad forever—he'll get worse."
You swallowed hard. "Fine," you grumbled, the word barely a whisper. Your fingers tightened briefly around the strap of your satchel before you forced yourself to move.
Slowly, reluctantly, you reached out and slid your hand into his.
The moment your palm met his, warmth rippled through you—not comforting warmth, but something electric, like sparks jumping along your skin. Hermes' grip was firm and steady, his fingers calloused despite their elegance.
His grin widened, sharp and triumphant.
It felt like sealing a deal with chaos itself.
"Smart choice," he said, giving your hand a single, decisive shake before letting go and snapping his fingers.
You flinched slightly at the snap, your head darting around, expecting... something. A flash of light, a thunderous boom, maybe the earth splitting in half. But nothing happened. The forest still stretched out dark and quiet around you, the creek bubbling softly at your side.
You stared at Hermes, unimpressed, a brow raising as you huffed. "That's it?" you muttered, voice flat. "That was your big trick?"
Hermes chuckled, clearly amused by your skepticism, his golden eyes crinkling with mischief. Before you could blink, he reached out, grabbed your arm, and lifted you clean off the ground.
"Hey—! What the—" you yelped, your feet dangling uselessly for a moment as he effortlessly hauled you upward like you weighed nothing at all. Before you could protest further, Hermes settled you onto your feet with an exaggerated gentleness, grinning down at you as though the whole thing were perfectly normal.
"There we go," he said, dusting off his hands like he'd done something terribly important. He crouched slightly, reaching for the satchel you'd dropped. "Can't have you sitting around all day, can we?"
You blinked at him, still recovering from the fact that a god had just manhandled you like a doll. Before you could argue, Hermes straightened, holding the satchel out to you with an easy smile. "Don't look so grumpy. I've already done all the hard work for you."
You hesitated, fingers curling around the bag's strap. "What... hard work?"
"Erased your trail," Hermes replied casually, waving a hand through the air like it was the simplest thing in the world. "The shrine? The woods? Any trace of you being there—poof." He smirked, tapping his temple with one finger. "It's like you were never there at all. Also, I may or may not have tinkered with a few guards' memories, too. Just temporarily, of course."
"How long is 'temporarily'?"
He scratched his chin, grinning as his golden eyes sparkled with something far too mischievous. "Well, 300 years is temporary for you mortals, isn't it?"
The gods really could bend the world, couldn't they?
A surprised laugh burst out of you before you could stop it, startled and incredulous. "Well, I'll be..."You shook your head, clearing your throat quickly as you reached for the satchel, shouldering it. "I suppose I should say thank you for that..."
As soon as the bag settled, you paused.
It was light. Too light.
Your heart dropped straight into your stomach, dread flashing through you like lightning. Your eyes snapped up to Hermes, who was watching you with a suspiciously innocent look, and your hands moved before you could think.
"Shit! You didn't—you better not have taken even one coin—"
Curses flew from your lips as you dropped the bag onto the ground and yanked it open, fingers fumbling to pull the flap back. Your chest tightened, your stomach twisting in panic—
But there it was.
The treasure gleamed back at you, piled neatly like it hadn't been thrown together during a frantic escape. Coins, jewels, and even the silver goblet sat tucked perfectly inside the satchel, untouched and safe.
You sat there for a beat, waiting—expecting something monumental to happen. A flash of light, the earth splitting open, anything to match the smug finality in his tone. But the air remained still, and all you heard was the soft babble of the nearby creek.
Your mouth opened, the curse trailing awkwardly into nothing as you stared at it. "...How?"
"Oh, that?" You looked up, completely bewildered, only to find Hermes humming to himself, a smug smile tugging at his lips like a cat who'd gotten into the cream. "I may or may not have also charmed your bag," he said, voice light and sing-song. "Weightless. Handy little trick, really. Now you won't have to lug around that oh-so-heavy bounty—feels like a feather now, doesn't it?"
You gawked at him, mind reeling. For a long second, you couldn't even form words. The satchel in your hands was feather-light, as though it held nothing at all, but you could see the treasure—solid, real, gleaming up at you.
It finally hit you. You were actually dealing with magic. Gods. All of it.
You let out a shaky, wobbly smile, blowing out a breath that turned into something close to a sob. "Wow. A thief's dream."
Hermes blinked, clearly caught off guard, before an unexpected chuckle slipped from him. "Huh. Funny," he muttered, like he hadn't expected the words but found them amusing anyway. "That's a good way to put it."
You shook your head, still half in disbelief as you shut the satchel and pulled it close. "So... what now?"
Hermes pushed off his staff with a satisfied nod, already turning on his heel. "Now? Let's be off. Time waits for no one, little thief."
You blinked, watching as he began walking—walking—in a completely random direction through the woods. His cloak fluttered behind him, brushing against the earth as if it couldn't quite decide whether to touch it or not.
"Wait!" you called after him, adjusting the satchel across your shoulder as you hurried to follow. "Can't you just, I don't know—fly us out of here? Or use magic or something?"
Hermes glanced over his shoulder, smirking as he shrugged. "Yeah, probably."
You frowned. "Probably?"
"But where's the fun in that?" he teased, his voice full of mischief.
You stared at him, slack-jawed and exasperated as he strolled through the forest without a care in the world.
"...Gods," you muttered under your breath, trudging after him with your magically weightless bag. "I'm going to regret this."
From ahead, Hermes' laugh rang through the trees like the chiming of bells, bright and mocking. "You already made the deal, little thief! Too late for regrets now. Now, hurry up!"
A/N: okay, just forgive me now because this will NOT be a slow burn, but honestly, can you blame me? Hermes is just begging for all the attention and affection right now. 😩✨
#xani-writes: hermes fics#epic the musical#epic the ocean saga#epic the musical fanfic#jorge rivera herrans#epic the musical x reader#greek mythology#greek gods#etl#x reader#greek gods x reader#hermes x you#hermes x reader#hermes#hermes etm#hermes epic the musical#reader insert#trickster god#messenger god#romance#fem reader#x female reader#ao3#ao3 fanfic#wattpad#quotev
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What’s your take on a Leo 1H stellium? (ASC , mercury , Venus & north node)
Leo Mercury/Venus/NN in 1H
☽。⋆ This is gives me immediate bright eyed excited for the world energy. Leo ascendants already take up the whole room when they walk in (whether they mean to or not; they naturally command attention) but with Venus here, there’s a certain magnetism that the already attractive and influential Leo ascendant has that amplifies their liveliness and ability to warm others up with their attitude and unwavering attention.
☽。⋆ Leo Venus enjoys attention, it being in the first house either suggests you do get that attention effortlessly or that’s how your perceived. Meaning even if you don’t enjoy or think you don’t get that much attention others may look at you and assume based off first impressions and or appearances that you do in fact get a lot of positive attention.
☽。⋆ Leo Venus in the first house can indicate the genuine and big hearted love that Leo naturally has in Venus is greatly expressed in your personality. You love to love and enjoy receiving compliments and giving them to others. "What you give is what you get" and you make sure your sending that positive energy to others tenfold.
☽。⋆ Leo Mercury in the 1H allows for an individual to outwardly and confidently express their curiosity and thoughts to a wider audience. The fear of being wrong usually is not a problem here as the Leo mercury is so deeply authentic and genuine in its curiosity of the world/people/ideology around them that others can’t be mad/disappointed at whatever may come out of their mouth.
☽。⋆ Leo Mercury in the 1H also shows a very expressive individual with a communication style that’s extremely dynamic and exciting. These are the type of people I could listen to tell stories about their lives for days just because of how entertaining they are.
☽。⋆ Leo Mercury in the First house can also indicate being very reactive, especially when it comes to communication, you may be the type to be somewhat performative, or liking the reactions other people give you in response to how YOU react or to what you say (shock value).
☽。⋆ Leo Mercuries in general seem quite fun, I also love Mercury in the first as in terms of how you come across to other people, others might view you as someone who has a zest for life or constantly on a quest for more knowledge. Combining the genuine and entertaining Leo with the intellectual and communicative ruled planet mercury in your first house of how others view you illustrates an individual who is quite reactive, entertaining but genuine in thought and authentic in how you communicate.
☽。⋆ North Node in Leo suggests stepping into the spotlight as you age/in this life time. Maybe as a kid or if you believe in past lifetimes, in a past life, would’ve been more focused on the collective and group projects. You prefer to work in groups and it feels natural to connect with and work with other people.
☽。⋆ South Node in Aquarius suggests it might’ve felt uncomfortable taking up the spotlight, possibly the fear of being recognised, perceived or even judged could’ve gotten in the way of you attuning yourself to your North Node in Leo traits.
☽。⋆ SN in Aqua indicates preferring to work with the team, being a team player, and collectively collaborating, working on and achieving something together for a greater cause that benefits all.
☽。⋆ SN in Aqua can also show having a lot of empathy for humanity as a whole as a kid, possibly wanting to donate to charity, or getting involved in things/coming up with ideas as to how you can help on a global level.
☽。⋆ NN in Leo now suggests to not let go of that collaborative, networking and humanitarian side that your SN (most comfortable state) holds, but to carry those traits with you when embracing your destiny in this life/as you age.
☽。⋆SN in Aqua can suggest possibly being to grown for your age as a kid. Or wanting to be mature and humble over your achievements as a kid.
☽。⋆ NN in Leo is more focused on the self, is less focused on group collaboration but is the model on the stage that is presented, the person that entertains and brings about happiness in the crowds.
☽。⋆ NN in Leo encourages you to be more comfortable in the lime light and to never lower or dismiss your achievements but to openly celebrate with friends and loved ones.
☽。⋆ NN in Leo is encouraging you to move away from collective effort and more onto the natural creative side you have within and to share it with the community, audience, wider world.
☽。⋆SN in Aqua might’ve been too focused on what other people needed, what society wanted from them and how they can contribute to society, NN in Leo encourages you to instead harvest and develop your personal talents not for humanity, nor a greater cause or society bur for yourself. By putting yourself first and using your talents and or hobbies to enrich your inner world and mental well-being will you then be able to achieve your SN in Aqua dream of being able to help others on a grand scale.
☽。⋆This could literally be through any outlet, but because it’s NN in Leo, more than likely a creative pursuit. Music, Painting, Acting, Drawing, Dancing etc anything that’s creative and that calls to heal your inner child that was neglected to focus on bigger things at a young age, do that as it will heal you and eventually heal others.
☽。⋆ NN in Leo= get comfortable being your more authentic and creative self in FRONT of people, show yourself off and be appreciative of what others have done for you as well as what you have done for yourself, move towards positions where you can take charge, be the centre of attention, be the creator (despite how uncomfortable and or how scary it might feel)
☽。⋆The accuracy of these observations will vary and are all dependant on other placements in your chart, the aspects that are being made to Mercury, Venus, and North node (are they more harmonious or challenging) as well as if they’re conjuncting the Asc, if you have a Day Chart or a Night chart, and the overall strength and dignity of these planets.
(P.S I wrote this on my phone there may be grammar mistakes)
#astro community#astrology placements#astrology notes#leo placements#astrology community#astrology#astro notes#leo mercury#Leo#leo venus#astro tumblr#astrology observations#astroblr#astrology tumblr#leo rising#leo ascendant#Leo north node#Aquarius South node
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do u know cass personally? or is this a tumblr friendship? cuz its the most wholesome thing ive seen in my life
I don't even know their real name ~ But if I will be told that I have an extra liver, I will know at the exact same second to whom give it.
#without jokes#I owe her so much#I'm pretty sure she doesn't understand how much#It was first days of college when I found this place#and I was having attacks of hatred towards this place due to the fact that it takes up all the time#and in the end I do not get anything useful from it.#I didn't even have powers on drawing something#I didn't know what to draw#head empty#and everything felt so... flat?#and BOOM#what do you mean it is the style that I love the most#what do you mean the main attention to the emotions#what do you mean it's a chaos#what do you mean I love this thing already#what do you mean the author of this story is so wonderful and funny and cool and so many adjectives#WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE MAKES KIND OF ANIMATICS THAT I LOVE THE MOST#*puts paws together*#I love animatics and I finally found a passion#I survived last year only because of her#honestly#I don't know what and how happened#but I don't want to change anything#I am so much grateful I don't know what else I can give to her I have nothing
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At your side [End of Season 2]
[First] Prev <–-> Next
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#wei wuxian#lan wangji#wen ning#jin ling#wen qing#jiang yanli#a-yuan#It may have taken a year but we did it! The end of season 2!!!#(Granted: this season was nearly twice the length of season one.)#It's been a really fantastic season to draw for. So many iconic moments! It was a lot of work but I had a blast B*)#I also enjoyed experimenting more and more with my comic style. I'm growing as a comic artist bit by bit!#There is even a little bit of shadowing in this one for next season. As a treat. All the fun (and not heart breaking) scenes to come!#Comic talk time: Recently saw 12 angry men for first time and I love the coincidence of the themes aligning here.#They both touch upon the horror of judicial systems - in which the most persuasive argument wins and the truth is a nuisance.#All it takes is one person to stand against the crowd and say 'I do not know what is true. And that is reasonable doubt enough.'#When the majority is for condemning someone guilty - that in itself is persuasive enough.#One will set their mind to what the 'truth' is and refuse to see it any other way. That their perspective is the only correct one.#No one is born with a monopoly on the truth.#Everyone has biases and agendas. Some care not for the outcome - only that they can be on the convenient side.#Lan Wangji is putting everything on the line to say 'I'm not going to go with the majority vote.'#And that is a huge deal in a story that is so politically focused as MDZS is. Everything is a careful chess move to these sects -#and to not play the game is basically sacrificing everything you are and your families name. For some it is unthinkable.#And there is no doubt in LWJ's mind. He would stand there and lose everything if it means upholding justice.#More importantly - these two have each other's backs. The bond is unbreakable. This is the most ride or die I have seen two people be.
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I honestly love the clothing styles of each of the turtles in this show and I love how these styles really incorporate their personalities as well.
Like, obviously Donnie has the best sense of style, yeah? Think that’s something pretty agreed upon here. Everything we see him put together is very meticulously crafted and clean. That goes with his personality because Donnie is a very meticulous person in general, and he knows what he likes very, very well, and knows how to flaunt it in turn. Him commenting on colors he enjoys or disapproving of outfits that the others see no problem with also shows how he just generally has an eye for this kind of thing. He doesn’t just know what looks good on himself, but also what looks good on others - and I think this ties into his love of gift giving too. Donnie also has a flair for making sure that his things have his “mark” on them, and his clothing is no exception. All that he wears and how he wears them screams “Donnie.”
Mikey is really fun because his styles are honestly a pendulum between super simplistic and incredibly out there. And often, you’re going to see a lot of color or patterns to both. And in my opinion I think that all reflects really well on Mikey’s character - he’s got a colorful personality but even more than that he’s incredible sure of who he himself is. Mikey’s style, I feel, is less what looks good as clothes and more what sparks joy in Mikey himself. His bright stickers he wears are a testament of that! He’s comfortable in his own skin and his style reflects this perfectly, whether he goes for a more out-there look or a more toned down one.
Now, for Leo. Okay, I think I’m actually in the minority here I feel because Leo’s style isn’t really that bad? Hear me out- if you actually look at what he wears, try taking out, like, one accessory. Suddenly, that outfit works! He even manages to put together many good outfits in the series, but his “bad” ones are the ones that tend to stand out, alas (just like how his mistakes tend to be big ones oop-) Basically, my personal look at him is not that he’s inept at styling at all, but that he has a “too much” gene. And like everyone else, this sense of style is completely like him, too. Going too far to impress when all he needed to do was slow it down some to think things through. (And funnily enough, a lot of his outfits take random aspects from his brothers too - “nothing without them” huh?)
For Raph, I feel bad for him since pretty much all of his clothes are inevitably going to be ripped, but he makes them work pretty much each time. Like Leo, Raph tends to go more sporty with his looks, but I also noticed that his stuff often goes in that in between of comfy, cool, and cute. His pajama suit in particular comes to mind in terms of “cute” as it’s more something you’d see younger children in rather than older kids, and I think it can be a subtle nod to the fact that for all Raph tries to seem older, he’s still just a kid too.
I could probably go on, but these are just all off the top of my head - I love how the boys’ personality’s come out in so many different ways.
#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rottmnt headcanons#rise donnie#rise leo#rise mikey#rise raph#I love fashion actually#if you’re wondering where this came from it came from me watching hours of outfit creation vids#but yeah! I honestly could probably go more into it#but I’m going off my memory for the most part rip#Leo in particular makes me sad because I disagree with like 99% of the fandom about his fashion sense LOL#I don’t think it’s bad but it’s def not close to Donnie level#Donnie is his own category#Leo though he’s not just jerseys and ripped sleeves#he wears full eye makeup as a granny and kills doing it#his pirate costume was very well put together imo#even his regular weird frog like disguise is perfectly fine when you get rid of the goggles#I ALSO don’t think Raph’s style is bad either#my boy has more difficulty with clothes since he’s limited to the stretchier stuff but like#he’s got good style!!#I’m def looking more into this all than necessary but#watch me come back to this and change it like fifty times#if you’re wondering what I mean about Leo’s outfits taking from his brothers#look at Raph’s standard disguise (the one they go out to play basketball with)#ripped sleeves and a backward cap#one of Leo’s main outfits in The Clothes Don’t Fit the Turtle?#ripped sleeves and backwards cap#incedentally these borrowed aspects actually hinder his overall look!#his outfit without them is more HIM y’know? which says a lot about allll their individual styles
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‘The rate of which I make art for AO3 fics in the library VS. the rate of me adding in new fics into the library’ makes an unfair battle. 12 pieces in and 90 fics (and counting) in store…. This is not a war I can win….
P.S. I make them simply to decorate my Apple Library with AO3 fics I like (self-indulgence). The drawing is dependent on my mood + what I felt like drawing/trying out, and the content of the fic. It is as subjective as it is NOT indicative of what the fic is like. I highly recommend you check the following fics out yourself.
Links to the fics:
City of Sunshine
see you on the other side;
Like a Promise
All That Hate
Grief
Under the Surface
#durarara#izaya orihara#shizuo heiwajima#city of sunshine#see you on the other side;#like a promise#all that hate#grief#under the surface#this took so long and for what#i’d kill my art if it’s a killable object#do not let me into the kitchen. ever.#i love city of sunshine but all those details were unintentional#most painful rendering ever#mild spoiler: for syotos i didnt mean to have shizuo there…. but izaya looked too lonely so (dies)#im sorry call me the studio that made drrr anime bc i was NOT faithful to source materials#for like a promise i actually couldn’t visualize where it is (anatomy who) so i just balled it im sorry#i fumbled all that hate so bad i can never encapsulate how much i like it GOD i’m going to combust out of misery#i fumbled grief as well nothing is going my way#surrealfix i cant do it justice im sorry#under the surface…. saranghe#(fumbled)#not tagging the van gang or celty because they looked too ugly in my style#i cant taint the tag#sorry if i failed you guys#it will happen again#popaart
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I formally request a Dan Phantom, if that's okay!
a formal request begets a formal answer
(guess i’m doing these in a more consistent style now!)
#danny phantom#danny phantom fanart#dp#dp fanart#dan phantom#dark danny#this is probably the most polite way he’s been summoned in like 20 years#and he’s half vlad so of course he’s being dramatic about it#… what do you mean i’m disguising the fact i can’t draw dan closer to canon style by using dramatic shadows#whaaaat? nooooo… never.#… i do love dan i gotta also draw him more#esp with the new graphic novel coming out lol#ney’s art
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