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tpwkay · 4 years ago

Text

Medicine (h.s.)

You’re finally given permission to cover the song you’ve wanted to perform for years and a special surprise during your performance sweeps you off of your feet.

Word count: 11.5k

Rating/warnings: NSFW - A lot of this is plot but there is smut as well. Contains explicit language and consensual sex acts between a man and woman. This is a story written in the 2nd person (“self insert"). This isn’t written to be exclusionary, it’s just my preferred style! Author’s note can be found at the end!

"Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for coming out tonight to listen to me and the band. We've got a couple more songs coming up for you but I just wanted to take a minute to tell y'all how much we appreciate you." You gesture to yourself and the band behind you as the lights on stage come up a bit. "We wouldn't be where we are without your support. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you!"

The crowd cheers and you can't help but experience an insurmountable feeling of joy. It never gets old. You'd been in the spotlight for a few years now, already at the end of touring your second album, though the size and scope of venues this time around was much, much larger. There was nothing that compared to being able to sing your own songs and have a crowd of thousands scream them right back at you.

Being an up-and-coming singer and songwriter in the genre of country music hadn't been easy. Girls your type had been a dime a dozen, hoards of Taylor Swift-wannabes covering "Teardrops on My Guitar" during open mic night. You held nothing against them; there was a path to success for everyone, but yours had been, well, different.

It was a karaoke cover of Brooks & Dunn's "Boot Scootin' Boogie", a song that you'd been singing since you were a toddler, that had gotten you noticed by a recording artist one night while out with your girlfriends, which led you to where you stand now, performing in front of thousands. You were liked for the range of your voice, with it's easy easy transitions from the sounds of pop to country and rock, in addition to the way you performed, and your take-no-shit attitude towards the entirety of the industry. People liked that you were forward and left nothing on the table, though you had to admit that it was mostly an act, a means of coping with the pressure of working your way to the top.

///

"It's refreshing!" Jax, your manager, had shouted one day, arms flailing as you had argued that maybe your attitude was going to get you into trouble one of these days.

"Aren't you, as, you know, my manager, supposed to be the one keeps me in line?"

"You aren't out doing coke, killing anyone, public indecency and all that," he had shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, you are in line. People talk about you because of your attitude. They like it! They like you. Why is that so hard for you to accept sometimes?"

"Maybe I just haven't been caught doing those things," you grinned, effectively dodging his question. Fame hadn't helped break down the walls that you'd long ago built around yourself. If anything, you had done some reinforcing, built a moat even, in an effort to ensure that you protected yourself from getting too close to anyone that would only end up using you in the end. You had seen the way people in life had been used, and what it ultimately led them to, and you had promised yourself long ago that even if it meant being known as the Boot Scootin' Bitch, you would protect yourself and your heart at all costs.

"Your momma would tan your hide for much less than any of those, you know. Hell, you should be more afraid of her than you are of me or anyone else… 'cept maybe God."

///

You shake your head, working the memories free from your mind as you grab a bottle of water from the platform on which the drum set rests.

There's one more song of yours to sing before you performed a new cover, the one you had been looking forward to for months. Although you'd gotten permission to perform it not long into the start of your tour, the set list had been rehearsed already and every other detail ironed out around it. You'd convinced Jax and the crew to let you slot it into the last concert of the tour, Austin, Texas. These folks knew their music and for some reason, they liked you so you were thrilled to be able to share something new with the crowd that had welcomed you to their city with open arms.

You grab your guitar off its stand and slide the strap over your shoulders, adjusting it as you step forwards to the mic stand. A shimmering blue shirt catches your eye in the crowd and you do a double take because surely it can't be Harry because he's—

And it's not him, of course, though the fashion of the gentleman in the pit area would surely catch his eye as well as it's right up his alley. It's not him - it can't be him - because you know exactly where he is right now and it's not in the pit of your Austin performance.

A grin stretches over your face as you think of him. You strum the first chord of the first song you'd ever written about him, although there had been many more since. He probably knew this one was about him, having come just after your first meeting.

///

A friend of yours was good friends with Kacey, who had been the guest artist that night. Her name had been added to the VIP list and in the summer of 2018, just as you were hitting your own stride in your career, you tagged along with her to Harry Styles' live tour performance in your hometown of Nashville.

If you were being honest, prior to his concert, you hadn't heard much of his solo work, apart from the various huge hits like his Kiwi or Watermelon Sugar and a few other ballads. You liked his sound, seemingly influenced heavily by rock stars of days past, but you'd had other influences to worry about in your own side of the industry.

Sure, he had country music connections through the likes of Kacey Musgraves and Cam, and legends like Stevie Nicks, but his pop and soft rock style was pretty far removed from most country playlists that you yourself had graced. Your genres just didn't cross paths and the two of you seemingly operated in different realms of the music industry, topping your own charts and breaking your own peer's records.

Of course, you hadn't been completely oblivious to The Harry Styles. One Direction had been too big of a deal to ignore and you'd often found yourself bopping along to their old hits, singing along as they played amongst the other nostalgic pop hits to which you listened.

The concert had been in June, a hot sunny day followed by a perfect breezy evening. Downtown Nashville was always busy, but that night the city seemed to buzz, bright with music and life. After meeting for drinks at Acme on the River, you allowed yourself to luxuriate in getting lost in the crowd that milled about on Broadway. It was a surprising thing to not be recognized in your hometown, but you weren't one to complain about it. It was one reason that you value your time in Nashville over other music-centric cities like Los Angeles - it seemed that people here respected the private lives of musicians. There was an odd fan here and there, but you'd lived a majority of your "famous" life in Nashville in relative peace.

You were early to the venue, your friend having wanted to have a chance to see Kacey backstage. You were excited to finally meet the star - though you'd been around the block of fame a bit already, there would always be people that you never had an opportunity to meet in passing. You had been greeted at will call and had been led backstage.

The arena was alive with excitement. At that point, you yourself had never toured a venue that large, so the experience of being backstage and seeing the operations first hand were thrilling and a bit overwhelming. In her dressing room, Kacey pulled you straight into a hug, gushing about how excited she was to watch your career take off. She insisted on sharing her personal cell phone number with you, urging you to call her to get together on a collaboration. You were in shock leaving her room, blown away by her kindness and the way the music industry worked in the most bizarre of ways, when you turned a corner and ran smack into a tall, solid, smiling Harry Styles. His arms had come out quickly to steady you on your heels boots.

"Fuck," you swore, shaking your head at your clumsiness. "I am so sorry. What a great way to introduce myself."

He laughed and the sound flowed through you, warm and sweet like a cup of tea with honey. "Y'alright?" His eyes looked you over, and you couldn't help but notice the way they lingered.

Your cheeks blushed and a wave of embarrassment washed over you. "I'm the one that should be asking you that. I don't think your adoring fans would be very happy if I took you out with a textbook tackle right before you're due to go on stage." You took a moment to give him the same appreciative glance he had already given you, admiring the way his deep blue custom-beaded suit jacket fell open to reveal a black dress shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

"Ah, 'm fine. Lil' thing like you couldn't do too much damage to me, even in those heels. Don't think they'd be very happy though," he said, nodding his head in acknowledgement of the already-rowdy crowd while offering his hand. "I'm Harry."

You laughed as you introduced yourself, shaking his hand.

"I've heard that name before, but I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you. You don't seem like one that's easy to forget."

"I sing, write music," you shrugged, not sure how to explain to a superstar that you were on the way up, yet still somewhere much farther down the fame totem pole than him. "Country, mostly. Not sure if that's on your radar."

"The new stuff's not, but I may have to change that." He was tapped by one of the event producers, needed for another pre-show procedure. "Where will you be tonight?"

"To your right, in the pit."

He smiled and you had almost immediately fallen in love with the crinkles that appeared under the corners of his eyes. "I'll look out for you. It was wonderful meeting you. Oh, shit, wait, just remembered— may I?" he gestured for the phone that was in your hand and you unlocked it before passing it to him.

You watched as he dialed a number and put the phone to his ear. He paused for a moment before he grinned. "Hi Harry, it's you from before the show. This is a message to remind you to text this number and ask the owner of it out on a date. She's the one with the beautiful smile and great tackling skills. You won"t have forgotten her. 'Kay, bye!"

You laughed at an almost embarrassing volume, blown away by his cheek.

"Why not ask 'her' out now?" you pondered to him as he handed the phone back.

"What, and risk getting shot down? Wouldn't want to be sad and disappointed through my whole show, now would I?"

"It would make the ballads a bit more emotional," you had reasoned with a grin.

"Ouch! They're already filled with emotion, love. You'll see, I'll sing 'em right to you if I have to. Gotta run, thank you for letting me use your phone, that was a very important message!"

You laughed again as he took off. "Harry!" you had shouted to get his attention in the busy hall. He turned quickly, a small smile on his face. "She definitely won't say no, but you can wait until later to ask if you want to."

His grin stretched wider and he'd pumped a fist in the air before turning and jogging down the hallway.

You liked to joke with anyone who knew the story that your life had changed that day all because you met Kacey. Which wasn't a complete lie - it had been her dressing room you'd come out of before slamming into Harry in the hallway.

///

Singing the last lines of one of your songs, your stomach began to flutter in a bit of nervousness and a lot of excitement. Performing the next cover was something you had been looking forward to for months, and the moment that you got to share it with your fans was finally here.

You retreat from the mic stand to pass your guitar off to a stagehand, taking another sip of water to settle yourself.

"Doing alright?" Wyatt, your drummer, shouts over the pounding bass drum and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to face the crowd.

"I've got one more cover to play for y'all tonight," you say, grasping the mic stand to keep your hands from shaking. "I've been working on getting permission to play this one for quite awhile now. I fell in love with it the first time I heard it played and now here I am, performing it for you all. It's an unreleased piece by a very, very good friend of mine, but his performances of it are all over the internet so some of you may know the words. This song is called Medicine."

The song starts out with a steady bass line and the rhythm centers you a bit, steadying any nerves that still linger. The intro gives you a minute to shake out your shoulders and get comfortable at the mic stand once more like Harry does at each performance. You catch yourself having fun mimicking him and feel thankful that you're able to perform one of your favorite songs of his. When the bass drops in pitch and the electric guitar riffs, you slide in close to the mic stand.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine," you sang the opening lines, already settling into the sexy rock sound of the song you and the band had rehearsed relentlessly over the last few weeks. No, the genre wasn't one you normally dabbled in, but part of the fun of performing was taking chances, risks. You had to admit, you liked the sound a lot. It tempted you to branch out a bit more on your upcoming album.

The opening lines of the first verse throw you back into thoughts of meeting Harry that first night. You hadn't imagined what would follow the concert, let alone have the foresight to see it bringing you to this very moment in time.

///

You had been standing outside the arena after the concert, ears buzzing and heart thumping still from the incredible show Harry had put on. As soon as he disappeared from the backstage hall earlier, you had immediately saved his number to your phone, still in disbelief over the night's events.

Your heart had soared when your phone began to vibrate, not in a text message but in a voice call. Harry's name appeared on the screen and your friend had nudged you, clearly approving of the night's turn of events.

"Harry," you answered, ready to praise him halfway to Sunday on his performance.

"Let me take you out," he interrupted you. "Right now. Please? Anywhere you want to go."

You laughed and paused. "Yeah, okay. I might know of a place."

There was a lot of shuffling on his end before his voice came back on the line. "Might've had to do another fist pump."

"Told you she wouldn't say no."

"Where are you?" You heard the smile in his voice, already familiar with it.

"Demonbreun and John Lewis, headed towards the park."

"Give me 10, I'll pick you up." He paused. "Be careful, okay?"

"I'll stick with the hoards of your fans milling about, maybe ask some of them for the hot gossip on you while I wait."

"Don't believe anything they say," he said, and you could tell he was still smiling as he hung up.

He and his driver arrived shortly after, Harry's hair damp and covered with a baseball cap, dressed down in black pants and a simple loose white shirt, tattoos peeking out everywhere you looked. He exited the car and opened the back door for you, helping you balance as you stepped up into the large Suburban.

"We'll go to Pecker's," you said to his driver, laughing as Harry snorted next to you. "Shut up, it's just a bar. Take a right up here onto 24 and it'll take us all the way to Fairfield. It'll be on the right."

He looked at you and smiled before reaching out to hold your hand in the middle seat between you.

Taking Harry to Pecker's had just felt right. It was where you'd been discovered, where all of your adventures had started, and you weren't sure why but you wanted to share that small part of you with him after watching him up on stage that night.

"Won't people recognize you? I looked you up before the show, you're apparently a pretty big deal around here." He had asked, smirking, sipping on the locally-brewed beer that Clint, the regular bartender, was serving that night.

"Locals are pretty good about not interrupting our normal lives. Pecker's isn't as well known to tourists either, so it's a good hideout. This is where a lot of producers, executives and all the other professionals come to unwind." You ignored his comment on your fame and had taken a sip of your margarita instead. "Unless, of course, there's a drag show scheduled, then it's a bit of a madhouse."

Harry laughs into his drink and you grin. "So," he started after a pause, twiddling with the rings on his right hand. "What'd you think?"

"It was incredible," you said without hesitation. "Truly one of the best live shows I've seen in a long time, country acts included. You've got such a magnetism about you that people can't help but want to watch." You blushed a bit, alcohol and the quick comfort of him loosening your lips. "The whole water spraying trick was hot," you admit, making him blush. "And don't tell Stevie, but I think I might prefer your version of The Chain."

"Sacrilege! That's some incredibly high praise," he said, a small smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"Earned and deserved," you said, tilting your glass to his. "Honestly, Harry, you're an incredible musician. There aren't many out there that have the whole package like that."

"What about you? You seem like the whole package."

"I don't know if I'd say that. If you looked me up, you've likely seen what they say about me. 'My attitude won't get me far' and all. But I don't think it's my attitude, so much as it is my willingness to take the risks that others won't. I'm not out here to make music that's just there to be sold. Hell, I couldn't care less about the money. All I want is to create music that makes me feel fulfilled, and I think that honesty scares them." You twirled your finger in the condensation of the glass in front of you. You glanced up to his face finding his eyes already on yours, holding your gaze steadily. "It doesn't scare you, does it?"

"It's the most refreshing thing I've heard in a while. Not many people in the industry are fearless in the face of failure like that."

"I'm definitely not fearless; I just refuse to change who I am to make a buck."

"Who are you then?" Harry had asked, and telling him your story was easy. You couldn't understand how it was so natural, opening up to a stranger, but as the conversation wore on, you realized how similar you and Harry were in terms of the way you conducted your professional lives and that was without apology.

And you also realized, as the evening continued and you and Harry crept your bar stools closer and closer to one another, feet and knees bumping, his fingers tracing the ridges of your knuckles as you shared life stories like long lost friends, that you didn't want it to end.

///

"He's acting like a gentleman," you continue, changing up the lyrics slightly as you finish the first verse. The line always made you smile and you let yourself briefly flash back into your reminiscing about the night you'd met Harry, and how, even though he had acted gentlemanly upon dropping you off for the evening, you wanted to be anything but a gentlewoman.

///

After enjoying drinks late into the evening at Pecker's, Harry had insisted on having his driver take you home rather than allowing you to call an Uber.

"Such a gentleman," you commented as he opened the car door for you once again.

"Maybe my gentlemanly actions have motives," he said, sliding his hand along your lower back as you step past him and into the car. Your grin matched his smirk as he shut the door and you decided that he'd been right - not calling an Uber was the right thing to do.

The car ride back to your apartment building was too quick and before you knew it, he was at your door again, offering a hand for you to hold for balance as you exited the car. Neither of you let go as you walked through the lobby towards the elevators.

"You're uh— You're welcome to come up, if you'd like," you said, suddenly shy but not wanting to chicken out on asking for what you wanted, asking for some continuation of this sweet but likely brief meeting between you two. "For a drink, I mean, or to keep chatting, you know."

Harry smiled and glanced around the empty lobby. His hand in yours smoothed up the length of your arm, over your shoulder, and came to rest at your jaw. "I'd love to, believe me. You have no idea how much I want to." He leaned towards you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and your skin burned at the contact of his lips. "But I want to do this the right way. Don't want you to get the wrong idea of me."

"What if I want the wrong idea of you?"

He laughed, the sound open and honest and it had given you hope. "You called me a gentleman earlier and I have to admit that I liked it, coming from you. Would like to keep up the facade that I am, even if it's just for a bit." His face searched yours, each of you trying to read the thoughts that were flying through one another's minds. "You have beautiful lips," he whispered suddenly, his accent thicker than it had been all night.

Your mouth quirked into a smile, unable to do anything but preen at his compliment. "You do too," you replied, just as softly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes." Before the words had settled he was kissing you, slowly and with too much care, like you would break if he wasn't gentle enough. It was over much too quick but you knew you would remember every moment of it for the rest of your life.

"Christ, I'd wanted to do that all night." His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, smiling when you leaned into the touch. He glanced up as the elevator doors swung open and gently nudged you towards them. "Thank you, truly, for a wonderful evening. I promise to give you a call soon."

"I'll send Kacey after you if you don't!" you laughed, stepping into the lift.

"Good night darling." He winked and the doors slid shut, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the delicious ghost of his lips on yours.

///

"Give me that adrenaline, that adrenaline, think I'm gonna stick with you," you finish the first verse as Ryann rips through the chords on her guitar. You loved that the song built slowly, and even though that meant a quieter beginning, it promised an explosive end.

Though the crowd had been hesitant at first, you can see that the first few rows of them are nodding along, countless phones out recording the performance. You know that somewhere out there at your request is a member of your press team, professionally filming the cover. You may only be doing it once, but you were determined to make sure you would never forget it.

///

You had enough time at home to check some of your social media accounts, shower and get comfortable in bed before your phone rang again. For the second time that day, your heart soared seeing Harry's name light up your screen.

"If you're going to say that you're downstairs because you've reconsidered my offer for that nightcap, I'll need a few moments to prepare as I'm currently in my pajamas," you said as a greeting and you were met with his warm laughter once again.

"No, no, I had to go back to the arena for a bit anyways, pack up and all of that," he said, still chuckling. "I just— I wanted to make sure you weren't offended by me declining your offer. Because I wanted to— I didn't want the night to end there. There's something about you that's… Transfixing. And I don't want to ruin that and make you think you're just a fling."

"That's quite a compliment," you said, a bit awed by his words.

"What was it you said earlier, "earned and deserved", yeah?" He said, quoting your toast to him at the bar, making you grin. "I want you to be more than that. I'd like to get to know you, the gentlemanly way."

"Okay. Will we have a chaperone at our next date then?" He laughed but didn't correct your referral to that evening as a date. You had snuggled a bit deeper into the sheets, still disbelieving that all of this had been the result of being dragged along to a concert.

"No chaperones," he chuckled, "but yes, I do want to take you out again, if you'd let me."

"Hmm," you jokingly pondered aloud, as if answering with anything other than a resounding "yes" was on your mind. "I suppose I could fit something into my schedule."

"I hope that's a yes."

"Of course it's a yes! I didn't want the night to end either. And don't you dare say that you just did another fist pump," you had laughed, hearing the familiar shuffling of the phone on his end of the line.

"Me? Never!"

"You're adorable," you had said, a smile stuck on your face.

"And you're beautiful. Two can play this game."

There had been a comforting silence between you for a moment before you had spoken up again. "Harry?"

"Yeah, love?"

You had blushed at the pet name but loved the way it sounded being directed your way. "Thank you," you had whispered.

"Should be me thanking you. Sleep well sweetheart." You'd fallen asleep with your phone in hand, hopeful that you wouldn't wake up the next morning to realize it had all been a dream.

///

It hadn't been a dream, and here you were, nearly two years later, performing one of the songs that Harry himself had sung the night that you'd begun falling for him.

The second verse continued quickly and you let the lyrics wash over you as you sang, loving the way the rock energy of the song sounded with a bit of your band's country influence.

"Here to take my medicine, take my medicine, rest it on your fingertips," you sang, holding your pointer finger in the air much like Harry did every time he performed the song before bringing it to your lips as you sang the next line. "Up to your mouth, feeling it out, feeling it out."

///

Beginning to date Harry - properly date him too, not just make FaceTime calls to one another from across the world and sending texts back and forth until the wee hours of the morning thanks to the differences in time zones, sharing everything and more with one another as best you could digitally - had been the most exhilarating experience of your life, and you had performed in front of sold out crowds and accepted awards on live television. His tour was due to stretch on for almost another month throughout North America and the next time you saw him was when you'd been invited as Harry's guest to his show in Chicago just a few weeks after you'd met.

While he had put on an incredible show for the United Center, there had been moments that felt like he was performing just for you, glancing over to where you stood in the Friends and Family area, meeting your eyes and grinning. By that point, you could sing along to every song of his and you knew he loved it, loved watching you dance along to the music that he had created and was performing.

In a moment where you were thankful for the differences between the genres in which you two performed, you hadn't been recognized at all by his fans. You'd both talked about wanting to keep things quiet as you got to know one another, and you hadn't wanted a relationship with him, an already incredibly famous artist, to somehow influence the trajectory of yours. While it had been easy when you were apart, being together without seemingly being together was difficult. Especially in that moment, when all you wanted to do was curl up into him and soak in the post-show bliss with him. Instead, you sat on the couch with him, a cushion apart from one another, holding his hand tightly while you chatted about the concert.

"Someone is gonna notice that you looked to my side of the pit constantly all night," you said and he grinned guiltily.

"I like knowing you're in the crowd," he shrugged. "Besides," he scooted closer and threw his arm around you before dragging you in close, "you look incredible, how could I not want to stare at you all night?"

"Anyone could walk in," you pointed out, watching as his eyes followed your lips.

"Just want a little taste," he said, moving in closer, "Haven't I earned a kiss from my girlfriend after all of that work up on stage?"

Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you looked at him and he seemingly realized his slip-up.

"I mean— What I meant was— Shit," he scrubbed a hand over his face but you could tell he was hiding a grin. "Wasn't exactly how I wanted to ask you, but… Will you officially be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, H. I'm all yours."

"Love it when you call me H." He pulled you in for a kiss that you both lost yourselves in, finally able to experience the feeling of one another after being denied it for so long. When a knock at the dressing room door came, Harry had to all but drag himself away from you, hair disheveled and lips swollen, scowling at the door.

You threw your head back and laughed as he stalked over and pulled it open with a flourish.

"What?"

"The hell's your issue?" you heard Mitch ask before Harry widened the door so he could see you laughing on the couch. You raised a hand in greeting and Harry's scowl deepened as Mitch chuckled, taking in both of your disheveled appearances. "Oh, shit, hey, sorry. Uh, car's ready when you are. See you tomorrow bud."

"Harry!" you chided once he'd closed the door in Mitch's face, giggles still bubbling out of your mouth. "He was just being polite."

"Interrupting arse is what he is," Harry said, sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "Where were we?"

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your body as close to his as possible, hoping that he'd thought to lock the door before returning to your embrace. "Right about here, I think." With a hand on your hip, sliding under your shirt to reach warm skin and one at the back of your neck, Harry kissed you until you were breathless and not only wanting more but very seriously needing it.

"Come back to the hotel with me," he murmured against your lips as you ground your body down on him, reveling in the way the action made him throw his head against the back of the couch and exhale sharply.

"You sure?" Your hands smoothed over the chest of his skin, tracing the dark swallows with your fingertips as you rolled your hips.

He shuddered at the light touch and gripped your hips tightly, pressing his up as you pressed yours down and the action made you sigh, the pressure a delicious tease of what was hopefully to come. "Absolutely," he said, his grin telling you he was pleased with the noises he was causing you to make. "Want you so bad, like I won't be able to breathe right until I properly have you."

You leaned in to kiss at his neck, his shower-damp curls tickling your cheek. "The feeling is mutual. Adored watching you up on stage tonight. Have I told you yet how much I love seeing you perform?" You nuzzle at his neck, urging him to tilt his head back farther, exposing more of his skin to you.

"Yeah, you have, but tell me again," he sighed, his hands running up and down your back.

"It's like when you get on stage no one else before or after you matters," you said honestly, letting your lips against his skin hide how truthful you were really being, spilling all of your thoughts about seeing Harry up on stage. It was scary, feeling so deeply for him already. But you wanted him to know, at least in part, what it meant to be able to watch him perform. "Something about your live voice just makes my breath catch in my throat, I can't get enough of it."

Harry breathed deeply for a moment, working to center himself while you nosed at the curls around his ear and heaped praise upon him.

"It's like you connect with every person out in the crowd, like you're singing just for them. You can tell that you're having fun and people want to join you in that. They know you love the attention," you whispered and he hummed in appreciation (or agreement), the sound low in his throat. "They'd stay out there all night for if they could, screaming about how much they love you."

"And you feed into it, playing it up for them. You know exactly what you're doing when you get to act a little bit naughty up there, driving them all mad," you said with a smile.

He chuckled and you could hear and feel the sound rumble through him. "Played it up for you tonight. Did it work?"

"You mean did it make me want to jump your bones the second you came off stage? Yeah, it worked."

"Fucking hell," he said, holding you close with his hands on your butt as he stood up. "Our first time is not going to be in a dressing room so we need to go now."

He let you slide down his body and held you steady as you balanced on your legs. "Would be pretty fitting though, don't you think, given how we met and what we do?"

"Yeah, but then I'd think about it every time I was in one. You wanna torture me relentlessly?" He pulled you tight against him, kissing you once more before separating to grab his bags.

"Yeah, relentless torture sounds like something I might be into."

He glanced up at your words, eyes dark and hungry, a smirk on his lips. "Careful what you wish for, love."

///

The bass line increased behind the riff of Ryann's guitar and you leaned into the mic stand, eyes closing as you continued singing the first bridge. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted, and when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

There were a few fans of yours and Harry's who apparently knew the words as they helped you out, screaming the unwritten word that finished the sentence: "tasted."

///

Harry was quick to say goodbye to everyone on the team before pulling you quickly through back hallways and down quiet staircases, sneaking quick kisses when he was sure there was no one around. You were both out of breath when you finally climbed into the car, grinning like kids getting away with sneaking around.

The hotel ride was quick, mercifully, but Harry had been anything but patient, his hand at your knee creeping up slowly, closer and closer to the hem of your dress, toying with the hem while he chatted with the driver.

"I'm gonna head in first with Martin and Eric will loop around and drop you off at the side entrance. I would wait in the lobby for you but this hotel hasn't been the best in the past with uh— containing sensitive information, we'll say, so Martin will meet you on your floor to get your stuff, then bring you up. Is that okay?"

"You sound like you've done this before, Styles," you said with a wink, using humor to cover the nerves that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

He blushed and you loved knowing you got under his skin so easily. "The band used to stay here when we toured… and I was young and dumb once, yes."

"Just giving you a hard time, H."

His grin stretched as he leaned over to peck your lips once more. "See you in a minute, love."

Harry climbed out and the driver took off once again, slowly circling the block. "He's quite taken with you, you know," he said, glancing up in the rear view mirror as he parked the car at the curb. He got out and opened the door for you in the empty street then used his keycard to unlock the heavy side door of the hotel.

"Thank you," you said, both for his actions and his omission about Harry. Sure, you had talked to him as often as possible over the last weeks and had yourself been on the receiving end of his attention, but it felt validating to hear that Harry's feelings for you may have gone a bit farther than just a small crush if people around him had also noticed his behavior.

Harry's bodyguard was waiting by the elevators and escorted you to your room to gather your luggage, then led you to Harry's door.

"Car'll be around about 9 tomorrow morning, H. Flight's at 10:30." He turned to you. "I understand you have business to continue here in Chicago?"

"Yes, meetings tomorrow and then I fly back to Nashville in the evening."

"There'll be a driver ready for you tomorrow as well. He's been instructed to take you wherever you need to go and he'll stay until you depart. Have a nice evening," he nodded at Harry, who was smiling in the doorway, before departing.

"You didn't have to do that for me, I could've managed by getting an Uber," you said, stepping into the room past Harry to set your bags down and kick your shoes off.

"I didn't, was Martin's idea; says he doesn't want anything to happen to the one thing that's made me so happy these last few weeks."

"Oh yeah? I'm the one thing, huh?"

"You're everything, honestly," he replied a bit sheepishly, taking your hands in his. "Think I might like you a bit more than I already should. Lettin' my heart get a bit ahead of my head, I suppose."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," you said softly and he beamed.

He moved his hands up to cup your face, pulling you close for a sweet kiss that quickly turned insistent, heat rising between the two of you. Harry slid his hands under the hem of your shirt to rest where your spin ended and yours wrapped around his neck, dragging him down to you as you stepped behind you towards the bed. His long legs tangled with yours and you tumbled backwards, laughing as you hit the plush bed and Harry collapsed on top of you.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at you with a smile, pushing the hair that had fallen into your face aside. "Hi baby," he said softly.

"Hi."

"Missed you," he said, leaning down for another sweet kiss.

"We were apart for like, eight minutes," you giggled between his kisses, your laughter giving way to a sigh as he moved to press a kiss to your nose, your cheek, your chin.

"Doesn't matter," he breathed into the crook of your neck, pressing small open mouth kisses to the soft skin there, "Any time apart is too long."

"The two weeks left of the tour will fly by. You should enjoy them while you can."

"Wish you could come with me, love performing for you." He kissed his way across the base of your neck, collarbone to collarbone as his fingers trailed to the small straps on your shoulders. "Would you like to take this off?"

"Please," you sighed, desperate and aching for the feeling of his skin against yours.

Your first time sleeping with Harry had been exactly what you'd wanted and expected - hot and fast, admittedly over a bit more quickly than either of you had wanted, but worth the weeks of wait.

Harry's skill set hadn't ended at singing and playing instruments. If anything, his vast experience using his hands and mouth only helped him excel in other pastimes that also utilized those parts of his body. To both of your delights, he had proven his adeptness in all areas multiple times that night, and once again in the morning before he had to rush into the shower, dragging you along with him simply to get more time together before you were forced apart once again.

///

You had spent the next two months away from one another, Harry having wrapped his tour and immediately beginning work on his next album. You'd spent your own time mixed between writing and recording an upcoming single. You had already written a handful of songs that were inspired by him and you'd wondered, albeit a bit nervously, if the sentiment was shared. When he stopped in Nashville on a long layover, pushing his flight back even longer to stay with you for another night, you'd tried to pry the information out of him. Unfortunately, no amount of sexual teasing or denial had convinced him — he, however, had you singing like a canary almost immediately, teasing you in the best way about how easily you opened up for him, telling him all about the music that he had already inspired.

You had been FaceTiming him late one night weeks later, both tired from long days spent in the studio. He had suddenly gotten shy, biting at the skin around his fingernails.

"Hey, stop that. What's the matter H?"

"Wanna ask you something," he mumbled, but a smile was peeking through where his fingers were still at his lips. "Jus' don't know how to."

"Baby," you sighed, "you can ask me anything. Y'know that."

"I know, I know." He paused and took a deep breath before a wide smile stretched across his face. "Would you maybe want to come home with me this Christmas? To London? Wouldn't be for long, maybe just a couple nights, I just wanna introduce you to my mum already, she's been pestering me nonstop lately 'bout meetin' you and Gem's joined in on it now too, so it's two against one when they call and I've told them that—"

"Harry," you said chucking, trying to interrupt his nervous rambling.

"—and she actually called me Harold last time she told me to bring you 'round and that got me a bit worried so I—"

"Harry! Of course I'll come with you. I'd absolutely love to."

You met him at the airport weeks later, desperate to pull him close and kiss him silly in the confines of his darkly tinted car, but you refrained, knowing how seriously Harry took the protection of your relationship from the press. You may not have been able to see anyone straining to capture pictures of you two, but you knew there was always the chance.

It was an entirely different story, however, when he'd finally pulled the car past the mechanical gate and into his private drive. You both reached for each other immediately, arms tangled and shifter knob pressed uncomfortably against your side, but perfectly content so long as his lips were against yours.

"Fuck— I missed you— so much," he muttered between kisses. He pulled away, forehead resting against yours, sly smirk pulling at his lips. "Mum won't expect us for a few hours at least."

"What is it that you're insinuating, Mr. Styles?"

"That there's plenty of time to give you a tour around the house, that's all," he said innocently. He gave you a sweet smile before hopping out of the car and coming to the passenger side where he helped you out and picked up your bags.

You were eager to be given a house tour, more than keen to learn all of the things you could about his London life. The house was decorated in a way that made you smile - eclectic but with a definitive air of cohesive taste. It suited Harry to an absolute tee. From the artwork that decorated the walls to the mismatched but homey furniture, you could tell immediately that this was Harry's sanctuary - every inch of the home screamed his name.

"It's incredible," you said as he led you into the largest room, the master. He walked over to the dresser that sat under the window and pulled open the top two drawers.

"I know we won't be here long, this time around, but I cleaned out a few drawers for you here, if you want to unpack some things. And there's space in the closet for you too," he nodded towards the door on the other side of the room, dragging a hand through his hair as he talked, "I had too much in there anyways and some of it needed to go and I wanted you to be able to leave some things, if you felt comfortable, of if Mum drags us out shopping and you don't want to take it all home now you can leave it here and-"

"You- you cleared out a drawer for me?"

"Well, yeah," he said, resting his hand on the back of his neck. "Made some space for you in the bathroom too, though I doubt it'll be enough, with all that you bring along to fix yourself up." He paused and thought for a moment. "I know how our lives are. I just wanted you to have some of your own space here; want you to feel as comfortable in my home as I do. Is that too much?"

"H," you said with a sigh, your lips curling into a smile, "it's perfect, and so thoughtful. I'm sorry I haven't done the same for you in Nashville yet."

"'s alright, love. I've already got a toothbrush there at least. I can take some time when we fly back to come and help if you'd like me to. As long as you don't end up wearing all the clothes that I leave there," he chuckled.

"You know me too well," you said, reaching for his hand. He lifted your entwined fingers to his lips to brush a kiss over your knuckles.

"You do look good in my clothes," he confessed, pulling you close to face him. "Look good in my house. But you always look good anyways."

"Said the pot to the kettle," you said with a smile. "I like being here already," you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. "It feels like you, like home. Thank you for inviting me," you add, as though the measly voicing of your appreciation is enough to convey what you truly feel.

"You're welcome anytime, if I'm here or not."

"You trust me that much?"

"Yeah, I do. I'll get you a key and everything." He leaned down to kiss you slowly, relearning the map of your lips and mouth, before pulling away. He laughed when you made a noise of protest.

"The bathroom's over here if you'd like to freshen up." He had pulled at your hand, stepping towards the other open door in the room. "Figured a shower might sound nice after a long day in an airplane. Besides, I've gotta clean up before we go to Mum's anyways."

"Gonna join me?"

"Yeah, thought I might, if that's okay." His smirk had been wicked as he pushed you the rest of the way into the bathroom. He dropped your hand to reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. As he reached for the buckle of his pants, he had met your staring eyes. "See something you like, love?"

You definitely had, though you didn't think your attraction — physically or emotionally — for Harry had stopped at something that was as weak as "like." Getting to know him over the last six months had made you worry that there wasn't ever going to be anyone else like him, anyone that made you feel like he did. You had fallen for him, desperately hard, and the realization of it as you stood in front of his half-naked self almost embarrassed you.

"Babe? You alright?" he asked as he stripped down to his boxers.

"Yeah, you just got me all distracted," you had grinned, pulling your sweatshirt and remaining clothes off quickly before joining Harry under the warm spray of the water.

Meeting Harry's mom that evening went better than you could've ever dreamt it would. The two of you got on like old friends, and Harry had stared, almost in wonder, at how easily you seemed to bond with her. And then he had stared in horror as Anne offered to pull out the photo albums filled with pictures from Harry's childhood, particularly when Anne offered up the album filled with photos from Harry's and Gemma's emo phases.

As the evening wore on, you caught Harry on more than one occasion glancing your way, cheeks bright from the red wine he was sipping on and eyes warmly reflecting the bright Christmas lights. He always looked like he was a split second away from saying something, only to shake his head and look away with a small smile.

Later, in bed, Harry pulled you close to him. He was laying on his back, you on your side, and you threw a leg over his waist, soaking in all of the cuddles you could get on this short trip together. The room was only illuminated by the ambient light coming in through the blinds.

"Mum liked you a lot," he murmured, gently stroking the skin at the base of your spine, "said I should hang onto you".

You returned the gesture, running your fingertips along the lines of ink that make up his many tattoos. "I liked her too. She's wonderful, I see where you get it from now."

"Hey now, 'm wonderful all on my own!" He tickled your side and you couldn"t help but arch towards him, shrieking and laughing at the touch.

"Stop that! You are an absolute pest, you know that?" you said, grinning up at him.

"Ah, you love me," he whispered, and his joking tone made you smile but the way he pulled you tighter as he said it made you brave.

You let the weight what you were about to say wash over you, aware that things were going to change forever with just a few words. "I do love you, Harry," you whispered, moving up his body to press a kiss to his lips.

"Thank God," he had said, wrapping his arms back around you and pulling you on top of him. "Cause I love you too."

Leaving Harry after that had been even more difficult. All you wanted to do was be with him, but you had too much coming up with the future release of your album and Harry was still in the midst of doing his own writing and recording.

It was your professions, along with the desire to keep your relationship private, that kept you apart. You weren't sure how you did it, but your relationship had withstood the distance and odd-hours. The only step now would be deciding if, when, and how to confirm the suspicions to tabloids and fans alike that you were an item.

The wait was killing you. All you wanted was to show off to the world that Harry was yours.

///

The bridge of the song was followed quickly by the chorus and the heavy guitar and pounding drums had you rocking on your feet, body swaying into the mic stand as you let yourself get lost in the lyrics. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive."

The crowd was even more into the song now, many picking up on the words quickly and screaming them along with your singing. The rock and roll vibe of the song was coursing through you and the crowd, the arena electric with energy already.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

You remove the mic from the stand and dance towards one end of the stage, singing as you move to the beat. "We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

///

You had been on the phone with Harry one day in July, nearly five months after the release of your album, having him help you decide what the setlist of your tour would be when it began in November.

"I wish I could cover one of your songs."

He had laughed and slurped his tea, the sounds comforting to you, even over the phone. "That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it love?"

"I don't mean cover Golden or Kiwi," you said, tapping your pen against the pad of paper in front of you. "What about one you wrote for 1D? What about Perfect? Or Stockholm Syndrome! That was always one of my favorites."

"Getting permission on those might be a bit more difficult, s'not just me that's gotta sign off on it. Besides, do you really wanna be the artist that covers a One Direction song on her own headlining tour?"

"Guess I'll stick with singing along to them in the shower then."

You were both quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts.

"What if I covered Medicine?" you asked suddenly, realizing it was the perfect compromise, not to mention your favorite song that Harry himself performed oh his own tour. The rock sound wasn't a far cry from the roots that country music had and you knew it would sound great. "Even if it was just for one stop!"

"Hmm," Harry mused. "It would sound great with the band, I'll give you that. But videos will go around, people will know it's my song you're singing and they'll connect the dots about us."

"H, I'm ready for that if you are. I love you, and I'm ready to be able to share that love that I have for you with the world. Sneaking around has been fun but I want people to know how proud of you I am and how much you're loved and appreciated. Half of our fans know already, it's just a matter of us confirming it. I think that we could really-"

Harry was laughing at your rambling on the other end of the line. "Alright, alright, you drive a hard bargain, love. I think you're right, maybe it is time we stopped sneaking around. I'll try, but Jax and everyone else still have to agree to it too. It might be easier to convince everyone if it's just a one time thing. Pick another cover, something you'd normally do, in case it takes some time to work things out."

"I'll ask him right now! Thank you Harry!"

"I just have one condition," he said, and you could hear the grin that was surely pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What's that?"

"I get to perform it with you," he had said, and the smile already on your face widened exponentially. "If we're finally gonna make "us" public, may as well do it with a bang."

///

In the moment after the chorus, an 8 count beat is carried by the drummer and guitarist. For this performance, and the only performance you'd put on of this song, you had rehearsed the 8 count repeating once between the chorus and the next verse, as you needed a bit of extra time to announce your guest performer.

"Ladies and gentlemen," you shout into the mic, grin wide and face beaming already at what was about to take place. "To help me finish this performance, please help me welcome my very good friend, Harry Styles!"

Harry emerges from behind the stage holding his own wireless mic as much of the crowd screams - he may not be a country artist, but he was absolutely known worldwide. You step back with a wave of your arm, smiling as he begins the next chorus. His performance is for the crowd but he's singing the words directly to you.

"Tingle running through my bones, fingers to my toes, tingle running through my bones," he sings, voice smooth like whiskey, and the crowd adores him, eating out of the palm of his hand. "The boys and the girls are in, I mess around with them, and I'm OK with it."

You can't help but dance as he sings, his voice and the energy of the crowd propelling you to move. He watches you, eyes no longer on the crowd, as he sings the next lines. Immediately, heat pools low in your belly at his glance and the words.

"I'm coming down, I figured out I kinda like it. And when I sleep I'm gonna dream of how you…"

You gyrate your hips at the unsung line of "ride it", listening with a sly grin as some in the crowd scream the two words that go unsung.

///

After giving him a key, Harry had moved some of his clothes to your apartment in Nashville some time while you were away on the first leg of your tour. He had found the city to be incredibly welcoming and inspirational for his upcoming album and had decided to stay there for a spell while you continued to tour around the country.

You had scheduled a short break between your concerts over New Years, wanting to be able to grab at least one or two nights at home with him to celebrate the holiday before you were back on the road again.

"So fucking glad you're home," Harry panted, pulling your shirt over your head before attaching his lips to yours once again. "Missed you like crazy."

"Missed you too," you moaned as his lips moved downwards, across your neck and over your collarbones, down the valley between your breasts. Before he could reach around to unhook your bra, you reached for his shirt, as desperate as he was to see and touch what you'd been missing.

As he pulled the half-unbuttoned blouse over his head, you pulled your leggings off and reached for him, pushing him back onto the bed behind him. He unbuttoned his pants as he scooted up towards the middle of the bed, shoving them and his boxers off in one swoop.

You climbed on top of him, hurriedly reaching to kiss him as you rubbed your clothed center along the length of his hard cock.

"Fuck," he hissed, throwing his head back to allow you room to kiss his neck. "Desperate aren't you, darling?"

"Want you so bad it hurts," you whispered, sucking a bright hickey right where it would absolutely be seen by anyone.

You moved to continue kissing down his chest but he stopped you with a hand under your arm. "Not gonna last long, love. Wanna be inside you."

His cheeks and chest were flushed bright red, lips puffy and pupils blown wide. This was when you loved him most, being able to have him like no one else did. The same feeling always hit you at certain moments, particularly ones of domesticity, like when you watched him back the car out of the driveway or when he stood in the kitchen in the morning in nothing but socks, boxers, and his ratty old robe, singing along to old big band jazz as he waited for the coffee to brew. There was Harry Styles the musician, Harry Styles the actor, and Harry Styles the performer, but then there was your Harry.

"Yeah, okay," you sighed, moving off of him quickly to remove your bra and panties. You climbed back onto the bed and threw your leg over his hips, straddling him. He immediately reached for you and pulled you flush against his chest, his lips capturing yours in a bruising kiss.

You rocked your hips against him as he held you, your slick arousal gliding along his length, drawing a moan from both of you.

"Baby, please," he panted, and you could only mod in agreement, lost already to the sweeping feeling of your close release.

His hands rested on your hips as you positioned him at the entrance between your legs. You groaned in harmony as you worked down him slowly, the only sound in the room was your shared heavy breathing and gasps.

"Fuck me," he sighed as you set a slow pace, rocking on top of him to reach each spot that you know will get you there.

"Workin' on it," you grin. A quick swivel of your hips hit at just the right angle and you tossed your head back, repeating the movement over and over again until you shuddered with a final snap of tension, your orgasm rolling over you as Harry helped you move, hands tight on your hips, to wring all you could from the release.

"You look so beautiful right now, like a fuckin' angel," Harry said, voice low and gravely, accent thick with need.

"How's that line go?" you said as you slowed down, smirking when a harsh rock of your hips caused Harry to moan. "'Turns out she's a devil in between the sheets'?"

"Fuck," he groaned again, eyes closed tightly. "Can't just go reciting my own lyrics to me while I"m buried in ya like this, love."

"And there's nothing you can do about it," you continued, singing the line of his song this time, and his hips buck up into yours harshly.

"You're gonna pay for that," he had said, quoting another of his songs, before he had flipped you over onto your back and set his own brutal pace.

///

Like he can read your thoughts, Harry beams and wags a finger in your direction and the crowd screams at your chemistry together. You grab your mic from its stand and take a step towards Harry to sing the chorus together.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive." Harry dances off to the side of the stage, performing once again for the crowd.

You dance at center stage with your wireless mic, too excited about performing with Harry that you can't stand in one spot. The music and Harry's energy make you want to move. "You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it."

"We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh! La da da da da!" Harry throws his head back, singing along in his own world and you can't look away from him. He really was a rockstar and getting to share the stage with him like this was an experience you'd never forget.

"You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

There's a great pause in the lyrics where the guitar, keyboard, and drums play together, increasing the tension of the song. You and Harry take off towards opposite ends of the stage, both reveling in the performance for the crowd as you dance and stomp to the beat. Eventually, with a slide down the keys of the keyboard, the instrumental quiets into just the steady beat of the bass line joined by the hi-hats.

You and Harry urge the crowd to clap along as you both return to the middle of the stage to sing together once again. He always said that this portion of the song was one of his favorites to perform, the repeated line from the bridge ending abruptly with the lights going out before flashing back on, the added theatrics of the performance elevating the climax of the song completely. Having rehearsed that Harry would sing the following chorus alone, you let yourself get lost in his gaze as it settles on you.

You stand facing one another behind the mic stand, once again singing more to one another rather than to the crowd. You step closer towards him as the lyrics progress, nearly chest to chest now with your voices sharing one another's mics. "I had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm—"

Before you can sing the last word of the line and the lights can blink out as rehearsed, Harry leans forwards and captures your mouth in a hungry kiss. The crowd erupts with screams as the lights above the stage go dark.

You can feel rather than hear him say the words "I love you" against your lips and you have just enough time to repeat them back to him before the drums and guitar pick the beat up once again, the lights flashing back on brightly. He moves away and continues to sing the chorus that follows as if nothing had happened. You're a bit stunned, not having prepared for his relationship-revealing public display of affection to happen during your performance of his song but it was perfect and he knows it. Your smile is wide and you can't help but stand rooted where you are and laugh at what has just finally happened.

"If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive," he sings, smirking at you while you blush across from him.

You join him in singing the last lines, your right hand joining his left hand where everyone can see your fingers entwine.

"You got that something, I got me an appetite, now I can taste it. We're getting dizzy, oh, we're getting dizzy, oh!"

You urge the crowd with a waving hand to join in and they do, singing along with you and Harry. "La da da da da! You get me dizzy, oh, you get me dizzy, oh!"

The drums and guitar end the song on five quick beats and the crowd erupts once again in screams. You immediately jump towards Harry, throwing your arms around his neck in a close embrace. His hands wrap around your waist to hold you close, and you can feel him smile where his face is pressed close to your jaw.

"How was that?" he asks, chuckling against you.

"It was perfect, you're perfect. Thank you, H. For everything."

"Can take you on a proper date now, yeah? Wanna show my girl off to the world."

"Yes, please!" You can't wipe the smile from your face as he sets you down and Harry continues to beam at you as the crowd continues screaming, reeling from your shared performance.

Harry nudges you gently before turning back to them, lifting his and your arms high in the air and leading you in bending for a bow. He steps away from you and turns, opening his arms wide to you for the crowd to praise and you laugh, tearing up at his gesture and the overwhelming emotions of the performance while you take another bow just for yourself.

He pulls you into another hug and you can't help but angle your face up towards him, wordlessly asking for another very quick, very public kiss.

He glances down at you, smiling. "You're gonna love this now, aren't you?"

"Course I am. love showing them you're mine."

He leans down to peck your forehead, your nose, and finally, your lips, as the crowd goes wild. "Love showing them you're mine. You've got a show to finish, love. Go kill it."

///

Ahh! So much fun! This has been such a joy to write and I appreciate you taking the time to give it a chance! It’s my first (of hopefully many) Harry fics - reading all of the stories here has been immensely inspiring, and I’m so looking forward to writing more!

Tagging my love @morganlatte who is a wonderful hype woman and beta reader. Thanks buddy!

Anyways! Thank you for reading! My love language is words of affirmation (aka I have a praise kink) so leave me a comment here if you feel so inclined!

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles story #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #one direction fanfiction #harry styles x you #reader insert fic #my writing #wow!#that was so much fun #i'm so in love with it

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watermonkey0 · 7 years ago

Text

Moonlight

4th Point of Contact -- “Moonlight” -- Do Kyungsoo x Harper Hasagawa

The dress was brave. Much more so than I ever felt, in uniform or otherwise. The chiffon skirt draped down over my toes like a mystic black waterfall, and only attached to a front piece at my waist. My back was completely exposed, something I had been insistent on, but was now scared of. The silky black fabric continued on my sleeves that cuffed at the wrists, giving a sort of 'I Dream of Jeannie' look. And then of course, the gaudy yet magnificent shoulder epaulets decorated with silver studs to match the boys' extravagant military attire for the night. This was seriously the last time I ever listened to Cat or Moon Jae.

"This dress is probably a gagillion dollars. I don't know why I'm even wearing it." I hissed through my teeth as Cat slipped one of my feet into a glossy yet sensible wedge heel. "Uh, it's a gagillion won. Get it right." She snarked up at me, ignoring any and all discomfort I was feeling. It wasn't exactly her style to be reassuring. "Why can't I--" I began to complain for the hundredth time as to why she elected herself for covert duty and I was stuck with prance patrol, but she cut me off with an icy glare. "Because you got yourself shot...like an idiot." She snapped. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from firing back, not wanting to retaliate while on coms with the rest of the security team. They were beginning to be used to our bickering, but I didn't think even they would condone a full blown sass bash during duty. Cat slipped the other heel on my foot and then stood back to survey her work. It wasn't really like she'd done anything but the shoes, everything else was Moon Jae's artistry, but that wasn't going to stop Cat from taking all the credit. "You look alright." She nodded to herself. She had a talent for mood swings; one moment she would be stabbing you, the next she'd be telling you that red really was your color. Sometimes it felt like playing Russian Roulette, never knowing which pull of the trigger was going to make her snap. Her outfit for the night was a slick and tight fitting tactical suit. I pointed out to her that she was not, in fact, the Black Widow, and that there was no need for such a get up, but she ignored me. Like always. But between the two of us, we both knew which I would rather be wearing. The door to the dressing room swung open without a knock and Moon Jae came swirling in like a sparkly tornado. I swear she'd never frowned a day in her life. "Ohmo! Dangsin-eun neomu yeppeuda!!" She exclaimed and skipped around us, swishing fabric here, tucking a hair there, making sure the makeup that I hated wearing was blended properly. Even though she was only a Stylist intern, I had a feeling she was stuck at the bottom of the totem pole because no one knew how to manage her insane energy. "I'm gonna go ahead and guess she thinks you look okay, too." Cat dodged as much hairspray as she could, making her way to the door to get out of Moon Jae's path. "She said I look pretty." I translated for her. Even though I was nowhere near fluent in Korean, I was picking up more and more every day. Cat, on the other hand, was perfectly content to remain on the other end of an interpreter. "At least someone does." I added with a mumble. "Oh yes, let's go ahead and pretend that none of those testosterone sacks is going to want to jump you the instant they see you." She snorted, leaning against the door, arms crossed. Trigger, slide, bang. "Can you please not refer to them as hormone sacks? They are good guys, you said so yourself." I lectured, half ignoring Moon Jae's instructions, and half listening to the scrambled voices that suddenly sparked in my ear. "Sounds like its starting." Cat smoothly avoided my reprimand and pushed off the wall, holding one finger to her ear. "Are you 'bout done?" "Kkeutmachin?" I asked Moon Jae, who I had lost sight of somewhere around the back of my skirt. She crawled back in front of me and held up her fingers in an 'OK', grinning from ear to ear. I probably botched the pronunciation and she didn't want to be rude by correcting me, but I brushed it off, putting my finger to my own ear in order to hear the voices from my com better. "It'd be great if they spoke English." Cat commented as she opened the door for me and we made our way into the hallway. "It'd be great if you learned their language first." I returned absently. "It's not like any of them would talk to me if I did." "That's because you stabbed Hoo Min on your first day!" I exclaimed, to which she turned up her nose, like she would neither confirm nor deny that the poor first year guard had to get five stitches thanks to her. We padded down the corridor, her super comfy Vibrams soundless next to the click and slap of my heels. Near the end, we would part ways; Cat would make her way into the concert hall via the service entrance, and then slowly progress up to the catwalks, watching the show from above. We called this 'covert duty' because it was unofficial, and only one of the two of us ever took up the position. Some 85% of shootings in venues such as concert halls take place in the rafters above the stage. With Cat in the nest, wearing all black in the darkness of the scaffolding, she'd be undetectable, and therefore able to put down any attempts before anyone ever noticed something was off. It was my preferable position, but at the moment, like Cat had so delicately put it...I wasn't really able to scale the rafters like the Black Widow tonight. Not with the two holes in my back still aching like there were ice picks sticking out of my ribs. No, my job for the night was 'Prance Patrol': Walking with the boys on the red carpet, or just behind them to avoid the cameras. We usually assigned one of the new guys to walk with them since it wasn't a high stakes position. To my knowledge, no celebrity had ever been shot on the red carpet, but tonight was special. Chief Soo wanted me to make an appearance and put any rumors that I was out of commission to rest. Even though, technically, I was still nowhere near field ready. Two shots to the back had severely limited my range of motion. I couldn't lift anything or roll at all. As a Marine, I told myself to buck the fuck up and keep going, but that was just not how Koreans did things. I was seriously so tired of being told to 'get some rest', and of no one understanding that my Drill Sergeant would have put me through four PT tests by now. And then I would have to explain what a PT test was, and at that point I would give up. But there would be no giving up tonight. Even though my back hurt like hell and I didn't know how exactly I was supposed to run in these wedges should I need to, I was going to strut my stuff for all of Korea. When Cat and I finally reached the end of the hall, she turned to me one more time and gave me a last once over. "Still okay?" I asked, fingering the fabric of my skirt. "Acceptable." She shrugged, but from her, 'acceptable' meant stunning. Surrendering to her mysterious ways, I turned towards the double doors that led to the street with a smirk, while she turned the opposite direction towards the back alley. "Oh, and Hasa?" She shouted when I was at the end. "Hmm?" "Don't let any of those hormone buckets touch you." She ordered snobbishly. "They've graduated to buckets now, have they?" I laughed and waved her off. I mean, if she could ignore my advice, I could ignore hers. Kyung Hee University's Hall of Peace is the massive red and wood paneled masterpiece that has had the honor of hosting the Golden Disk Awards twice now. The building itself looked like it was styled after the Notre Dame de Paris, with its white marble and stain glass windows. To me it looked like an LDS temple, but I kept that to myself. A mile long red carpet had been rolled up to the double door entrance, lined with the entirety of Korea's paparazzi population. The photo backdrop was a mixture of sponsor logos, like: The Star-Asia, Lotte, JTBC2, Sheraton Hotels, and Union Pay. There was already a line of vans and limos stretching down the lane, waiting to drop off their idols. The faculty offices across the street had been turned into auxiliary space, to be used by people like me and Moon Jae, who came to stand behind me. I stared at the crosswalk between the two buildings for a minute, like it was a rickety bridge I didn't want to cross. "Ginjang doeni?" Moon Jae asked happily. Was I nervous? Absolutely. But I smiled at her reassuringly and then forced my feet down the steps.

Byun Baekhyun followed after Xiumin obediently as EXO marched up the red carpet as a group. They paused in front of the sponsor wall and smiled for the million bright flashes that caused him temporary blindness. Nothing he hadn't done a hundred times before. In all honesty, he hated award ceremonies. He liked to perform sure, but standing around for hours at a time, or sitting and smiling for the camera had never been his strong suits. But where SM said to go, he went. A little further down the walk was a chevron shaped platform and a standing camera for interviews. Junmyeon steered them towards it and gracefully accepted the microphone offered to him by the MC. It was his job as leader and hyung to be the speaker, and for the first time, Baekhyun was thankful. They lined up as practiced and bowed in unison. After that he sort of drowned out the interviewer and Junmyeon's responses. If this had been any other night, he would have dove for the mic, talking everyone's ears off. He didn't have enough time or breath to thank all of his fans for everything they'd done for them...but tonight, he just couldn't bring himself to be happy. Honestly, what was there to be happy about? They had just gotten to the album questions when he heard the shouting. It was one of those things that he could pick out of any crowd of noises: the syllables of her foreign name that rolled around on his tongue. "It's Harper Hasagawa!" "Look here!" "She's out of the hospital!" Baekhyun spun around instantly, searching for her usual messy bun and too big flak jacket. But to his astonishment, a bombshell came sauntering up the red carpet steps, wearing Harper's face. Her dress was high collared and misty black, making her look eerily beautiful. Her hair was pulled up tight into dozens of braids that swirled into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she carried a clutch studded with a thousand sparkling diamonds that twinkled under her black fingernails. She was as regal as she was terrifying, and she matched their own style concept to a T. He knew he was seeing Moon Jae's work, but somehow he just couldn't believe it. That wasn't the Harper that they knew, the Harper who beat him in a burping contest or punched Chief Soo in the gut. The goddess walking towards them was some sort of miracle, one he was absolutely not prepared for. The MC stopped his line of questions midway through to turn the camera towards her approach. Up until now, she had seemed confident in her walk, although he sensed a familiar fearful tension in the way she was clutching her purse. But with the camera on her, she faltered. "Mrs. Hasagawa!" The reporters shouted. They looked like a sea of gaping fish, writhing behind the photographer line in waves. They were ravenous for her, and Baekhyun's stomach twisted at the sight. Nervously, she bit her black stained lip, making eye contact with each EXO member before finally falling on him. Her green eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, before she slowly started to turn in the recognizable model circle. And then he saw them. The dress had no back, and when she turned, everyone could clearly see the two discolored dents in her flesh. They looked smaller than the ones he saw in his nightmares, but somehow, these seemed worse. It was like they were on display, outrageously obvious and undisguised. One just below her right shoulder blade, and the other at her left waist line. How could she wear a dress like this? How could she show them off for everyone to see? For a daunting moment, he thought he might be sick. Her blood had sprayed all over his face, and now she was revealing the aftermath to anyone who wanted to look. And everyone wanted to look. His knees suddenly buckled and he wasn't able to stop himself from crumpling onto the step. Immediately, Junmyeon and the rest of his brothers started to him, alarmed. But she came too, and all he could do was ball his hands into fists and brace them against his knees. They circled him, cutting him off from the squirming cameras and the loudmouthed MC, who was shouting for a paramedic. This was no good. Looking this weak was only going to start rumors for the company. EXO-L's were going to bleed from the woodwork, accusing SM of abusing another member into exhaustion, when in reality, they had been getting better. Better because she had stood up for them when no one else would. Harper slowly, painstakingly, bent down to his level, hugging her knees and looking up at him through her eyelashes. She seemed to know that he was more furious than anything else. She seemed to know it more than he did. Why was he so mad, anyway? She had always done whatever she wanted, how was this any different? His knuckles were going white and his arms were shaking, but his eyes could only burn into hers. She met his intensity with calm, and like she dumped a giant bucket of water on his fire, he eased. "You need to let it go." She said quietly in English. "This anger and guilt. Throw it away, because it doesn't belong to you." She reached out and took his fist, weaseling her fingers in between his. "Understand this, Byun Baekhyun: I would do it all over again, I would do it a hundred times. Although at that point, I would probably look like Swiss cheese." There was a snort from above their heads, and Baekhyun glanced up at Kai, who was quickly trying to hide his smirk. "I would rather have these than you have them, do you know why?" She asked him, but didn't wait for his answer. "Because bullet wounds are damn sexy." That garnered a few more chuckles and some shuffling feet from the others. He knew they should wrap this up quickly, they were on the red carpet for heaven's sake...but he just kept staring at her. "What is it?" She asked, cocking her head to the side. "What's so wrong with people seeing them?" He wanted to scream at her, demand to know how she was so proud of them. They were wounds! They were scars! They were his nightmares! Her, vaulting towards him as the shots propelled her into his arms. Her blood covering the front of his shirt, Baek screaming her name at the top of his lungs. Those memories were not things to be proud of! "They're a part of me now, that's just how it is, and I'm okay with that. You need to be okay with that too. These...they're not your fault." She tapped out the words on his knee to emphasize her point. "It's my job to protect you, and that's exactly what I did. How can you be so furious that I did my job well?" He hated her logic, hated the fact that it was true and understandable. Harper was a body guard, and by definition, wasn't a body guard someone who guards with their body? She had thrown herself in front of fire for him, and if she didn't regret it...than how could he? Shakily, he hissed out a sigh in defeat. Taking the surrender, Harper reached for a hand to help her up, and Baekhyun felt the familiar arms of his brothers lift him to his feet. The onlookers began to clap, like he was a sports player down on the field, and a paramedic arrived outside the circle of members, but was waved away. He didn't have the type of tools necessary to repair a shattered ego. "Moon Jae." Harper called, and the hyper stylist came bounding up, hip purse swinging. "Come with me, Bacon!" She beamed and grabbed his arm, not waiting for him to consent. The girl dragged him out of the protection of his friends, and he was immediately blinded by the flashes again. "Baekhyun will be alright," He heard Junmyeon tell the MC, "we've just been so busy with tour that he forgot to eat a healthy breakfast. He'll be ready to perform after some food." The reporters seemed to accept the excuse before he lost sight of them completely.

Kyungsoo watched silently as Baekhyun was dragged into the hall, and Harper squeezed his hand extra tight. He'd gone for her arm before she even asked for help, not caring who saw. But now, as the excitement died down and EXO continued to walk the carpet, he knew he had to let go of her. As blandly as he could, he released her hand. But, unable to stop touching her completely, he replaced it on the small of her back, as if to escort her forward. It seemed like a platonic enough thing to do, a small gesture between coworkers. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but didn't comment as they finally made it inside. The first person to approach them was Chief Soo, who went straight for Harper with vengeance. "What the hell, Hasagawa? What did you do to him?" The manager barked in Korean. DO was about to intervene, but she quickly apologized, even though everyone knew she'd done nothing wrong. Without any further explanation, Chief Soo whisked Harper away to the security office, most likely to continue yelling at her. As he watched her leave, DO rubbed his hands together nervously, only to find them oddly sticky. Glancing down, he noticed a brownish cream covering his palms. He flagged down a nearby stylist and asked for a hand wipe. When she saw him cleaning off his hands, she immediately went digging in her bag. "Here," she handed him a small disposable pouch of liquid foundation. "If you got it on your hands that means you'll need to apply more. Try not to touch it until it dries." He thanked her hesitantly and stared down at the sample. He knew for sure that he hadn't touched his face, and he never wore that much anyway. The only other person he touched had been Harper. Harper's back. Kyungsoo internally groaned as he tossed the sample. He'd have to deal with it later though. Right then, he had more pressing matters than her pride. The performance they gave that night turned out to be one of their best...somehow. Between Trot Record of the Year and the Artist Popularity Awards, EXO had performed 'For Life', and their era signature, 'Monster', both of which were heavily dependent on Baekhyun's voice. The other members had been hesitant to let him go through with it (this was the entire reason they had understudy parts after all), but he declined. He said he would do it, and he did. It was like whatever fire Harper had managed to put out on the carpet, had reignited on stage. His singing was stronger, his dancing was bolder. Everything about him exuded a gallant desperation that only those on stage with him could see. When the last note of 'For Life' strummed, DO couldn't tear his eyes away from Baek's face, or the tears sliding invisibly down his cheeks. But it was also something he couldn't let anyone else see; So he hooked his arm around Baek's head and pretended to joke with him as they ran off stage, setting up for the next act. Baek didn't protest and allowed himself to be escorted to the dressing rooms, surrounded by the other members. That night, EXO won three awards: the Ceci Asia Icon Award, Disk Bonsang, and Disk Daesang. And each time they went on stage, a different member would hang back with Baekhyun...just to be sure. Sehun, Xiumin, and Kai somehow managed to carry him through the night, forcing him to give aegyo and hearts to the fans, while also shielding him from any unnecessary attention. DO had to admit that this was probably why they were so successful as a group. It wasn't SM, or their musical ability--it was because they were a group of genuinely decent guys who had become brothers. They would do anything for each other, and it was a sign of trust that Baek let them lead him through a hard time. And unfortunately, it helped that Harper didn't return.

“I’ve repositioned. You’re off the clock.” Cat’s voice crackled in my ear. The connection was weakening the farther I traveled from the university, and in the back of a company sedan, I let myself deflate. My back was hurting, my feet were aching, and my heart was sore.

Poor puppy.

With a wince, I closed my eyes and let out a hiss that was supposed to be a sigh. I’m sure the driver shot me a nervous glance in the mirror, but I didn’t see.

“Where to, miss?” He had asked me when I slid into the backseat. It was unusual for someone to leave before the show started, but I had no business working a carpet I could barely walk on.

“To the dorms please.” I’d mumbled, but before we were able to drive off, Chief Soo rapped his knuckles against the driver side window.

“Sir?” The driver responded.

“Take her to the hospital.” Soo said insipidly. I could see him glaring at me from where I sat in the backseat, but I purposefully turned my head so he couldn’t see my grimace. “See to it that she accepts her treatment.” In hind sight, it was probably the better course of action…but that wasn’t going to stop me from being salty about his constant need to boss people around.

After fighting with award show traffic for an hour, we finally managed to make our way into the city, and to the local hospital that I’d called home for the past who knows how long. The driver parked in the garage, and then came around to help me out. He was even kind enough to lead me up to the VIP floor, not even commenting on how heavily I leaned on his arm. But that was where I drew the line. I waved him off at the elevators, despite his protest.

Yes, yes, I’d listen to the damn doctors, I assured him. But Chief Soo could kiss my ass if he thought he would assign me a babysitter. He’d just pursed his lips at me when I pulled rank, but I didn’t care. I was in too much pain to bother with what he thought of the bossy American. And I was far too grateful when he left as ordered. It was my only consolation that no one was there to see me as I limped towards my room.

I lost my clutch as I trudged past the nurses’ station, but didn’t stop to try and find it on the floor. It must have clattered awfully loud in the quiet hallway, because the girl behind the desk stood as I passed…knowing better than to help me. Somehow, through long complicated hand gestures and broken Korean-English conversations, the staff had gotten the gist of me. They knew better than to try and assist at this point, I only ever snapped when they did. But she stilled bowed her head at me as I hobbled, like my defiance had somehow won points with her.

My room was at the end of the hall, one that had never felt so long before. With a row of identical fake wood doors filled with sick people on my right, and top to bottom panes of glass on my left, I felt like some sort of ant on display as I scurried into my hole. Only my hole was a million miles away, no matter how many steps I managed to take.

Finally, my knees gave. My tendons protested, my nerves shriveled, my muscles dissented, and in the culmination of their chorus, I went down. I hardly cared though. The world was already a blurry mess, what did it matter that I passed out in the hallway or in my bed? At least out here, I could see the lights of the city from the floor.

But before I could sprawl myself on the expensive tile, a strong hand hooked under my arms and pulled me into an awkward hold. My head lulled to the side, distracted but still somehow annoyed that I’d been caught.

“Let goooo…” I slurred, trying my best to swing my head in the direction of my bothersome rescuer. It was just a large black splotch in the midst of the dim hallway.

“Cállate.” A female voice from the other side of me snapped, and I let my head fall towards her instead. “Come on.” She ordered, and whoever was carrying me started forward at a dizzying pace. I mean, they were probably just walking, but to me it felt like they were sprinting and my legs were flapping behind us like racing stripes.

The woman, who was only a splash of pale pink and dark hair, slid my door open and allowed my carrier and I to enter. The room was shadowy, and I was suddenly struck by the absence of the twinkling night lights. I didn’t want to hide in this dark hole by myself. But even my futile attempts to lift my arms and grab my pack mule were met with muscle protests. I was a rag doll, yet they sat me down on the bed like I was made of porcelain. I was rolled to my side, facing away from the door and the only light.

“Thank you. That will be all.” The woman said, and I heard a grunt in response. It bothered me that the pink woman was there for no reason, and she’d sent the oxen away. Who else was going to drag me out of this den? I wanted to go back out and see the lights. It wasn’t healthy to lock sick people up in the dark, didn’t they know?

“If you hadn’t been ordered to appear, I would slap you in your sutures.” The woman in pink rounded the bed, floating around like she was a ghost. She entered the bathroom for a moment, and then came back holding a green splotch, not even bothering to turn on the light.

Her voice was familiar, but it wasn’t Cat, so I didn’t care. “Let’s get you out of that dress before you ruin it.” Her hands were on me then, surprisingly strong for someone who used others to lift bodies for them. She unfastened the clasp at the back of my neck, and at both wrists, then slid the top half of the dress off like it was nothing. My back was on fire from the pain, but my front that had been contently warm and covered all night was suddenly exposed to the cold air.

I shivered, and it hurt.

She unzipped the skirt and maneuvered me until it was pulled out from under my legs. I was naked, but I wasn’t phased. My legs probably still looked nice in the heels, notwithstanding the countless scars I already had. But she pulled those off too, and then I really was stripped. It occurred to me that I should probably say something to this stranger who was taking my clothes off, but I just didn’t have the energy to put up any fight.

After a moment of nipple-hardening cold, something warm was draped over my front, and I managed to look down at the hospital gown she was looping my arms through.

“What? No foreplay?” I rasped, and then chuckled at myself. The woman scoffed, and I caught the whites of her eyes rolling.

“Verdaderamente eres asqueroso.” She hissed, and I paused my laughing. It only just occurred to me but…everything she’d said to me was in Spanish. Had I answered in English? Or was it the opposite and I just couldn’t tell anymore? There were too many verbs, nouns, and tenses floating around in my head that I could barely keep them straight when I was sober.

But now, drunk on pain? There was no telling what combination of languages were going to drool out of my mouth. But the information was a welcome one, and it took a jab at my fuzzy brain. If it was Spanish, but it wasn’t Cat, then it was the other one…the doctor.

“Afton?” I whispered, and the pink smear stilled.

“At least you won’t be asking for any lap dances.” I heard her mutter to herself and then move to sit behind me. A moment later, something cold and soft smoothed over my back, and I let out an appreciative moan.

“What are you doing here?” I croaked.

“I’m cleaning up your mess. What else?” She responded like it was obvious, and I didn’t have the strength to answer. Cleaning up messes was what Afton did best. Whether it was for me, or any paying country, there was nothing she couldn’t fix. So I finally followed her earlier demand and shut up, letting her run the towel up and down my burning muscles.

Honestly, Kyungsoo thought there would be more resistance when he said he was heading out early. EXO had won all they were going to win, and what was the point of a red carpet exit anyway? So no one really bothered when he climbed into a company car and told them to head to the hospital. And then, still no one stopped him as he rode the elevator to the VIP floor and passed the nurses’ station. The woman behind the desk had seen him many times, and her eyes roamed over him disinterestedly.

The only thing that faltered his approach was the studded clutch laying in the middle of the floor, abandoned. He grabbed it off the tile and turned it over in his hands. It was definitely Harper’s, and he would be lying if he said he was surprised she’d discarded it so easily. Her whole outfit tonight was so out of her world that Kyungsoo had done a double take. From her black lips, to her black nails, she looked like some sort of tremendously sexy nun, and for a split second, he was all for it. Take him to church, let him confess, he’d pray to her and only her until the world ended.

And then he realized that it was Harper, and he was astonished at his blasphemy.

But after his moment of sacrilege passed, he realized that her dress, her hair, and her shoes, had not been for him. She sauntered onto that red carpet for two very specific reasons: One, probably because Chief Soo told her she had to; and two, to bring Baek back to life. Even the fans had noticed his change. He was scared, probably not even for his own life, but for hers. He hovered around Harper’s hospital room like an apparition wanting to interact, but not knowing how to do it without scaring someone. He didn’t know what to say or what to do to show his gratitude for her saving his life, and in the end…it had chipped away at his heart.

DO loosened his tie and shed his jacket. She was probably in a foul mood, and it wasn’t like he was there to commend her. Resolutely, he was there to yell at her, like always. She was just such a hot mess, what else was he supposed to do?

So, with her clutch under his arm, he slid open the door to her room silently, but it was a different scene than he expected to find. Catalina’s sister sat at Harper’s bedside, wiping Harper’s back with a damp towel. She slowly turned on her stool to see him out of the corner of her eye, although he didn’t know how she could make him out in the light of the doorway. It was pitch black in the room, and he felt weird seeing his outline pass over the bed next to his bodyguard.

Afton’s hand paused as she regarded him questioningly, and it only took moments for him to understand her expression and respond. Without a word, he tossed his tie, jacket, and Harper’s clutch onto the couch by the door, and made his way to the bed. Afton stood and passed him the rag without a hint of interest. Kyungsoo figured she should have at least raised an eyebrow at his willingness, but she ignored him.

The exchange only took a moment, and after he’d seated himself on the stool, he looked back to see her leaving. He wasn’t sure if he should call out to her or not, but then Harper stirred on the bed, and his attention was focused on her, and not the click of the door as the doctor left.

He sat with the rag hanging in his hands for a moment, feeling the darkness creep around him comfortably. But he had something to confirm, and it couldn’t be done in the dark. So, he illuminated the flashlight on his phone but quickly dimmed it when it nearly blinded him. And just as he suspected, the towel and the water in the big green bowl on the table were tinted beige. Now was the time to yell at her, right? He’d established his theory: Harper had covered her back in BB cream, but as to the reason…

Gently, Kyungsoo wiped the towel across her back, ignoring the curve of her spine and the dip of her waist, trying not to pay any attention to how her skin responded with a trail of goose bumps, or how she took in a sharp shaky breath at his touch. Those were not things he needed to focus on. Instead, he centered all of his attention on the deep purple, green, and yellow bruises that were exposed with each wipe. He didn’t bother to hide his grimace as he streaked away the makeup to discover more of her pain, more of her damage. And then there were the other things: other scars, other burns. Her whole body was a testament to her service, and he couldn’t decide what was worse: how injured she’d been, or how proud he suddenly found himself.

What right did he have to be proud of her for things she did before she met him? How was it any of his business what her body looked like under her stupid flannels and skinny jeans? She was Harper, she was an American. She was lazy and informal. She was his opposite in pretty much every way…

So why did this bother him? Why did he have the overwhelming urge to shake her awake and hug her tight? He wanted to promise her that she’d never get hurt again, but then the thought of not being able to keep that promise paralyzed him. His thoughts and feelings were running wild, but all the while, his hand softly slid up and down her back, never stopping to confer with his thoughts. His heart at least knew that she needed this. Her wounds needed to be cleaned, and despite literally everything his head was screaming at him right then…he owed her that much.

He let out a single huff of a laugh at the thought. What did their scorecard even look like now? Who was up, who was down? Why were they keeping score at all?

“Lo siento…” He felt the words vibrate into his hand, and he froze. Had she heard him? Did she know that he was the one who was touching her now? That he could see every curve of her and he secretly wished he could see more?

No…her words were in Spanish. She still thought that Afton was the one taking care of her. But then—

“Lo siento…Gomen'nasai…Mianhaeyo…”

Kyungsoo dropped the towel in the bowl with a splash and gulped.

“I’m sorry.”

He watched helplessly as his hand reached out and grazed over her hair. His fingers smoothed over her head in a reassuring stroke. He shouldn’t be doing this, he panicked. This kind of thing was reserved for family or lovers. And he was neither! But still he caressed her, muttering to himself that he should leave, but also that she had nothing to be sorry for.

Not bothering to stop it, but also acknowledging he wasn’t in charge of it, his other hand drifted to her marbled back, tracing over every blemish and scar that made her. She was a patchwork of stories that he’d never heard, and he found himself truly wanting to know everything there was to know about her.

“You know,” Afton’s voice made him jump straight out of his skin, “she won’t remember anything that’s said or done tonight. She went to that show like a fool, but of course she had to one up herself by not taking her medication beforehand.” Her English was lilted by her maiden tongue, but DO had no trouble understanding what she meant: an opportunity was an opportunity.

Was it safe for him to pretend? Safe to let his mind drift to that forbidden inkling he’d locked away? He couldn’t destroy it no matter how hard he tried, so he’d banished it to the farthest reaches of his mind, burying it beneath the necessity to work out, or eat, or dance, or sing. There was always something more important than letting himself think about it. Was it really safe to let it out now? Where no one would hear, or remember?

With a swallow, he glanced at Afton out of the corner of his eye and watched as she hooked Harper up to an IV and set the drip. In the shallow light of his phone, he could see a small smirk on her face, like she knew what was going on in his head. She seemed a lot like Cat in that regard. Apparently both sisters had a knack for seeing the things people were trying to hide. It was kind of infuriating, but refreshing somehow.

When she was satisfied that Harper was settled, she walked back to the door to leave, the click of her heels on the tile like the tick of the clock he felt pounding in his brain. He either left with her, or he didn’t leave. That was the ultimatum he felt himself drifting towards. He heard the door slide open and she said,

“I don’t know if you know or not…but there are things you could give her now that she would never be able to receive again.” And then she was gone.

The silence hummed in his ears like the crash of the ocean. He did know. In fact, he was the only one who knew.

Slowly, DO rose from the stool and carried it around the bed to sit in front of Harper. Then he went and threw open the blinds that had been pulled tight over the window. The lights from the buildings around the hospital twinkled under the dark sky, making him wish for a moment that they were stars. Even on clear nights, he hardly ever saw them anymore. How was he supposed to ask them for guidance when they were constantly drowned out by the fake stars of the city?

He tore his eyes away from the beams when he heard a sharp intake of breath from the bed behind him. He turned around reluctantly, fighting the feeling of suddenly wanting to throw himself out the window. Harper’s eyes were open and wide, illuminated by the glow of the city. And she was staring at him.

Brightened by the world outside her hospital room, she looked hollowed out and pale, but he could never describe her gaze as anything but ethereal. Her stare was just so deep and enticing that he could barely breathe as she gaped at him.

“Kosei?” The prayer tumbled from her lips, and despite herself, her eye lids drooped. Her eyebrows furrowed, like she was mad that her muscles were betraying her at such a crucial moment.

She won’t remember anything that’s said or done tonight, and there are things you could give her now that she would never be able to receive again…

Afton had said. The real question now: was he going to spend this night on himself, or was he going to spend it on her? Could he play this role? Should he…

False hope was one of the cruelest gifts anyone could give, but if she wasn’t going to remember it anyway…what was the harm in making her happy for one night? Whether or not it was a lie, he was still the one doing it, right?

She whispered the name again and moved like she would try and sit up. DO immediately rushed forward and gently pushed her back into the bed, falling into that person without another thought.

“Don’t try and get up. You overdid it tonight.” It occurred to him that their tones might not be the same. His voice was usually much lower than everyone else’s, he might have ruined the illusion before it even began. And then the fact that he was speaking English. Had she taught him? Was she able to speak Japanese because they’d taught each other their languages? It seemed like such a lesson in life, to be able to hear the person you love say they love you in your tongue.

Even for him, hearing ‘salanghae’ was always more impressionable that hearing someone say ‘I love you’. Because he was Korean, and what bigger commitment could someone pay him than learn how to speak his language?

“I’m sorry.” Harper obediently laid back down, catching his hand in her own and tucking it close to her chest. He could feel her heartbeat, a slow melodic rhythm under the hammering of his own. “I didn’t mean to make you worry again.”

“I wouldn’t worry if you didn’t do such reckless things.” He scoffed and then reeled at his senselessness.

“Maybe…” She lulled while Kyungsoo nearly beat himself to death with his free hand, “but you’d be so boring otherwise.” A smile danced on her lips that made him still.

“Rude.” He snickered at her, earning a bigger grin.

This was dangerous. He felt it in his bones. He shouldn’t be doing this. But he just couldn’t stop. He wanted to be this person, the one she called out to in the darkness, the one who made her laugh even when she was hurting. Every inhibition he had crumpled in the light of the city stars behind him.

He would be Kosei.

He would be whoever she wanted.

Just for tonight. Just for this one night, because…

He would go back to being Kyungsoo when morning came, and she would never smile at him like this again.

#EXO #do kyungsoo #kyungsoo #d.o. kyungsoo #d.o.#exo fan fic #exo fan fiction #exo fanfics #exo fanfiction #kpop #kpop fan fic #kpop fan fiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #oc #bodyguard

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truesportsfan · 5 years ago

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How ABC gofer turned summer job into ‘Miracle on Ice’ nirvana

Friday, Feb. 22, 1980. More than 8,000 manic fans pack into the Olympic Center Arena in Lake Placid, N.Y., including Vice President Walter Mondale and first child Amy Carter. I remember they were seated across the ice on the opposite side of the arena from our broadcast booth, and distinctly recall the two Secret Service agents standing right behind Al Michaels, Ken Dryden — and me. They were conspicuous in dark suits and shades, sporting earpieces as they monitored movements. I’ll never forget offering one of them a bottle of water and being met with a cold, hard shake of the head. They were all business.

It was 5 p.m. ET when the first puck dropped. ABC Sports was not live on the air — in fact, an attempt to move the game to 8 p.m. so it could be broadcast live in the U.S. was turned down by the International Hockey Federation. That would have been 4 a.m. in the Soviet Union, and the Soviets protested this injustice — and won. But no one inside the arena cared who else was watching live. They were in the house and it was game on.

Spring, 1979. I graduated from Brown University on a rather unseasonably cool Providence, R.I., spring day. After packing up a once-cluttered dorm room, I head up Route 95 to Boston to begin my summer job as a gofer/production assistant for ABC Sports’ “Monday Night Baseball.”

I had gotten an in with the jewel sports network during my senior year, when Brown’s sports information director, Rosa Gatti (who retired as a senior vice president at ESPN in 2013), asked me to take good care of Keith Jackson, the legendary announcer who, oddly enough, was calling the Brown-Harvard football game for ABC. I guess I did a good enough job to warrant an attaboy from not only Rumblin’, Fumblin’ Keith, but more importantly, from the assistant producer, who told me to keep in touch.

Keep in touch I did, as I was determined to avoid going to law school and instead began to seriously consider a career in sports television production. And so began a fantasy year that brought repeated close encounters with iconic figures and moments in sports.

The ABC broadcast team for hockey during the 1980 OlympicsRob Krausz

For example, in the fall of 1979, at a “Monday Night Football” game in Washington, as a booth assistant I was assigned to find the legendary Howard Cosell with three minutes to air. I finally located him in a lounge entertaining two women over drinks and was greeted by his yelling, “Don’t rush the star of the show!” Ninety seconds later, he put on his headset and delivered a perfect opening segment without a script.

ABC kept me busy most weekends, as I traveled by car (gas and tolls on me) up and down the East Coast to work on pro and college football games, golf tournaments and boxing matches. I chauffeured the infamous Cosell many times, saw Jack Nicklaus win the 16th and 17th of his record 18 major championships, and had up-close moments with Reggie Jackson and George Steinbrenner. And they paid me — a per diem of $35.

But the highlight of it all began in December 1979, when I managed to get hired to work as a research/production assistant/gofer/food and beverage porter for the 1980 Olympics in Lake Placid.

At the first production meeting for us bottom-feeders, everyone clamored for glamorous jobs working on speed skating, ski jumping, downhill skiing and figure skating. When ice hockey came up, no one volunteered because, obviously, the U.S. team was terrible, the Soviet Union was despised and heavily favored, and who in their right mind wanted to waste time inside the hockey rink watching the Russian gold-medal coronation?

Someone, however, noticed on my résumé that I had gone to Brown and asked if I knew anything about ice hockey. Stupidly, I mentioned I actually had been to a few college games and had even seen U.S. goalie Jim Craig play for Boston University in the Beanpot tournament the prior winter at Boston Garden. My groan was audible when they assigned me to work as the assistant to recently retired NHL All-Star goalie Ken Dryden (I had actually heard of him), and some baseball announcer on the West Coast (I had never heard of) named Al Michaels.

We start work in Lake Placid about a month before the games began. I accompanied Al and Ken for a few nights shuttling around in an arctic-cold ABC minivan watching the U.S. team play a few exhibition matches. I even spent a few afternoons playing pinball at the Olympic Village dorms with Craig and Mike Eruzione and got the feeling they were thrilled to be there (though not so much with their coach, Herb Brooks), and were just going to do the best they could and hopefully not be embarrassed.

When the first-round games began Feb. 12, the crowds were fairly sparse. As I sat next to Al (always on his right) for all the televised games, I tried to come up with meaningful stats or inside storylines, but frankly, initially there wasn’t much to say.

However, as the U.S. kept progressing deeper into the tournament, there was this weird, cautiously optimistic vibe in the air. These bad news pucksters just kept winning. And winning. An initial tie with Sweden was followed by consecutive wins over Czechoslovakia, Romania and West Germany.

By the time the baby-faced U.S. team made the final four in the medal round (along with the U.S.S.R., Finland and Sweden) and was about to face the chiseled, grizzled Soviets, there was a palpable buzz in the air of: Hey, this is somehow happening! Everyone working at the Olympics felt it. Fans in the arena felt it, and the hardest and hottest Olympic ticket to get was U.S. versus the U.S.S.R., scheduled for Feb. 22. Of course, my seat next to Al and Ken was reserved from Day 1, and little did I know it would become perhaps the most prized seat in sports history.

I have very little recollection of the match itself as it just whizzed by in one of life’s “in the zone” moments, when three hours seem like three minutes. The Russians scored first. The U.S. tied it up. Then the Russians went up 2-1, and as initial hope seemed lost, somehow Team USA’s Mark Johnson scored to tie the game with one second left in the first period. The atmosphere was giddy and most of us were clearly surprised that this U.S. team — drubbed 10-3 weeks earlier by this same Soviet team at Madison Square Garden in an exhibition — was still alive in the game. But then the Soviet Union scored early in the second period to make it 3-2, and a sense of deflation could be felt as the period ended.

Well, it had been a good ride and we braced ourselves for the knockout punch that was coming. Somehow, that punch never came. Eight minutes and 39 seconds into the third period, Johnson struck again to tie the game at 3, and 81 seconds later, Eruzione — the captain and my pinball buddy — launched a shot into the net that was heard ’round the world.

The atmosphere for the final 10 minutes of the game was almost indescribable. Craig made 36 saves in the game, and it seemed as if all 36 came in those final minutes. The Soviets, reeling yet attacking wildly, could not get another one past him. Ken and Al were going nuts — as was the crowd. As everyone counted down the last 10 seconds, it seemed as if in slow motion, in my left ear one foot away, that Al uttered those famous words: “Do you believe in miracles? YES!”

Pandemonium.

I got kicked out of the locker room (and thrown against the wall) by Secret Service agents after I tried to help Jim Lampley find players for postgame interviews. My press credential, which had served me so well, was now worthless. The vice president was in the locker room and I was back to being the low man on the totem pole — but wow, it had been a great ride.

Rob KrauszN.Y. Post: Tamara Beckwith

Jim McKay went on the air that night and said he would not announce any hockey results as the network was tape-delaying the broadcast of the game. Like no one knew.

The gold-medal clinching game came two days later on Feb. 24. Yawn. A 4-2 victory over the Finns. I have an old Kodak picture of the team storming the ice at the last horn. Most people don’t even realize the U.S. did not clinch the gold medal versus the Soviets in that earlier, historic game. No one cares. The fight of the century had been fought and the final was relegated to the undercard.

A year later, on Feb. 22, 1981, I found myself in Durham, N.C., yawning over a Contracts textbook in the Duke University Law School library. I had followed Howard Cosell’s advice to get out of “this lousy business” (i.e. sports television) and go to law school. Bye-bye, sports producer career. After all, could anything ever top my year on the road that included that 1980 Olympic hockey experience?

After packing my books and while heading back to the dorm, I checked out Duke’s upcoming basketball schedule. There was this new coach, some guy named Mike with a long Polish name nobody could spell. “Coach K” was going through a losing streak and there were rumors he would be fired. Ha!

As I made my way across the main campus, there were a group of students on the lawn playing field hockey with a tennis ball. One took a wild shot and sent the ball soaring past a makeshift goal. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Do you believe in miracles?” as the ball zoomed by, almost hitting me. I yelled right back, “Yes!” Then, as I was about to tell them where I’d been a year earlier, I stopped. Who would believe it? I smiled, moving silently into the night.

source https://truesportsfan.com/sport-today/how-abc-gofer-turned-summer-job-into-miracle-on-ice-nirvana/

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thevalkyriesonline · 6 years ago

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In the first instalment of ‘Let’s Talk Comics’ we talk with Son and Sam of SCSM Comics who have just finished their Kickstarter campaign for their comic ‘A Vampire in Paris’.

Sam is a queer freelance artist known for her character designs, concept work and witty sense of humour. She has been drawing professionally for over 10 years and dedicates her time to telling new and original stories through her artwork.

Son is a queer Muslim freelance writer who actively works in comics, and is known for her work in ‘TEETHING’. She is an active fan of horror and monsters and often complains about the lack of positive representation of POC mythical creatures.

‘A Vampire in Paris’ is a queer love story that follows two bartenders at the Spade, a bar located in the heart of Paris. Kara Belmont is a working college student, studying Art History by day and spending her nights filling up empty glasses. It’s a weird bar, packed with interesting patrons. But the most interesting person of all seems to be her own coworker. Selma Nazari seems to only work at night and is rather mysterious, not to mention unearthly beautiful. Despite her calm disposition and incessant teasing, Kara is sure that Selma holds a terrible secret.

There’s no doubt about it: She’s a vampire.

Let’s dive straight in!

Sam, how did you get started in illustrating? Was there a moment you can recall where you really fell in love with it?

I was in 3rd or 4th grade when I stumbled upon a good old show called ‘DragonBall Z’ on Toonami. I thought the style and animations were so cool I just had to recreate them and it kinda kicked off from there. I had always been into drawing and doodling as a kid but I really fell head over heels in love with it after drawing Trunks an absurd amount of times.

Sam- What inspired you to go the comic book route with your artistic skills out of all available mediums?

Fun fact, initially I didn’t want to do art as a career/profession at all. I kind of fell into the freelance thing out of necessity and realized that it was awesome and I love doing it! As for going the comic book route, that falls on Son actually! I was not confident in my abilities to do full comic page work initially but after freelancing for 2 years and Son shoving me into a locker and demanding I go into comic work I decided to take the plunge! Setting up the kickstarter and producing the sample pages really solidified my confidence and how much I enjoy it!

Sam- What character would you like to give a full makeover to and why?

If I could give any character in AVIP a makeover it would probably be Levi. And I only say this because she’s the type to change her appearance most often. I also love drawing and coloring hair and she has a lot to work with.

If I had the choice to give any character a full makeover I would laugh at myself and say “I can give a full makeover to any character I want” because I do. One of the things I love drawing the most is redesigns of characters that I like. Be it “what they look like in 20 years” or just full on AU designs, the possibilities are endless!

Son- Was there a defining piece of work for you growing up that made you realise you wanted to take up the writers mantle?

As much as I want to say ‘Dragon Ball Z’, I think the most defining pieces of work that convinced me that writing is my passion were R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike novels. I used to read the dime horror novels (the ones on a lonely rack at my library) religiously all throughout elementary school. Was I too young to be reading that? Yes. Did I like them immensely? Hell yes.

Son- What is your favourite scary movie?

‘Let the Right One In’. I used to read it once a year in high school because of how much I adored the writing. The Swedish film is amazing and paints my favourite type of horror: slow moving.

Son- Who would you say your biggest inspirations are?

There’s so many. In literature, I’m just like any other post-college student with a knack for writing. Which means I like a lot of works by dead white male authors. Thankfully, Afrofuturism is saving my life. But no matter how much I read, anime that I grew up with and learned to appreciate as an adult really shaped me. My biggest inspirations are Ghost in the Shell, Cowboy Bebop, Akira, Berserk, and other shows from that era. Also, Hellboy changed my life.

Son- Which famous classic horror creature/ mythical creature would you like to reimagine and why?

The Bride of Frankenstein because I really want to examine her under the points brought up in the essay A Cyborg Manifesto by Donna Haraway. I also think it would be wild to examine how we do AIs and Cyborgs in science-fiction as a form of Frankenstein and his bride in a setting that leads you to believe that artificial advancements are the future. It’s a cool reversal.

I love these thoughts on The Bride of Frankenstein, AI and Cyborgs, I had not even considered how much those things align! That would make for a fascinating topic especially with AI being the hot topic that it is!

How did you find the process of raising funds on kickstarter?

Sam: It was nerve racking initially. Especially because for me it was my first time running a kickstarter. We both took the time to go over successful and failed kickstarters to get a general picture of what we’d be dealing with on both sides. It was a lot of “what to do and what not to do”s.

Son: It took a bunch of research and trial and error. Sam is excellent at creating a schedule and together, we made airtight plans. In the end, it’s great to have support and to work with someone you trust. It’s hard, but exciting.

What advice would you give someone looking to self-fund on sites like kickstarter?

Sam: PR IS YOUR BEST FRIEND. Seriously. Don’t feel bad about boosting your projects 3-4 times a day and being active with your audience. It’s the best way to show that you’re in it to win it! CONFIDENCE IS EVERYTHING!

Son: It’s okay to be a little shameless. An issue I had to jump over was my inability to promote myself. You need to ignore that little voice and be shameless. Tell all your friends, tweet about it nonstop, bring it up whenever you can. It’s only for a month, you gotta be your own hype man! Learning how to PR is important.

What have you found the biggest challenges for you as women in this industry?

Sam: I like to think that I’m incredibly lucky for choosing to go into the freelance industry over a big name comic book corporation. Crowdfunding is a game changer because it opens up opportunities to female identifying artists to explore stories and styles that suit them and their experiences. Instead of some old fart at the top of the totem pole doling out slices of “The same shit we see all the time”.

Son: As someone who’s been working to get into comics, the freelance industry is a great place for women. Or it’s starting to be. As a female identifying writer, I’ve been on the short end of the stick, that I’m not “taken seriously” about certain genres, such as horror and science fiction. Jokes on them because with the growing community of freelance projects and crowdfunding, women and other marginalized groups are finally building their own platforms with their own stories and variations that are creative explosions outside the major publisher comic book industry. ALSO WHY DOES EVERYONE SHY FROM TWO FEMALE LEADS?

What advice would you give to creators just getting started?

Sam: DEADLINES. ARE. YOUR. BEST. FRIEND. I’m a big fan of deadlines, especially because I’m a freelancer and have to make my own schedule. Setting simple deadlines for yourself helps keep you on track and gives you a sense of accomplishment whenever you meet one! Always ALWAYS set deadlines that are simple to achieve so you aren’t just setting yourself up for failure. Having a friend (Like Son) to help keep you on track is super important too. Working with a friend or a small group helps with the workload as well, but always remember that this is work and to succeed you need to put in the work.

Son: DONT. GIVE. UP. As someone who really struggled with making the content I want to be seen, not giving up despite all the times I failed really got me into the position where when working with Sam, I was so prepared. It takes a while, it really does. There’s nothing immediate about comics, no instant success. Kickstarter makes it look like projects happen overnight but it was the cultivation of ALL of my past experiences, my active engagement on social media, my practice in writing that eventually lead me to Sam and the confidence to push this project forward. Don’t crumble after failure because you’ve already learned how to do better the next time.

Which comic book character do you wish you had created and why?

Sam: Jason Todd. Specifically new 52 Jason Todd. New 52 Jason Todd is a trainwreck that totally derailed his entire character from what he was initially. Jason Todd is the physical representation to Bruce that “You can’t win 100% of the time without casualties”. His death was a symbol that sometimes Batman fails, and that being a hero doesn’t mean everything works out in the end. And Jason Todd also countered the norms, he came back ANGRY. In superhero comics, back then being ANGRY wasn’t a hero quality. He defined antihero to me, and I’ve always been more partial to antiheroes because it really drives home the conflict of being a, you guessed it, VIGILANTE. Also I’m a firm believer that if any character in DC was bisexual it’d be him.

Son: Jason Todd. Specifically new 52 Jason Todd. He comes from a place where not a lot of Robins do and it shaped his character, eventually leading him into the path of an antihero rather than the “benevolent” Batman. He’s an outlier in the Batfam, and he holds certain values that I really vibe with, especially due to his upbringing. That you don’t have to be perfect to be good and you don’t have to bend to societal norms to make a difference. The new 52 kind of forgot about all the qualities that made him so special (to me anyway) so I wish I owned him. Plus, he looks cool as heck and if there was one character in all of DC that would have absolutely been bisexual, it’s Jason Todd.

What are the pros/ cons of working in this field?

Pro’s: You work for yourself when you crowdfund. You make all the artistic decisions, the financial decisions, all the deadlines. You don’t have to comply with any decisions from higher ups or deal with “bosses” because you are your own boss.

Cons: It’s all on you. It can be incredibly stressful to successfully fund, manage and complete a large project on your own. There are a lot of different factors to take into account that you need to be ready and/or flexible for. If you’re not good at organization then this field is going to be rough for you.

What advice would you give for women looking to break into this industry?

Sam: Share your work. Apply for those jobs. Take that leap into freelance or crowdfunding. Even if you think you wont make it, or you’re not “good enough”, or you don’t “meet the qualifications” put yourself out there. There is always an audience for every story.

Son: Support each other. Your best support is from people who resonate with your work. And it’s not easy, but nothing worth having really is. Don’t be shy to put yourself in your work. A common misconception is that you have to write like those dead old white guys I mentioned above to be considered publishing worthy or literary and the answer I have to that is: fuck that. There’s a uniqueness that comes from your own self that no one can imitate. So why try to imitate what’s been done when you can show your own spin? And again, don’t give up!

Would you say there is a shift in the diversity within this industry? What in your opinion could readers do to ensure that the industry moves in the right direction?

Sam: I think the industry is slowly making the attempt to move in the right direction. I’m gonna reiterate “Slowly”. In my opinion showing support, both with your words and your wallet is key to moving in a more diverse and inclusive direction. Yeah we’re sick of the same rehashing of the same story, so put your money where your mouth is.

Son: Show your support for the things you want made. Don’t just say you want more queer or female led stories, actively engage and support with creators who are trying to make these stories. The comic book industry’s favorite go-to argument is that there is no active audience for these types of comics. The only way to counter that is to support the people trying to make them. And I do think it’s happening. Image Comics have been pumping out some amazing female identifying artists and writers. The indie scene is RICH with stories by WOC. And I think the industry is beginning to take notice.

What is next for you guys?

Sam- Hopefully, after the completion of AVIP, we plan on making our own webcomic, as a team. We’re lucky to work with each other as we often act as foils and complete what the other person needs. SO MORE DORKY COMICS, I GUESS. We’ve got a dark comedy planned so fingers crossed.

Big thanks to Sam and Son for giving us some insight into their process and their thoughts on the comics industry. The Valkyries chose to back AVIP during it’s Kickstarter campaign and we are thrilled that it smashed it’s target and will be going to print! If you want to keep up to date with Son and Sam you can find them here:

www.twitter.com/istehlurvz

istehlurvz.tumblr.com

www.twitter.com/bogboogie

son-mess.tumblr.com

Let’s talk comics! #1: Sam and Son on ‘A Vampire in Paris’ and a whole lot more! In the first instalment of 'Let's Talk Comics' we talk with Son and Sam of SCSM…

#comic books #comics #indie comics #vampires #a vampire in paris

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chaneljoyce · 7 years ago

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Unit 2 Essay- Leveled

A mass of black and gold storms the turf. ‘Back in Black’ courses through the veins of every being within Kinnick Stadium. Fans are losing their voices screaming at the team. It’s game day. For the seniors, they try to cling to the field, close their eyes to let the humming of the fanfare enter their bones. The sophomores and juniors try and keep their cool; they’re on a Big 10 football team. This is the dream. Even as a bench player, anyone knows how to spot one of them on campus. They all have the signature black backpack with a tigerhawk on the back. The sport is printed under the tigerhawk: Football. Each individual player’s number is printed under. To top it off, a tag with their name, sport, and number hangs from the bottom. Athletes are easily spotted; the university wants to make them perfectly visible and have the entire campus recognize them as such.

The football players’ numbers are easily recognizable, and the first string players are akin to celebrity status. Their faces flash on the screen before kickoff, on calendars, and in every single promotional advertisement of Iowa. They are synonymous with Herky and the Old Capitol; they are the face of Iowa. While fellow students clamor to get the classes they need to graduate, the athletes are welcomed with a barren playground where there are no worries. Classes are empty just waiting for them to get their pick of the litter.

They came to Iowa for the sport they played, but also for the education they are blessed to save on. Scholarships stack on top of each other, and a burden left on the rest is lifted. Only what other students dream of and apply for for hours on end, they earn through their skills.

Trombone in hand. Flute. Drums. They are the backbone of the game. They make it. They know all the chants, how to act during a field goal when the Hawks are giving, and when the opposition is. If the team does well, the band travels with them. They are the marching band, largely overrated, but greatly appreciated by those who understand. They make halftime. They are the crusaders of the student section. Without them, the student section is misguided, messy, and devolve into anarchy. The band orchestrates them all. Every chant. Every cheer. Every boo. They wait for their okay, a cue to start. They’re the puppet masters, and everyone follows suit.

The student section. Bibs. Black and gold. Pride is the only emotion they feel. They are a student at the University of Iowa, and get to call the great IC home. They make a blow out feel like a championship, and a high scoring game like the Super Bowl. Instagram becomes plastered with posts about football season being their favorite, and how they tailgate harder than you party. High school seems eons ago, because that was nothing compared to the present. There was no ‘Crazy Town’ sing along at third down. ‘Back in Black’. Hype video before fourth quarter.

Lime green socks adon several students’ shoes. They’re involved in Dance Marathon, the biggest student organization on campus. This season, a new tradition began. After first quarter, the stadium turns to the hospital quite literally across the street from the stadium’s main entrance and wave to the kiddos on the top floor. The dancers were ecstatic to hear of this tradition, and ready to spread their love of Dance Marathon throughout the stadium.

Security keep their post around the stands and on the field attempting to curb the crowd. Everyone’s safety is in their hands; they reinforce the rules everyone attempts to dodge. They are paid to enforce informal laws, but are key in upkeeping Kinnick’s reputation and fans safe. They receive compensation not only for checking bags and keeping fans off the field, but get to watch the game like any other Hawkeye fan. The fans are safe, and they hold a form of valor if only for the duration of the game.

The coveted press box. The pristine bird’s eye view of the game, the way to watch a game so many people envy. Alec Giannakopolous joined KRUI as a freshman, and worked his way up to calling football games, his first being the home opener of the undefeated season. Before calling North Texas, the second game of the season, he sat at home watching the wave in awe. He recalls, “I didn’t think it would be as big a deal as it was, though. I didn’t think everyone would do it. You hear someone say something, ‘hey we’re gonna do this’, then the game happens and you don’t. To imagine the whole stadium do that at one time, it’s kind of incredible.” In his call of the game, he gave the backstory of Dance Marathon and let the sound of the stadium carry the broadcast. In his final year, he got to see a beautiful tradition, and he was on the radio to witness it.

He describes his view as the “second best view of it”. To watch from a bird’s eye view overseeing the fanfare is incredible, and an out of world experience for any average Joe. The wave is all in one direction, and there is the view on the top floor. The kids stand at the windows, waving down at thousands of Hawkeye fans, unbeknownst to them, they have their full support. The kids also wear black and gold just as if they were down below, and wave at every single person waving up at them. Their parents carry them so they can see better or hold their hand narrating what’s going on. Not only does Dance Marathon’s support for them overflow throughout the year, the whole community unifies as one after first quarter.

Iowa loves those kids. FTK is splattered across campus, backpacks, water bottles, T-shirts, and anything in between. They dance for twenty-hours, but can and fundraise all summer and school year long just to see a cure. Each family is rolled into one, and rolled into each family of every dancer. The hospital is one of the best in state, and specializes in pediatric oncology at that. The fanfare has finally found a purpose; it is all for these families who are held at the utmost nobility in Iowa City.

Showered in preferential treatment and scholarships, the players are the creators of the fanfare, the masterminds behind the magic. They work for the school, they work for the fans, and there is a question as to whether they should be paid.

The band is overlooked, underappreciated, and misunderstood. They create the fanfare, but only bounce off of what the team can give them. They are not as privy to the woes of the school, but more replaceable, and less valuable. They do not receive the same respect; they have no nobility compared to the team, though they may work side by side.

Hawkeye vodka is the worst thing on Earth. The student section is a product of a liquor store, and everyone’s words are slurred. Tailgating is a bigger culture than football, and all the Instagram captions are lies. Football season may be best season, but tailgating will always take precedent. Papers are due on Monday, and tests are on Tuesdays, but a handle of Hawkeye makes it all go away. Tailgating is the new deflection; it’s the newest craze to avoid responsibility.

The security guards are usually students who needed money and sacrificed their Saturday for everyone else. Their role is to only make sure drunk kids don’t die, and to get yelled at by middle aged moms with purses that are too big to go inside Kinnick. People try to take pictures on the field, and they get called dicks by someone whose breath smells like jungle juice. It’s especially worse when the crowd storms the field; they keep people from jumping on the goal posts even though it is futile.

“If you’re ever in a press box, the first rule is there’s no cheering in the press box. You do not cheer in the press box. … It’s unprofessional,” Alec explains. To think of football without screaming and cursing is to think of Iowa without corn. College students are forced to abandon instinct, much less, a football fan forgetting to act in their normal fashion. There is no place for being a fan in the press box. It is a necessary evil, but so contradictory to what it’s thought to be.

Standing at what seems to be the top of the world is actually the bottom of the totem pole. It’s symbolic in nature, to have a gesture where everyone stands in solidarity to support these families. It is not the glitz and glam and fanfare; it is reality for them daily. Any parent’s worst nightmare has come true; there is no beauty. There is beauty in the support, and beauty in hope, but there is no beauty in blind support or blind bandwagoning. They may sit at the top of Kinnick with the best view, but it is only on game day that this is the case.

Game day is a holiday, and each player has their role. The reality of it all is football may be more than two teams trying to score more than the other.

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andymull · 7 years ago

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WWE No Mercy 2017 PPV Predictions & Thoughts

Brock Lesnar (c) vs Braun Strowman: Universal Championship Match

First of all im really glad that Braun is getting his chance for the world title after missing out at Great Balls Of Fire after getting injured, as ever since his return he’s been great in everything he’s done with the crowds getting behind him tons.

The main thing with this bout is the title, and if they are going to keep it on Lesnar until Wrestlemania next year like the original plan, or, if they’ll give Braun a quick run with it and see what happens with the crowd reactions then as well as if he brings a bump in the ratings......hell anything should be better than hardly having the world champion on the show.

The build to this moment has been great apart from one moment, when they had Braun face upto Brock months back and then had him back away. Apart from that its been top notch in showing the new guy as a massive threat that Lesnar hasn't seen for awhile, as well as it mirroring Brock’s own debut in the company and doing the same to The Rock.

If Lesnar wins I can see them going into a Reigns feud for Survivor Series and possibly even a Finn Balor match around the Rumble, as he is still technically owed a match after his injury last year.

Braun on the other hand could potentially face a first challenger in......Roman Reigns, oh the same :( The only thing I would say for another Braun/Reigns feud is that the previous one was fun and great and this one would have the extra factor of Braun being someone that beats Roman alot.

Im not sure they want to go with the Braun experiment just yet, especially with them currently trying Jinder out as champion on Smackdown Live. Sucks for Braun as the momentum is there for it, maybe they surprise me - LESNAR

John Cena vs Roman Reigns

A first time meeting between the two, get ready to count the amount of times Cole says that this is a Wrestlemania worthy main event, but please dont take a shot everytime he does as it could end up messy.

Management seem to think this is a massive match that everyone is dying to see, when in actuality most people over the age of 16 dont really care too much. The build to this saw one big promo battle (the 1st one) which was good and interesting with the barbs being thrown around, shame about Roman forgetting his lines though (surely the worst possible time to EVER forget what you are saying next). After that though its just been the same old same old, lets copy what we’ve done and change it slightly, we arent interested guys.

The first thing I thought when thinking about this match is that its going to have a screwy finish as its the kind of situation where neither guy will want to lose clean, id probably say an 80% chance of it to be honest. Hell dont be surprised if it goes dark and you hear a gong......

The second thing I thought about was the amount of big matches Cena has been having recently on tv that probably should have been held off for PPV, the Nakamura one for example. And for me that shows that his time is coming to a close as a wrestler appearing on either show for a decent run of time, this could be the key factor rising here to influence the outcome in John wanting to lose to ‘pass the torch’ before leaving.

Overall im leaning to a Roman win in a screwy finish, Reigns moves on to a title feud whilst Cena disappears for awhile - REIGNS

Emma vs Bayley vs Alexa Bliss (c) vs Sasha Banks vs Nia Jax: Fatal 5 Way For The Raw Women’s Title.

When looking at the possible outcomes of this bout I only really see two women that should be winning the match, and that’s Bliss and Jax. Bliss keeping the belt and being able to brag about beating everyone else would suit her and drag things along until Asuka debuts. Or, you have Jax go through them all to win and build her as the ultimate threat, again building her as the first person Asuka goes against when coming back from injury.

Emma would be a big shock victory, she really should have been given afew wins on Raw in the build to this match to bring her reputation up instead of being looked at as the clear winner when it comes to who will take the pinfall.

Bayley and Banks dont need the title at this moment and this really should see the start to Banks’ heel turn whilst the title is built around the others. Hell, Sasha shouldn't get the belt for another year at least as she’s been burnt like mad for me in not wanting to see her with it again.

Out of Bliss and Jax ill go for Nia (I wish) to take the title in dominant form - JAX

Dean Ambrose + Seth Rollins vs Cesaro + Sheamus (c): Raw Tag Team Championship Match

Up next we get a SummerSlam rematch for the tag belts between the these teams, and I really couldn't feel more meh about it. I like 3 of the 4 guys involved but cant seem to get excited or interested in seeing them in teams, and not just that the tag division on Raw just feels abit stuck and without much direction in the long run. If I asked you to name all the tag teams on Raw without searching the Internet I doubt you could do it, and if you could you too would feel underwhelmed.

Thankfully this rematch is probably the last they'll have to face each other for awhile, and I doubt we are getting new champions as well get more of Ambrose and Rollins as a team before they do the big breakup angle to let Dean go heel (and for me no doubt he will then receive more cheers as a heel than he does now as a face) - AMBROSE/ROLLINS

Finn Balor vs Bray Wyatt

Oh great another rematch that no-one was asking for, whats worse with this one is that they wrestled the Raw before SummerSlam then at SummerSlam and now tonight. The least they could have done is added a stipulation to freshen it all up, makes it pretty obvious that something fishy is going down at the end COUGHWYATTFAMILYCOUGH. Otherwise this is just going to be that Finn couldn't beat him without makeup but can with it, which is just stupid - WYATT

Neville (c) vs Enzo Amore: Cruiserweight Title Match

I feel for Neville, goes from having feuds and great matches with Austin Aries and Tozawa to Enzo. And not just that, its an Enzo that’s doing a slow turn heel and someone that the fans can blatantly see that he cant keep up with Neville in-ring in the slightest.

Neville needs to feuding with Gran Metalik and leaving Enzo alone to complete his turn around Alexander, just that Gallagher only recently turned so he may have to drag it out even longer, sheesh - NEVILLE

The Miz (c) vs Jason Jordan: IC Title Match

You know I was actually kinda looking forward to this show before going into detail about it all lol The Jordan angle with Kurt Angle has been so lame, it feels like an angle that would have been done in the 70′s or 80′s and even then most people wouldn't believe it and its even worse now. At least Jason got some lyrics added to his truly awful entrance music.

The whole angle should have just been about adding credibility to Jordan through Kurt Angle, not having him run down to defend his father when Miz says nasty things to him. All I want are training videos of them both with Kurt putting him through super tough Olympic drills and wrestling master classes that then see him develop into more of a threat in matches. His rise then would be seen as his development rather than his dad helping him out.

The Miz just cant seem to win lately in getting good things, he doesn't get an IC match at SummerSlam, infact he gets bumped to the pre-show, a pre show match infront of nearly no-one, and then gets a feud with someone with daddy issues being the main factor. I see Miz retaining with help from his crew leading to a Survivor Series elimination match between them with Jordan having to recruit team members - MIZ

Apollo Crews vs Elias: Kick-off Match

Kick-off match, the words I now fear when it comes to predictions as lately they dont make sense with who wins when it comes to building something down the road, it really is just who they fancy on the day.

Apollo could do with a nice line of wins to build him up as he is a great talent who can produce super matches to get people over, not sure his ceiling is that high in a group with Titus though sadly. Elias is the guy out of the two that is slightly higher up the totem pole, and the one that’s been interacting with the better opponents.

Has to be Elias with the win, but again, that could be swapped for a face winning the opening match of the show to get the crowd hot for start of the main card - ELIAS

As ive mentioned I was looking forward to the show but that’s changed over the course of this piece lol Hopefully there are afew surprise along the way with great matches and not a disappointing feeling afterwards like some of the recent shows.

Before finishing I need to be able to use this picture before the match occurs for Lesnar and Strowman after they both sat in the make-up chair for hours before the photo-shoot

Studs!!

Enjoy the show folks, not one id recommend putting any bets on for and there’s a number of bouts that could go either way and adding in their usual ‘lets have an outsider win to fuck with people’ thing its not worth it.

Bye for now

Andy

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xaephan · 8 years ago

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some strange phan ramblings

i haven’t wrote a fic since like. 2008? maybe earlier. i don’t want to go back to my ffn and check. i don’t...really want to write a fic either, it’s more like i’m in a weird headspace and i’m projecting it onto my newest obsessions. i don’t even know how to put all this into one fic, even. it’s all just random bits and bobs that don’t really weave together all that well.

1) that angsty bullshit bit i want to write about dan and how he thinks he’s nothing without phil. their friends? all phil’s friends, really, before they realized it’s really danandphil as an entity and they indulgently include dan. pj, louise, cat--all met phil first (...i think. tbh i don’t even know lmao this is the Best Reality Fic of all time obv). phil has lots of friends that are just his--childhood, high school, college, he kept in touch with them all. dan though. other than their shared friends? he’s got nobody really.

their fans? really just like them for the mystery and the chemistry between them. he wouldn’t be anything without phil. his entire career wouldn’t exist without phil. all their big projects? starting from the whole bbc thing, it was always solo phil they want at first, then phil does what phil does best and drags dan in. something something more angst about how he’s more popular than phil now something something if phil ever decides to leave--leave the partnership, leave dan, leave in any capacity--dan loves him enough to let him go. he’s petty and jealous and not all that good of a person, but he’s good enough to do that. for phil. always for phil

2) that weird lawyer dan and youtuber/cafe owner phil au that nobody wants and i think i probably subconsciously plagiarized the idea from an inception fic? but uh, dan never messaged phil and went on to finish law school and became a mediocre lawyer. his parents are so so proud, his few friends think he got really lucky with the firm he joined--it’s so big! corporate law is where all the money is!--and dan likes it well enough. well no. he hates it, he hates it so much, but he doesn’t have anything else he can fall back on and he doesn’t even really have any passion in life he could maybe work at. everything’s just dull dull dull to him and. well, he’s mediocre but he’s still getting a decent paycheque so. stick with the devll you know, right?

louise is a bubbly paralegal and she’s kick ass and doesn’t take shit from any of the holier-than-thou lawyers in the firm and she has a soft spot for dan who is super awkward and procrastinates too much and dropped his files in front of the Big Lawyer Boss whose name is first in the firm name that one time and so never lived it down

phil is the pretty successful youtuber who didn’t make it as huge as he did in reality and so decides to get A Real Job and opens up a very small but v v cozy coffee shop across the road from the law firm dan works at. (it’s...it’s good investment or something idk) it’s got quirky decorations and a million different mugs and chairs that’ll eat you if you’re not careful. it’s got really great coffee but truly mediocre pastries he buys from a cheapo wholesale bakery. it’s also got a pretty nice piano in a corner, from when the previous owner had the cafe as a pretentious hipster place, and it was too heavy to move so phil just left it. covered the top in small plants and stuff tho, so it fits in alright.

dan goes in a few days after opening because he Really Needs Caffeine to live ‘cause lmao he stayed up two days in a row to work on a case. he falls in love with the coffee and then--secretly--the piano, and hey, that barista looks...kind of familiar? those eyes are pretty striking. he makes a mild fool out of himself ‘cause that’s dan for ya, and also he’s been awake for long enough that he’s tasting colours. he’s stressed and got a shit ton of work though, so he just appreciates the coffee and leaves really fast, to work on this case that makes him fucking depressed but hey firm lawyers low on the totem pole don’t need morality, amirite? but he goes back, ‘cause the decor is so not his style but it’s strangely comforting, and the coffee is truly great, and that piano? he hasn’t felt like he Wanted To Do Something for a really long time, but it’s kind of--calling to him, maybe, makes his fingers itch a bit.

he doesn’t see that barista from the first day for a good while (it’s vidcon or something idk) but the other two baristas there are nice and laid back and there’s free wifi! so dan comes to work there sometimes, when the office is driving him insane (he has a tiny little closet and its walls are drab and bleak and gray). his eyes keep straying to the piano, but nobody ever plays it, and--does it even work? it’s got so many plants on it, maybe it’s the new hot thing in decor. piano plant stand.

one day he just goes lmao fuck it what could go wrong and asks the curly-haired barista about it (pj isn’t strictly a barista, he does youtube and actually owns like 20% of the cafe, but he’s a people-person and wow a lot of these caffeine zombies give him good inspiration). he gets a ‘oh dude sure go try it! we don’t know if it’s in tune or anything, but as long as you don’t make terrible screeching noises feel free to play around’. and like. the cafe plays nice, soft, calming music a lot (there’s a lot of acoustic covers and it’s all very pretty), so dan hopes he won’t be too noisy but apparently nobody really cares ‘cause. caffeine zombies.

so dan does, and he’s fucking rusty as hell, and pj is right, the piano isn’t really in tune, but it’s still the most beautiful sound he’s heard in a long, long time. he actually feels good doing something for the first time in ages, and he--keeps going back. he wasn’t as bad as he was fearing (well no, he’s pretty terrible, but he picks simple things to tinker with and tries to not play loudly), and he gets better and better. it’s great stress relief and some of the other patrons will drop a comment or two at him and it’s all really nice

so phil comes back, right? and he’s been neglecting some backroom stuff like inventory and bookkeeping and stock levels--pj says 20% isn’t enough to make him care about this stuff and phil badly wants to hire someone to do this for him because. he doesn’t know anything about this??? his brother does all his merch stuff even though it’s, ya know, a small bit and martyn does it as a side-job so he can hype it up on his rv. but he’s been doing alright so far and his accountant hasn’t yelled at him too mush, so.

he thinks maybe pj is on a piano-cover kick at first, ‘cause it’s all songs he knows, even though it’s old stuff like final fantasy and muse, but then he finishes all the back room stuff and goes out one day (pj is threatening to quit if he has to man the front by himself any longer, ownership be damned), and there’s--that guy on the piano. the tall dude in an admittedly snazzy suit (as snazzy as a drab work-appropriate suit can be) who insulted his shirt that first time. and he’s, well, he’s pretty good! and also, ya know, pretty. objectively! when he plays piano and he’s into it and he’s swaying a little and--yeah okay, phil is Into It

something something they start talking something something omg so many things in common something something Fear Of The Future amirite what am i doing why am i wasting my life doing something i don’t really care for (dan) why am i clinging onto something that plateaued years ago and even though it’s still relatively good it hasn’t been Good if you know what i’m saying (phil)

and like. they help each Be Better and dan quits his job because the only person he even liked there was louise and they make this cafe really great. they start fooling around with baking for the shop and--they like it? also dan is actually weirdly good at it, for a dude who is kind of a kitchen noob before all this. they start making joint videos too and whoa, people like it? they love phil and dan together? and dan never branches out into his own channel but they do start a gaming thing, and their holiday baking vids are the stuff of yt legends because dan gets really perfectionist about it and phil is Just Terrible but their banter and domesticity really comes out in full force

‘cause. ya know, it’s kind of. how they live now, right? it’s all very precious and cute. they’re worryingly codependent v v fast and. that cliche about someone who comes into your life and brings all the colour that was missing before? yeah, that happens. they angst about it ‘cause that’s Not Healthy i guess i don’t know how this part goes but I Feel Strongly About It

their cafe starts being The Place for really delicious gourmet coffee and pastries that uh. don’t...always look good but taste like a little bit of heaven in your mouth. if you’re lucky you’ll hear some really great live piano once a blue moon too, so people gossip and spread the news and oh yeah, there’s these really pretty baristas? it’s in the middle of the posh downtown financial district (do those exist in the uk? aah), and it’s mostly busy older professional people so the fact it’s actually phil and dan doesn’t spread for a good while. they get really great business and dan starts doing experimental little things in the kitchen and handing them out as samples on sunday (downtown financial district so it’s really kind of dead on the weekend) and it becomes a really popular day for the cafe

and...idk. yt doesn’t mix well with running a business probably? so they cut back on one or other and something something angst but they’re really happy so it’s Good whatever

3) nothing but fluff about their forever home, a story that people far more talented than i have already written about. their old london apartment is just Terrible and they’re in legitimate danger living there (the gas leak thing? yeah that was actually worse than what they said on camera). it’s too small and cramped and breaking apart, so they decided to move pretty much after the tour finished and they had enough time to be human again. so, middle of 2016 pretty much

they had a lot of ideas for what they wanted, but they waffled back and forth over buying a house vs. renting, but decided on renting in the end. they need to be in london because they have a Thing they’re talking about with the bbc and their businesses are still here. it’s not really realistic to buy the kind of house they want in the city either--they don’t really have A Talk about it, but phil has a weird fascination with housing ads and over the years he’s pointed some (many) out to dan as favs and dan gives his opinions, and somewhere along the line, they decided on something with four bedrooms. one for the each of them, because they’re over 6 feet each and have the worst sleeping schedule ever, and really, no matter how big the bed is, they have trouble sleeping together sometimes. also they literally spend all their time together, so their own little space is good. but! back to the four bedrooms! so two for them, one guest suite for their family/friends, one for--well, they don’t really have A Talk about it either, but they both know it’ll be a room with soft yellow walls (dan has strong opinions on pastel pink and blue and the associations) and white trim, large airy windows and carefully blunted furniture. phil also has Strong Feelings about a garden and dan would love more privacy and neighbours that aren’t right next to them

so buying, not really realistic. they also had a really amazing year financially in 2016, but they won’t have that kind of income in 2017 so they’re more into investing at the moment. planning for the future they’ll have together--it’s a fact at this point, they haven’t considered being apart in years and years, it’s not even something they consciously consider anymore

they settle on renting something that’s a huge improvement on their old flat and dan goes a bit crazy with the sudden freedom to get his aesthetic going. he hasn’t liked his room in a year or so, the poor guy. they have A Talk about how much of their new place they want to show to their audience, and how they’ll be talking--and not talking--about the fact they’re moving together. they decided on not necessarily being more open, but giving less denials and letting the facts speak for themselves back in 2016, so they kind of just continue that. they’re both careful about how their wording about pets and future houses go, but they think it’s really quite obvious

so 2017 ends up being not as chill as they were hoping and their bbc Thing starts up. their upstairs is a sanctuary the both of them love, and dan made sure the decor has a theme that appeals to the both of them (silver and while and grey, calming and modern, but with lots of soft things and pops of colour). he’s maybe stepping away from the back, in the same way phil doesn’t need brights everywhere now, but it’s Good for them both still

they stay there for (idk i’m gonna throw a number here. 2-3 maybe) years at the flat, and it’s good, but dan is getting Really Broody and phil isn’t far behind, so they start looking for their forever home (they started calling it that after the liveshow, before they just said something like ‘a house maybe one day’ but--yeah, it sounds good to them. their home will always be each other, anyway). it takes much, much longer than either of them had hoped

they find it in the end, though! maybe brighton but also maybe another ‘suburb’ near london, where Their Thing with the bbc is still going, but they’re old hats at it now and their business is prospering without them constantly having to be the face of it, and their investments have done well enough that they can really afford it comfortably now. it’s got a big yard and a really adorable white fence that they kind of gave each other amused looks at, and--well, one of the four bedrooms is already a soft cream and it’s got a beautiful arched window that overlooks the backyard, and the family who owned it before them also had a home office going that would be perfect for their gaming stuff

they did some really cut-throat bidding and finalized the sale, but then they had to wait f o r e v e r before they could move in (’why is the busines like this, phil? why can’t it be faster?’). in the meantime, they maybe visit a shelter (or ten) and contacts this super scary lady who looks at their finances dubiously and asks them all sorts of questions, trying to decide if they’d make good parents. she understands youtube in an abstract sort of way but she knows them from the bbc Thing and hey, business owners is a plus. she decides they pass muster, and she warns them the years and years they could be waiting, but they have a good feeling

they move into their house in the middle of summer, which is A Mistake but their new place has ac, thank god, so other than a week or pure torture, they settle into it nicely. they hire someone to take care of the yard, because lmao, they totally underestimate lawn care, but asks them to leave the garden patch alone, and phil has a grand ol’ time with it while dan whines about how hot it is and phil, why do i have to out here too phil. they bring home an adorable corgi who has some issues but is still incredibly affectionate. their furniture that dan kind of went crazy picking (again) do not escape unscathed

they spend an autumn there, then a winter, and out of the blue the next spring, they get a call about a baby girl who the mother can’t care for, and do they want to maybe visit? so they do, and their fourth bedroom with the soft yellow walls and arched window is occupied very soon after

somewhere during that time is a small wedding only their family and immediate friends attend. it’s just a piece of paper, but they’ve learned that it still means something to them, so they do it. plus, legal benefits and--and they have to think about another being depending them now, right? the piece of paper is really useful for that.

in the end, i guess they lived happily ever after

#if my heart was a house you'd be home #text #i just wanted to write all this 'cause it wouldn't! get out of my head!#but it ain't going anywhere so #phan #phanfiction #in the loosest sense of the word lmao

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