#i hope you listen to lots of abba today

[comphyjost]

happy birthday to my favorite swede in the whole wide world and the best captain ever <3

#happy birthday captain dilf #i hope you listen to lots of abba today #miss you king come back #i hope you’re well 😌 #gabriel landeskog #colorado avalanche

[bookshelf-dust]

the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 3,705

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of blood/anxious lip picking, anxiety attack, talk of self-harming behaviors, mentions of abuse/toxic relationships/neil, fluff

a/n: wow. hi! i’m sorry it took so long for me to get this out. school has been a lot lately. thank you for all the positive feedback on the previous parts and for sticking around! also this isn’t the last part. i lied. there will be one more. anyhow there’s a lot of heavy stuff in this part, but also a lot of love. i hope you enjoy it and maybe find something in it. love you loads and loads <3333

before you read, listen to: when it’s cold i’d like to die by moby and/or slipping through my fingers by ABBA

————

Billy did not hear from you yesterday, or the day before that. He hasn’t been worried, per say, because it’s not like he’ll die if he can’t speak to you at all times.

But today, on the third day, he starts to be a little upset by the absence of you.

He really doesn’t like it when it’s Nicky that calls him, rather than you.

“Are you busy today, hon’?” Her voice is sweet as always.

“No, I’m not,” Billy tells her. He licks his lips, a little uneasy.

“Do you think you could come over for a while?”She asks. “Y/N just left, which is big, but she’s going out with some old friends, and I’m a little worried. She had a really hard time getting over them, and I’ve got somewhere to be for awhile and I just don’t want her to be alone after all of this.”

Nicky stops, inhaling. She realizes she’s been rambling to her poor boy. She starts to apologize, and Billy stops her, laughing a little.

“I can do that, yeah. Who was she having lunch with? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He can hear Nicky sigh.

“Nancy.”

————

Billy is on your front steps when you pull up. He’s smoking, but he stomps it out when he sees you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says.

Your hands are shaking so bad that you drop your keys. Billy picks them up for you, and it’s only when he looks you over that he realizes something’s not right.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

You’re wringing your hands continuously, as if trying to prevent doing something else. He steps closer to you, because you’re biting his lip, and he goes to pull it free like he always does.

There’s blood on the tip of his thumb when he pulls it away.

“Y/N, you’ve made yourself bleed.”

You lick your lips, tasting metal. You blink at him. Billy looks closer at your mouth, realizing there’s a welt and that it’s swollen on one side.

“Come on and let me clean it up, okay?”

You nod and let the boy lead you inside your home. Billy tries to get you to sit on the counter, but you stop him.

“I just need a second,” you say.

It’s the first thing you’ve said to him thus far, and Billy finds himself relieved to hear your voice, even if the shakiness of it matches that of your hands.

You use your hands to brace yourself against the counter, leaning your head forward to face the floor. You close your eyes and try to breathe.

Billy doesn’t know what to do, so he rubs his hand up and down the curve of your spine. It feels warm against your back.

He kisses the crown of your head and suddenly you straighten, a slightly panicked look in your eye, though Billy can tell you’re trying to repress it.

“I need you to help me,” you tell him, running your hands down your face.

“Anything,” Billy says, worried over your state of being.

“I’m having an anxiety attack and I need you to help calm me down because my heart is beating so fast that I feel like I can’t breathe and everything is shaking and I just—I just, I need you.”

“To talk to me or something. I need you to be here with me for a minute.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t need convincing.

Billy brings his hands to your face, stroking his thumbs over your unusually warm cheeks. His eyes dart all over you.

“Look at me,” he says.

You nod, locking your eyes with his. You study his eyelashes, the way they kiss at the corners and leave shadows on the tops of his cheeks in the light.

“Breathe with me.”

“Okay.”

In and out. In and out. You focus on the way Billy is breathing, and that seems to help. You watch the steady rise and fall of his chest rather than worrying about the feeling in yours.

“How long do they usually last?” Billy inquires. “The heart palpitations.”

“Little while. Half hour, little less, little more. Depends on if I can get myself calmed down.”

Billy presses his lips to your forehead, keeping them there for a moment. They’re chapped, but it’s still chilly outside, so it makes sense. The cold is the same reason for the cracks in the skin on the back of your hands.

“Sit up on the counter for me, baby. I’m gonna get you some water, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

You do as he says, balancing yourself on the edge of the bathroom vanity. Your tongue darts out to swipe over your lip, and Billy was right. You can feel the swelling and the welt he mentioned.

You’ve always done it when stressed or uncomfortable. It’s not always this bad though. You just kept going and going after lunch today, even after it had started to bleed.

The boy returns as he’d said he would, a glass of water in hand. He gives it to you and watches to make sure you’re successfully drinking.

“Can I look at it?” Billy gestures vaguely in the direction of your lip.

“Uh huh.” You fight the urge to cover your mouth like you have before, like when your mother has noticed it’s scabbed.

Billy uses his thumb to press on your lip, examining the damage you’ve done to it. He’s chewed his before when anxious, but never like this. But he guesses he’s expressed these feelings you’re having in other ways.

He takes the change to pull at your lip a little too, noticing you’ve torn at the inside just as well as the outside.

“It hurt?”

You snort. “No. Feels great.”

Billy rolls his eyes at you, and then he’s feeling around in his pockets. You take another big sip of water while you’re observing him. It’s almost empty, so you decide to finish it. He waits for you to do so.

When you have, Billy swipes his pinky along the edge of your mouth to catch a drop of water. He presents what he’d been searching for: a little pot of chapstick. He figures if you’ve got something on your lips you can’t fuck them up as easily.

“You gonna let me put this on you?” He asks, features soft.

“Kiss it better first?”

Billy smirks, proud of your ability to flirt with him.

“I shouldn’t. Should leave it alone until it heals some.”

You pout.

He kisses you anyways.

When he pulls away, he unscrews the lid to the balm and you hook your fingers in his belt loops. He dips his index finger in and brings it to your mouth, spreading it over the sore spot and then over the remaining expanse of your lips.

You rub them together after he’s finished.

“Thank you.” Billy nods, returning the container to the depths of his jean pockets.

“Will you tell me what’s got you so worked up?” He helps you off of the counter. You leave the bathroom and head to your bedroom. He follows without a second thought.

You gesture for him to sit down, but you remain standing so that you can pace as you speak.

“I saw Nancy today.”

“Yeah?” Billy knows this, and you know he does, but he wants you to let it all out.

“Yeah,” you start. “She asked me how I was doing. I told her that I was doing okay.”

“And she said ‘You must be doing better if you’re out by yourself, doing big girl stuff.’ What the fuck does that even mean, Billy?” It’s a rhetorical question. One he doesn’t answer.

“She made it sound like I was incapable of being anything but a loner. Like I can’t take care of myself or something? It just got me thinking about how she always thought I was so odd for not being like her.”

Billy wishes you would sit down. Your pacing is stressing him out.

“Then Nancy asked me if I was seeing anyone, and I said you.”

You sit, and Billy’s shoulders relax.

“She acted surprised, Billy.”

“She said, ‘I guess I’m just shocked. I guess I thought he wasn’t someone that really dated.’ And then, ‘You know, I know we aren’t really close anymore, but you could so do better than him.’”

You’re standing again. Billy realizes that you’re pissed off. He’s never seen you this way before. He kind of likes it.

“And she’s basing this off of, what, one interaction she’s had with you? Whatever she hears around school? Shit, she doesn’t even know you. She doesn’t even know me anymore, and the fact that she’s just blatantly giving me relationship advice?”

“Billy, I yelled at her.”

He laughs. Tosses his head back and laughs. He wishes he could’ve seen you rip Nancy Wheeler a new one. In fact, he would’ve paid to do so.

You start grinning at him. He’s so proud of you.

“I just—she made me so mad and I just started shouting at her. It just felt so unfair, the way she was acting. I only agreed to go today because I thought I might get closure after feeling forgotten about for so long. And I told her that.”

“She claimed she didn’t forget about me, but that she just ‘found a different social circle.’ Fuck! So I told her that she had no right telling me what to do with my life when she sure as shit never cared before. And I couldn’t let her talk about you either.”

You finish, setting your hands on your hips. Billy stands and takes your face into his hands again.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N. That you went out today and then stood up for yourself. The yelling is pretty badass too. And I appreciate you defending me. It’s nice to know you’d do that even when I’m not there.”

“Of course I would.” You grab his hand and kiss his palm. “Thank you.”

He nods. “So how come you fucked up your lip then?”

“Trying to deal with it, I guess. I felt bad the whole way home. Like maybe I’d been a bitch or something.”

“Hey, no. You aren’t a bitch for wanting better and for saying so.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

The both of you have been so caught up in handling this that you didn’t hear Nicky come home, or wander through the house putting groceries away. You only realize she’s there when her voice comes from across the hall.

“He’s right, honeybee! Not a bitch!” She exclaims, and then she’s shutting the door to her room. She just needed to make sure you heard that. She’s proud of you too.

You bury your face in Billy’s neck and he’s laughing so much that you have to move your head.

“I hate you both.”

“I bet you do. Guess you won’t need any make-it-better kisses then.”

“Asshole.”

“Yeah. Nope. No more.”

“Please?” You grab hold of his hips.

Billy stares at you. He’s going to break. You both know it. But he can’t resist the urge to pretend like he won’t, just for a second.

He kisses you, once, twice.

When he pulls away he puts an arm around you, his hand resting on the small of your back. His fingertips slip just underneath the waistband of your jeans. Suddenly he looks very serious.

“Have you done that before?” He asks. You know what he means. And you know the answer.

“Yes,” you say. Billy closes his his for just a second. Something about composure.

“Do you—is it to hurt yourself?”

You’re quiet for a moment, thinking. Trying to articulate a response to this. It’s an anxious habit, sure. Sometimes you’re picking at your lip without even realizing, and you quit when you do.

But other times, maybe that is the case. You pick and bite until your lip is bleeding, until it’s swollen, until it hurts to eat or drink.

“Sometimes.”

Billy inhales and you can see the way his chest shakes.

“Talk to me,” he says. He thinks about chewing on his thumb nail or lighting up. It’s the same thing. A coping mechanism.

“I usually do it if I feel like I need to shut everything out. It’s a distraction from big feelings. Maybe like a punishment if I feel stupid or if I’ve embarrassed myself.”

“You ever told anyone this before?” Billy has pulled you closer than you thought possible, his arm around your back snug like he’s afraid to let you go.

“Just you.”

Billy feels a pang in his chest at that. Just you. Him.

“I don’t want you to shut them out anymore. You feel something big, you talk to me about it, yeah?”

“Okay.” You look so vulnerable. Like he’s looking at a part of yourself you’ve never shown anyone before.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Will you work on this with me?”

“Only if you work on the smoking with me.”

Billy rests his forehead against yours, exhales through his nose.

“Okay.”

————

Billy’s staying the night again. You’re in the shower, so he’s sitting at the counter in your kitchen. He offered to help Nicky fix dinner or wash dishes or do something, but she downright refused.

He’s turned his head to look at a picture of you on the counter. Your senior picture. You look so pretty.

This means that the side of his face is in Nicky’s direct line of sight. The side that Neil hit. He side that’s bruised, despite his hoping it wouldn’t.

Nicky looks up, feeling a jolt in her chest. Something in her just knows. If Billy had been in a fight, you would’ve told her. She knows you would’ve. But if it was a non-school fight, those chances are slim.

She knows. Every cell in her body screams with it.

“Billy, honey? Can I ask you something?”

The boy turns back to face your mother, spinning the ring on his middle finger around and around. “Sure.”

She moves to face the sink so as to not embarrass him.

“How long?”

Billy’s fingers freeze. She knows. Of course she knows. He thinks about pretending he doesn’t have clue what she means. But he knows she’d see right through that.

He buries his face in his hands. “Since I was a kid. Since he couldn’t take it out on my mom anymore.”

Nicky sets the plate she’d been holding down to dry and drains the water from the sink. Dishes can wait.

“Billy, you don’t have to hide from me. You’re safe here. I think we’ve made that pretty clear, sweetheart.”

The boy straightens and sits on his hands.

“I’m assuming Y/N knows? Probably already looked at it?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Nicky approaches the other side of the counter from where he sits and clasps her hands. “You know that you can come here anytime you need to, right?”

“I know.”

“Y/N said Max is your step-sister. Is your father aggressive towards her or your step-mother?”

Billy hates being asked these questions but for some reason he feels no urge to fight it. He knows Nicky means no harm and only wants the best for him.

“He’s never laid a hand on Max, no. I wouldn’t let that happen. I’m not really around Susan much, though, but I’ve never seen her with anything or heard him do anything. He screams at her sometimes, though. He’s a piece of shit. He doesn’t treat her any better than he did my mom. They deserve better. Both of them.”

Nicky quirks a brow. “And you don’t?”

Billy’s breath catches. “I don’t know.”

“You do. You deserve the world, hon’.”

Billy blinks, hard. “Thank you.”

“Just telling you the truth, kiddo.”

Nicky goes quiet for a moment, playing with her own rings. One of them you got for her when you were twelve. It has her birthstone set into it.

“You’re eighteen, Billy. Technically your dad doesn’t have any claims to you anymore.” She’s slowly plotting, a steady stream of thoughts forming in her mind.

“Supposing you want to stay with Max, or even in your own home—because I can’t imagine you’d want to be uprooted again—do you think that Susan is capable of taking care of herself and the both of you? Say if Neil weren’t around?”

Billy contemplates this. He’s trying to get past the knowledge that there’s an adult in his life actively and genuinely trying to help him and make sure he’s safe. No one’s ever had a heart-to-heart with him like this. Frankly, he’s at a loss.

“I suppose so. I mean she took care of Max before. And Max was a pretty happy kid, I think. You know, internally. If you look past the sarcasm.”

Nicky laughs. It’s the kind of sound that you miss when you haven’t heard it in awhile.

“I think Max only got sort of reclusive once Neil came in and sort of pushed her dad out. I don’t think I helped either. But yeah, I-I think she could. Take care of us.”

“And I feel wrong saying this, because she’s not my mother, and it’s her life, but I think she needs better. If she wants Max back then she needs to leave Neil. Because Susan is losing Max. I can see it.”

Billy hears the shower shut off from down the hall, the sound of the curtain being pushed aside.

“What if I talked to Susan? Would that make you uncomfortable? Maybe I can get through to her. About Neil. And I can talk to Max, or I can back off.”

He hears the bathroom door open. Sees a flash of you across the hallway in a towel, then the slam of your own bedroom door. It makes him laugh.

Nicky knows exactly what you’ve done. You’ve done the same thing since you were a kid. It warms her heart to see him laugh at little things like that.

“No. It wouldn’t make me uncomfortable,” Billy says. “I would appreciate that, actually. But maybe let me talk to Max first?”

“Anything you need, honey. And I want you to know that this is a safe space, okay? If you ever need somewhere to stay. And the same goes for Max. If she needs to get away or anything.”

Billy looks up at Nicky and she has the kindest smile he’s ever seen. He knows she means everything she’s saying.

He has the urge to hug her and so he does. He hasn’t had a mom to hug in so long.

————

Billy’s driving again. It seems this is the only time he can get himself to talk about the hard stuff with her.

“Max.”

“Huh?” She’s reading a comic book. He doesn’t know how she does that. He’d probably hurl.

“Nicky wants to help Susan leave Neil.”

Max doesn’t move or close the comic, but she does stare at the page for an awfully long time. “So what does that mean?”

“I don’t know, exactly. But I was wondering…do you want me to leave too? Or can I stay?”

Billy has never sounded this raw and emotional around her before. It’s enough to make her face him.

“You think you have to leave?”

“I don’t know if you or Susan are going to want me to stay.”

Max sighs. “I want you to stay. It’d be weird to not have someone in the next room with horrible music playing. Do you want to go?”

“No,” he says, fingers gripping the steering wheel.

“Then stay.”

Stay.

————

“So you’ve verbally brutalized two of the Wheeler women in the last couple of weeks?”

You’re laying on Max’s bed. You can’t help but notice it’s softer than Billy’s but you try not to ponder that for too long.

Susan and Neil aren’t here.

“I wonder if Mike knows this. That he’s got a predatory mother.”

“I don’t know.” You roll onto your back and stare at the posters on her walls.

“If it helps,” she says, pasting a new sticker on her skateboard, “I never liked Nancy anyways. Kinda bitchy.”

You snort, looking at her sticker as she presents it to you. “Very nice,” you say.

“Lucas got it for me.”

“That was sweet of him.”

This time she snorts.

There’s the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. “Uh oh,” you say. “The beast has awoken.”

Max laughs hard enough that she has to slap a hand over her mouth when he appears in the doorway.

Billy looks at you with a scowl on his face before approaching Max’s bed. He flops down on top of you and buries his face in your neck.

“You left me,” he says.

It’s true. You’d been in his room with him, snuggling, though he refuses to call it that. He’d fallen asleep on you, but you didn’t have a book or anything, so after a while, spine aching, you slipped out and left him to nap.

A glance at Max and she’s making a gagging motion at you. You glare toward the sticker she just put on and she rolls her eyes, cornered.

“You fell asleep. I wanted you to rest. And my back started to hurt.” Billy grunts, and you notice the mess that his hair has become. You point it out to Max. She starts grinning and so do you, and it’s as if he can sense it.

“Stop.”

“Not doing anything.”

Billy lifts his head to look at you, brow furrowed and eyes puffy with sleep. There are even sheet marks on the side of his face.

“You’re conspiring.” He collapses back into your chest. “Little shits, both of you.”

You laugh and he whines again because you’ve jostled him.

You look at Max and she crosses her legs over Billy’s back, using her brother as a foot rest. He’s too sleepy to complain. She puts a pillow under her head and settles in, seemingly ready to take her own nap.

Shit, you think. Might as well. And you close your eyes too, petting Billy’s hair as you do. He smiles into you. You can feel it.

And it’s the best nap you’ve ever had.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove angst #billy stranger things #billy stranger things fic #stranger things fic #max mayfield #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove series #savannah’s fics

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

Steddie Flower Shop / Tattoo Parlor AU

another short update but I wanted to switch POVs and it made more sense to split the update in two. I hope y’all don’t mind. 

I Part One I Part Two I Part Three I Also on AO3!

***

Steve and Robin had settled into their routine at the new studio fairly quickly. They’d worked a lot of odd jobs together growing up so being in each other’s space in a work setting was nothing new. Sure, running a tattoo studio required a little more business acumen than working at an ice cream shop but the customer service smile and ease of interacting with near strangers came just as easily to the duo in either type of parlor.

It’d been a few weeks since Steve had started picking up bouquets from Eddie. In this time he had learned three things. First, Eddie only listened to heavy metal at volumes that could almost be heard across the busy street. Second, Eddie only had the shittiest of stick and poke tattoos. Third, Steve only had eyes for Eddie and was developing an incredibly embarrassing crush on the guy. Robin teased him relentlessly. Steve refused to show Robin his sketches of a tattoo series based solely on the bouquets he’d gotten from Eddie. She’d caught him staring at an arrangement wistfully and had tried to wrench the iPad out of his hand when she realized what he was sketching. If he drew little hearts around Eddie’s flowers that was nobody’s business but his own.

“First month drinks?” Robin asked as she returned from picking up lunch for her and Steve. They would probably close up early since today was a sketching and office admin day without any client appointments.

“Has it been a month already?” Steve mumbled through his first bites of sandwich.

“Stop talking with your mouth full, you absolute dingus. How I have survived this month with only you and your pining is anyone’s guess.”

“I’m not pining,” Steve argued.

“You are literally looking out the window to figure out if Eddie is back from deliveries yet,” Robin shot back.

“I am people watching and it’s not my fault that his shop is across the street,” Steve shrugged.

“If by people you mean Eddie and watching you mean stalking.”

“Leave me alone or I play ABBA on repeat for a week,” Steve threatened. It was mostly an empty threat because as much as Robin teased Steve for liking the band Steve knew Robin was as much of a dancing queen fan as he was.

“Fine, fine. I’ll lay off,” Robin relented. “Drinks tonight, though? You could ask Eddie and Chrissy to join?” Robin asked as the beat up De Lucas’ Flowers van puttered its way to a stop in front of the flower shop.

“If I ask will you be on your best behavior? Seriously, Buckley. You can’t be a dick about this in front of him.” 

“Cross my heart and swear to die,” Robin held out her pinky which Steve took and shook solemnly.

“The things I do for you, Robs.” Steve shook his head but started out the door to pick up this week’s flowers. 

“Munson!” Steve called over whatever loud music Eddie had playing through the speakers.

“Harrington! I’m almost done. Someone apparently did not appreciate the gesture of being sent flowers and threw them back at me so I have some fancy stems to add into your arrangement this week.” 

“Careful, Eddie. People will start to think you like me,” Steve teased. Over the weeks they’ve been getting to know each other, Eddie and Steve had settled into something resembling a friendship or at least not active antagonism. Steve still wasn’t sure if Eddie actually didn’t mind Steve stopping by once a week or if Chrissy had threatened Eddie into being nicer to him. They ran into each other every once in a while picking up coffee or lunch in the neighborhood but their interactions were pretty limited outside of the flower shop.

“Only you would twist me giving you tossed flowers into a romantic gesture, hun” Eddie said with a wink. Steve could admit their teasing erred on the side of flirting but Eddie seemed to be the type of guy that flirted with everything in his path. Steve had overheard Eddie coaxing his van into starting enough times to no longer be shocked when he threw out pet names as easily as breathing.

“Not what I said, man.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically. Steve watched as Eddie held up different flowers and measured their heights against the arrangement. Steve watched until he was worried Eddie would catch him staring so he decided to strike up conversation again. “Oh, hey, so Robin and I were thinking about grabbing drinks after work since we made it a month if you and Chrissy want to join. No pressure or anything, just if you happen to be free we could hang out in a non-flower shop location. Only if you want though, totally chill either way.” Perfect, Harrington, really casual and normal way to ask someone to after work drinks, Steve chided himself internally.

“A whole month! Woah, bring out the confetti cannons,” Eddie joked.

“Jerk. Sometimes you gotta celebrate the little things,” Steve said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean it’s not like a huge deal or anything. We were just going to grab drinks around the corner.”

“You absolutely cannot go to Murray’s,” Eddie cautioned.

“What’s wrong with it? It seems fairly normal from the outside.”

“I dunno, man. Murray is just like super strange,” Eddie said.

“Pot, Kettle,” Steve snickered.

“No, dude, seriously he’s like weirdly intuitive. You can’t get a drink there without learning something you did not want to know about yourself,” Eddie added.

“Alright, then, you pick the place. Pick me and Robin up when you and Chrissy finish up here.” 

“Fine. This is done by the way,” Eddie said as held out this week’s offering to Steve. “Get out of my hair.”

“Eddie! This is way too nice.” 

“Happy one month, dude. I’ll come grab you when Chrissy and I wrap up.” Eddie ran his hands through his hair and Steve didn’t think about how soft it looked, not even one bit. Steve left the flower shop as Chrissy popped out of the back room to tell Eddie he had a customer on the phone.

***

Part 5 now out here!

Taglist: @a-little-unsteddie @maya-custodios-dionach @eboyawstenn @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @thehumblefigtree @throwbackthrowaway @micheledawn1975 @azreadytodie @goodolefashionedloverboi @steve-the-hairrington

I think I caught everyone but please please reach out if I missed someone! Seriously I cannot thank you enough for all the positive feedback and I hope y’all enjoy the boys starting to get closer! c:

#my fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #tattoo artist steve harrington #florist eddie munson #tattoo parlor / flower shop AU #steve x eddie

[dwindlinghaze]

hi, so happy that you’re having an event !! can i please get a 🩰 and 🪞 (just the vibe you get from me and my akk ig, also i looove you theme so very looking forward to the moodboards)

male preference, marauders era / well, im 21, studying literature and linguistics in the uni. im leo (which says a lot)/ im really into literature - my fav books are probably classic english novels like little women and frankenstein. but i also adore sci fi and fantasy / i love abba and taylor swift a lot / i love wearing sweaters, classic suits and vintage shirts with collars and puffy sleaves. also obsessed with jewellery (pearls, golden rings an hoops) / my weird obsessions are true crime and supernatural (the tv show)/ i love going out in cinema and theatre/ i am bubbly until you are disrespectful to me or which is worse to my friends, my bestie says she’s scared when im mad/ hate stupidity and being late/ hope to become a researcher in the field of education 🦢🕯️

heyy ty for participating in my 500 celebration 🫧

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

🩰 : i ship you with remus lupin

╰┈➤ remus loves spending time with you in silence while reading english classics. it could be in his dorm, library, couch, anywhere.

remus' head was positioned against your thigh, he was listening attentively as you read 'little women' out loud to him. "I can't say 'yes' truly, so I won't say it at all," you said. "do they end up together?" the boy looked up at you. "jo and laurie?" you ran your fingers through his hair as your face stretched into an amused smile. remus hummed in reply. "well, we've got to finish the book to find out," you answered although you knew the ending all too well.

╰┈➤ remus loves seeing you in sweaters all snuggly and warm, he'd lend you his sometimes too. oh and also, he thinks your style looks so flattering on you and would definitely buy clothing items or jewelries that remind him of you. you didn't care if it was expensive or not, you love anything that he gives you. pearls, rings, and hoops give the vibes of elegance which he adores so much!!

both of you were shopping together and he stumbled across a gorgeous piece of clothing. "wait, this one will look stunning on you! try it please?" his finger pointed to a puff sleeved top with pearls decorating it. "well, what do you think?" you questioned as you did a spin with your arms out. "i love it." he ended up buying it for you and you kiss him in return.

╰┈➤ you and remus will have a movie night twice a month to watch sci-fi movies and if you're having a rough day, he'd put on supernatural- because he knew it's your favourite- while cuddling you on the bed with different kinds of snacks to cheer you up. he would take you out to the cinema when there's a good film you've been eager to watch or on special days he will get you tickets to see live theatres.

"honey, c'mere to bed," he said when he saw you walking in, face tired and body exhausted. "i've got your favourite snacks," he continued as you plopped down beside him, a sigh escaping your lips. "thanks, love," you gave remus a chaste kiss before positioning yourself to get comfortable under the blanket with him. "relax yourself, dove, you've had enough of work today," he kissed the top of your head before pressing play on the screen.

"oh my god you did not!" you gasped when remus held out two tickets to watch 'the phantom of the opera'. "i know you wanted to watch a live performance lately so...." he said shyly as a wide smile appeared across your face. "it must cost a fortune!" you shook your head in disbelief, looking at him with love and admiration. "don't worry about that." he just loves making you happy.

╰┈➤ after hearing from your friend about how scary you were when you're mad, the last he'll do is making you mad. he's a bit reckless sometimes so he'd be more careful about what he says or does.

╰┈➤ remus is a man of discipline. he would never be late!!!

╰┈➤ he is so supportive of your dreams of becoming a researcher in education. we all know he's very academically smart and well educated so he gives you little opinions (though you don't need it because i'm sure you know what you're doing but love hearing his thoughts anyway)

╰┈➤ i also ship you with james potter solely because you both have fire signs and uh hello?? twin fire signs (yes a taylor reference)

#dwindlinghaze's 500 celebration #moots <3 #🩰 dancing princesses #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #marauders x reader

[fishnets-fingers]

Six Months - Part Twenty

Summary - Layla desperately needs a vacation and her Aunt and Uncle come to her rescue. So, at twenty two, she packs her bag and jets off to America. Harry took a break from education and is now a full fledged content creator on OnlyFans. At twenty, he makes more money than almost all of his friends. What ensues when these two meet and realise the windows in their rooms face each other? How will paper airplanes bring them closer together?

PAIRING - camboy!harry x indian!oc

a/n -  i don’t know what to make of this chapter. there is a lot of the plot that focuses only on the flower braiding ceremony. hope it doesn’t bore any of you guys. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome.  happy reading!

Word Count - 11.3k

Warnings - smut, angst, fluff.

Masterpost (find previous parts here)

“What the fuck is talking her so damn long,” Harry sighs, leaning against the side of his car. It was eight in the morning, and he’s been waiting outside the Sathish’s for over twenty minutes now. He fishes out his phone from the back pocket and taps on her contact name for the third time.

“Hi. So so sorry. Give me like two seconds. I’ll be out. Sorry,” she flusteredly says, and hangs up before he could get a word in.

“I’m gonna kill her,” he mutters.

A few minutes later she comes barrelling through the front door. Phone tucked under her chin, water bottle in one hand, a tote in the other. She was wearing her black faux leather pants with an olive sweater over a white shirt. Her hair was still in a bun, messy, a few stands that have come loose stuck out every which way. She hotfoots over to him in her high heels. The strappy black stilettos click unceremoniously against the white wood of the steps of the front porch; Harry worries, hoping she doesn’t lose her stride. Those two thin tiny black straps around her ankles and her toes, always made him question their ability to keep her feet secure. But she makes it to him. 

“Baby, I’ve been waiting for half an -”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” She interrupts, dropping her tote on the passenger seat through his window. He goes to get her phone tucked between her neck and chin. “Thanks,” she says, taking a huge breath in. 

“I had a faculty meeting with the professors early this morning. I took it from the cinema room and fell asleep at four in the morning. Sorry. It’s super dark in there and I managed to snooze through the alarms. I woke up to you calling,” she explains with an apologetic smile.

“We can go another day. I’m happy to cuddle and sleep too,” he tells her.

“No. No. I need this today. I’ve been eating nothing but cereal, oats, pancakes, and porridge for breakfast since we came back from New Orleans. I’m sick of it. I need my South Indian tiffin.” Her Winnie the Pooh watch read that it’s twenty to nine.

“Okay,” he chuckles, bending to leave a wet kiss on her forehead. Harry notices the way her nose crinkles when his stubble tickles her. Adorable, he thinks. 

“You look cute,” she notes, checking out his outfit. He was wearing a dusty pink corduroy trousers that clung to his things and flared from his knees. A white Chicago Club t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned blue and red trippy acid patterned shirt. His hair was unstyled and fluffy and flopped down his forehead, his Gucci sunglasses pushed to the top. He ditched his black leather loafers and went for his white Vans. 

“Thanks. Need to compete with you somehow you know,” he says, tucking a wayward strand of her hair behind her hair.

“I got ready in ten minutes. There’s no thought behind this outfit.” She itches her collarbone, and gasps. “Shit. I left my chain. Start the car and I’ll be right back.” 

She books it back into the house, making Harry laugh at the way she scampers yelling through the front door. He opens the passenger door and shifts her tote to the back seat, comfortably settling himself there. He fiddles through his phone, trying to find the Abba playlist that they liked listening to while driving. Money, Money, Money starts playing and Harry drums his fingers against the door. Layla and Vasanth come out shouting and Harry turns down the music to hear them better.

“No! It’ll ruin my outfit,” Layla protests.

“It’s not for a fashion statement. It’s for protection. Can you please put this on?” Vasanth insists, holding up his NASCAR Tide zip up jacket. 

“No. I’m already covered. Look!” She thrusts her arms - covered by her full sleeve sweater and shirt - in front of him, to get her point across.

“So one more layer isn’t going to do you any harm. I’m only saying this for your good, kutti.” He insists.

“But, please,” she pleads. 

“You end up suffering almost every year. I’m just trying to not let that happen. Come on. You know it hurts for me when I see you suffer.” He holds up the jacket for her to put her arms in easier.

She grumbles in defeat, as she slots her arms through the sleeves of the jacket, turning around to zip it close. “You’ve gotta stop treating me like a child. I’m twenty two you know. I know how to take care of myself,” she reminds him. She hands her gold chain with elephant pendant to him and he clasps it around her neck.

“You’re always my kutti, kutti.” He chuckles, puffing out his cheek for her when he’s done securing the chain. She rolls her eyes and kisses his cheek. 

“Have fun you two!” He waves, returning inside the house.

“Why are you in my seat?” Layla asks Harry, when she makes her way over to his Range Rover.

“Oh, so this is your seat now, is it?” He asks, with a smirk.

“Yeah. Go on then,” she shoos him over to the other side.

“Nope.” He grins wider, dimples coming out to taunt her further. “I waited outside for so long. It’s only fair now for you to drive me around,” he replies.

She rolls her eyes, taking a deep breath in. Dazzling a smile, the dimple on her left cheek makes an appearance, furiously batting her eyelashes. “Have I told you how cute you loo-”

“Nope.” He laughs. “You already did and it’s not gonna work.” He tosses his keys, and she catches it out of instinct. 

“Today is just not my day,” she grunts, making her way to the driver's side. She gets in and shakes her head at him. “You’ve gotta wait. I thought of brushing my hair in the car.” 

She grabs her brush from the tote bag from the backseat, and slowly starts working the knots in her hair. She didn’t have time for anything today. She only managed to wash her face, slap on some sunscreen and put on some gloss on her lips. Honey, Honey starts playing and she reaches to increase the volume, while. She goes back to dragging her paddle brush through the length one last time.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asks, when he sees her wince. 

“Just got snagged in my piercing,” he mutters, moving the lock of her hair that got tangled in her conch piercing with a newfound gentleness.

“That still hurts huh?”

“Yeah. My helix took eight months to heal. How’s yours?” She asks, motioning to his pierced lobe. She parts the length of her hair into three equal parts and starts loosely braiding it.

“It’s good. Doesn't throb when I sleep on that side anymore.” He replies, hand going to fiddle with his earring.

“That’s nice. I’m sure your lobe is all healed now. It’s been like fifteen days no?”

He nods. “I’m thinking of changing it and putting a hoop in. What do you think?” He asks, seeing her secure an elastic to secure her braid. 

“I think someone is copying my style,” she chuckles, going to pinch his cheeks.

“I think someone is insecure that I’m gonna look much hotter.”

“Calm down, earth boy,” she laughs at his ginormous ego. “Ready to go to breakfast?” She asks, turning on the ignition of his Range Rover, and pulling her seat forward, so her feet can reach the pedal.

“Yup.”

 She eases the car out of park and eases out of the driveway towards the restaurant. The two sing dramatically to Knowing Me, Knowing You. Harry finds it absolutely adorable when she puts her hand - the one that’s not on the steering wheel - on his thigh, followed by a lascivious wink; something he would do to her when he’s driving. He finds her even more adorable peering - making the same face she does when she puts on her mascara - over the windscreen, trying to see the edge of the bonnet, hoping to not hit the curb as she parks. 

////

She wants everything. Everything from the breakfast menu at Annapoorani’s. They were both downtown at Ganesan’s restaurant. Nandhini and Chandru Ganesan started a chain twenty years ago; they were two in Chapel Hill, one in Charlotte, and another in Raleigh. 

“Have you two decided?” Chandru asks the two with a warm smile, peering down at the two of them though the rim of his glasses. His hands were clasped behind his back, making his large gut even more pronounced. He was wearing a classic grey safari suit, which Layla thought was quite cute because she has never seen anyone else wear safari suits since her maternal grandfather. She also found his comb over his bald spot extremely hilarious.

“I’ll take a rava dosa please,” Harry says, putting down his menu at the side of the table. He’s never had a semolina dosa before and the picture and his favourite mint chutney sold him.

“Did you just pick it because of the green chutney?” Layla asks with a knowing smile, and he nods.

“Layla kanna?” Chandru turns towards her.

“Umm… I can’t decide uncle.”

“What are you leaning towards?” 

“This vegetable oothapam and the poori with potato and channa gravy. But I can’t finish both,” she states.

“How about this, hmm? Since you are a close friend, I’ll bring in a bit of both. Works?” He suggests.

“Prefect.” She clasps her hand in glee. “Thanks, Chandru Uncle.”

“No problem, kanna. How  about chaat for a starter?”

“Chaat for breakfast?” She asks the older man.

“Why not.” He smiles.

“Lovey. Harry, what do you want?”

“How about you decide, I haven’t tried them before.”

“Bhel Puri?” She asks, more so to herself. “Can’t go wrong with that. Do you wanna split one?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay. One Bhel, one rava dosa, half an oothapam and poori?” Chandru Uncle checks.

Once he gets a confirmation, he passes off the bill to one of the waiters and heads over to a navy blue door that says ‘personnel only.’

“So, OnlyFans huh?” Harry says, when they are left alone.

“Yeah.” Layla fiddles with the zipper of her jacket.

“When did you subscribe?”

“I’m not gonna say. Have fun finding me,” she smirks.

“What do you think?” He asks, chipping away at the yellow polish on his nails.

“Why are you nervous, hm?”

“Dunno. Never has someone I care about has seen my OnlyFans…” he trails off. 

“Well, I like it. Love it even,” she assures him, reaching over to hold his hands on the table.

His face flushes with colour, a shy smile painting his lips. “I’m gonna need more than that, Lails.”

“I didn’t know you were that creative. I mean, I know you love photography but some of it is skillful. You certainly know your angles around a camera, that’s for sure.”

His smile widens, eyes slowly reaching up to meet hers. “And?”

“And what?” She smirks, not giving in. She knows what exactly he’s fishing for.

“And did the pictures have the desired effect?” He asks, huskily.

Cocky little shit, she thinks.

They get interrupted when she goes to speak. The waiter placed an obscenely large plate of bhel puri in front of them. Layla quickly thanks them while spooning some a heaping spoon into her mouth and does a small jiggle, closing her eyes - savouring that fresh burst of flavour. Harry laughs at her eating some of it as well.

“Yup,” she shyly admits after they’ve finished almost half of their starter. 

“Care to elaborate, baby,” he coos. 

“I may have gotten myself off once or twice,” she tries sounding, nonchalant as she pushes her braid behind her shoulder.

“Glad I could be of service,” he smirks, spooning some more of the chaat into his mouth, using his other hand to give her a small salute. 

“Idiot,” she mutters, shaking his head, using her finger to swipe the stainless steel plate and sucking on the tamarind sauce, revelling in the flavour that she hasn’t experienced in a while. 

The waiter comes back with their breakfast order. A crispy rava dosa for Harry that he swore was a foot long and various assortments for Layla. They both thank them and Layla immediately pinches a small piece of the piping hot poori, scoops some potato curry and offers it to Harry. 

“More,” he demands, nodding to the oily soft puffy disks on her plate. 

“Wanna try it with the channa?” 

He nods and Layla feeds him exactly that, making sure to blow on it a few times before popping it into his mouth. He playfully nips at her fingers as he bites down, making her chuckle. 

“I like hearing you laugh,” he says as he’s chewing. 

“Hard not to, you are quite funny.” She tells him earnestly. 

“You’re full of compliments today,” he observes, hand weaving through his soft curls, pushing them away from his eyes. 

“As opposed to?”

“As opposed to every other time you jump in to keep me in line,” he shrugs. 

“It’s the Tamil breakfast,” she tells him. “I used to make fun of my folks for needing to eat Indian food and not being able to adapt. But I’ve come to realise in these past ten days that I definitely cannot adapt when it comes to breakfast. As much as I love a good waffle and a pancake every now and then I need my savoury in the morning.”

“Hmm. You excited for the art museum?”

“Yup. Can’t wait to go there after this? Still can’t believe I get to see Alphonse Mucha’s work in real life. My sketch books are filled with me copying his art nouveau style. Thank you for getting the tickets. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything, dickhead. I love doing this for you.”

////

“Hold on to that end,” Layla distractedly says, as she rolls the waxy parchment to the other end of the kitchen counter. Her brows furrows in concentration as she tries getting the long horizontal paper, perfectly aligned. But when she tugs on it gently to straighten it out the other end comes rolling over and hits her fingers. 

“சித்தப்பா (uncle)!” She yells, smacking her palm on the now butter paper covered marble countertop, demanding his attention. 

“What?” He distractedly says, looking up for his phone. “I’m setting up a Zoom link so , அம்மா (mum), அப்பா (dad), அண்ணா (elder brother) and அண்ணி (sister-in-law) can join in.”

“You’re not taking this seriously. Please put the phone down and start helping!” She commands, shaking her palm to soothe the stinging sensation shooting up it. 

“Why are we even doing this? We’re doing a buffet, no one will even pay attention to how the countertop is decorated when they are playing up food.”

“I will pay attention to it. I’m doing the decorating and I got an okay from Aunty. So can you just do as I say please!” She grits her teeth. 

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Get the floral foam from the garage. It’s soaked in that old paint bucket.”

He mutters something under his breath as he walks away from the kitchen and Layla. 

“என்னது அது? (What was that?)” She asks, with a tone that signifies that she’s ready to argue. 

”ஒன்றுமில்லை! (Nothing!)”

“Yeah that’s what I thought,” she mutters to herself as she gathers the huge piles of fresh flowers that were delivered from Earl’s for the function. She separates the white wildflowers, dark blue orchids and yellow lilies into smaller piles. She cuts some green foliage so she could weave it into the small floral displays she was planning on having it. 

Was she being a bossy pain in the ass? She didn’t think so. She was in charge of décor and if it was one thing she did is bring her vision to life. She sat with Earl for hours trying out different combinations of flowers wanting something memorable and unique because this event meant that to her. She plans to have the flowers placed in similar fashion and leave them at the outer edge of the kitchen counter, where the guests would come to get the food. Leaving multiple arrangements would look like the flowers were growing and flowing from the countertop. She knows it would look great, especially in the pictures. 

“Here,” her uncle grunts in exertion, as he places the heavy bucket by her feet. 

“Okay.” She bends down to pick a narrow rectangular green foam, dipping it back in to let the sponge drip the excess moisture. “We’re gonna put this right at the edge here.” She gestures to the very edge of the parchment covered marble counter. “Touching each other. I don’t want gaps between these foam blocks. It will look unsightly if there are gaps.” She picks up the flowers from the first pile and starts to secure them into the exact positions she wants. Showing her uncle to cut the end of the stems at an angle, so it’s easily pierced into the foam. She moves things around until she’s satisfied with the result and places it on the left corner of the countertop. 

“Now what I want you to do…” she turns to her uncle. “I want you to arrange the flowers exactly like this for all these foam blocks. Got it?”

“Alright. I’ll make sure they look like that,” he points to the finished one, “and put them right next to each other.”

She nods. 

“Seems easy. Aren’t you gonna start getting ready? Aunty is already prepping upstairs with Anne.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna head up and get my hair done. Aunty’s gonna curl it and that will definitely take a long time, especially taming this rat’s nest of a hair I have.  I’ll come down later and set the nalangu things after. That’s the only thing left to do. I’ll have my phone with me, text me if you need anything.” She says, before disappearing up the stairs.

////

Harry walks into the Sathish’s front door to be hit by scents of sandalwood and jasmine. He sees the living room all arranged for the ritual, couches and coffee table pushed aside. Blankets were laid out in the places they once were. The loveseat was placed close to the wall, facing east, there were two tiny circular tables with doilies in front. Two large oxidised silver lamps stood tall - they came all the way up to his calves - next to the small tables. It looked like elephants balancing a ball that was attached to a lamp - filled with oil and had five lamp wicks, which looked like twisted cotton threads,  pointing out from the sides unlit. There were these tiny peacocks on the top of the lamp that had a single blue orchid flower on top, like a decoration. Other silver objects were scattered on the loveseat, one still in the brown cardboard box that arrived from India. 

“Look at me dead in the eyes and tell me you did not half ass this!” Layla screeches, from the kitchen. 

“Layla, language! மரியாதை எங்கே (where’s the respect)?” An  older woman scolds. 

Harry walks towards the voices to find Vasanth and Layla facing each other. Vasanth looking annoyed, the blue gel patches under his eyes - which Harry has no doubt was Layla’s doing - moving as he rolls his eyes. A phone was perched up on the table and Harry could make out four people on the screen and quickly deciphers that they were Layla’s grandparents and parents. Layla is in her kimono robe, eye makeup done, rollers secured on her head, arms crossed across her chest as she scowls at the floral arrangement on the counter. 

“How am I supposed to know, kutti?” Vasanth asks. 

“I thought it was common sense to pluck out the weird looking petals, so the flowers look extra fresh.”

“யார் அது (who’s that)?” The older male from the screen asks, noticing Harry. 

“Hi!” Layla beams at him. He looked svelte and sophisticated in his black tux. His white shirt was unbuttoned halfway, he had a messy black tie tucked underneath his shirt for some odd reason but it worked. The black Gucci boots added on to his frame and the way his jacket was fastened around his waist, by a single button, really showcased how narrow it was. His stubble was gone, and hair - trimmed - was meticulously styled to a point where his curls seem to have vanished. Rings decorated almost every finger of his, as they hold on to his expensive camera. Layla frowns when her eyes land on his clear nails. 

Vasanth quickly notices the family staring at Layla and quickly steps in to serve as a distraction. “Oh. That’s our neighbour’s son. He’s offered to take pictures tonight.”

“That’s very kind of him,” her grandmother says, switching to English to accommodate Harry. 

“பாட்டி, தாத்தா, அப்பா, அம்மா (grandmum, granddad, dad, mum) this is Harry. He’s my uh-“ she stops, cheeks heating up, breath hitching when she realises that she was gonna say the word boyfriend. 

“Hello. It’s nice to meet all of you. Virtually at least. I’m Harry. You must be Layla’s folks. She’s been a blast to hang out with. We’ve become good friends over the months.” He introduces himself. 

The four stare at him and then back to Layla. “எங்களுக்கு ஒன்றும் புரியவில்லை (we didn’t understand a thing), Layla.” Her granddad says. 

“Translate,” her father states. “We’re sorry Harry. You talk differently from us,” he tells Harry. 

“That’s no problem, sir.” He smiles politely. 

“He said உங்களை சந்தித்ததில் மகிழ்ச்சி in FaceTime. He also said I’m fun to hang around with and that we’ve become friends,” Layla translates for them. Harry notices a switch in the way she talks. It’s slower, her accent is much more pronounced - more Tamil. And it’s almost nonexistent when she talks to him. He’s seen her switch her accents around him and Nandhini and Chandru far too many times, he’s no longer impressed by the way she’s a chameleon - unconsciously - in the way that she speaks when she’s around certain people. 

“போய் உடுத்திக்கொள் (go put on some proper clothes), Layla.” Her mother says in a low voice. “நீ ஒரு பையனின் முன் இப்படித்தான் நின்று இருப்பை (is this how you stand in front of a boy),” her mother tells her off. 

“Okay okay. I just need to put the silver things properly and I’m going upstairs to get ready. It’s why I called you,” she tells them, grabbing on to the phone and making her way to the formal living room. 

If only she knew that he’s seen me in much less, she thinks, smirking. 

“Pro tip,” Vasanth tells Harry. “Stay away from her till the ceremony ends. She’s psychotic.”

“Hey! I heard that!” Layla calls from the living room. 

“I wanted you too!” Vasanth shouts back. 

“Pain in my ass,” he mutters, making Harry smile. 

“Sometimes you two act like brother and sister,” he comments. 

“I’m so glad that I don’t have a sister. I don’t know how you put up with her for so long. How does she not drive you up the wall?

“Anyways, never mind.” Vasanth continues. “Feel free to hang and take some pictures here. Food will be here in a few. I’m gonna get ready in Layla’s room before she’s done arranging. You could start taking pictures of Abi as she’s getting ready.”

“I’ll do just that. I want a couple of shots of the two of you before the ceremony starts. We do that first and I’ll come down.”

The two head upstairs, past Layla talking to her family on FaceTime holding up the silver cups. 

“Right or left?” 

“Left.” Her grandmum tells her. 

She places a silver plate, and puts three small cups on it. “So, sandalwood paste, vermilion and rice in the cups?”

“Yeah. Pluck off some flower petals and mix it in the rice.”

“Wait.” She says. She arranges everything exactly like her grandmum said. She gets the sachet of the sandalwood paste and squeezes it into the first cup. She rifles through the cardboard box and gets the packet of vermilion powder and empties it out in the next bowl. She runs to the kitchen with the third bowl, fills it with rice three fourths of the way, adds a pinch of turmeric and mixes it around with her fingers, so the grains are stained a deep yellow. She heads over and shows it, to her phone screen, to her grandmother. “Is this enough?”

“Yes. You can always get more, if you want,” she replies. 

“How many people are coming?” Her mum asks. 

“Twenty five, I think. At least that’s how many people I ordered food for.”

She turns around looking for flowers, not wanting to go back to the kitchen again. She picks out the orchids that were on top of the swans on the lamp and tears them into small pieces before adding it into the rice. 

“Don’t be so lazy!” Her mother scolds. 

“Don’t scold her! There could be guests around, what will they think,” her father directs it to her mother. 

“Kutti, விளக்கில் பூ இருக்க வேண்டும் (there needs to be a single  flower on the lamp at least),” her grandad adds, much softer. 

“I’ll get it later and do it before I light it up. I need to get ready, தாத்தா (grandad).” She says, unscrewing the stem of the rose water sprinkler and filling the voluminous bottom with rose water. She screws on the stem and quickly checks if the water is leaking by tilting it around. 

“That’s all, right?” 

“ஆரத்தி தட்டு (aarti plate), kutti,” her grandmum reminds her. 

She quickly reaches for the silver aarti plate from the loveseat. She quickly pours the remainder of the rose water from the small plastic bottle into this deep dish plate. She picks up some vermilion and mixes it in the water until it turns a bright red colour. She puts this plate carefully on the right. 

“I’m going to get ready now,” she says, wiping her red and yellow stained fingers into the kitchen towel. 

“Layla, வளையல்!” Her mum reminds her. 

“Oh shit, yes,” she reaches over and opens up a plastic box. 

“Don’t swear!” They all say collectively. 

She rolls her eyes as she arranges the orange and green glass bangles in the remaining space on the silver plate on the left, next to the three bowls and the sprinkler. 

“Okay. I’m going to go get ready. Click on the Zoom link and join in about an hour and a half, okay? You all will be there right?”

“Yes.” Her dad chuckles. She was ever the anxious one. “Tell your friend to take solo pictures and send it over.”

“Why?”

“We need a recent picture of you in a saree, so we can start sending it around with your horoscope.” Her mum says. 

“No,” she firmly says, shaking her head, heart starting to race. “You promised I get to study.”

“No one’s going to get you married tomorrow. It will take years to find a good match. We don’t even know if you’ll get into a PhD program,” her mother tells her. 

“Gee, thanks for your vote of confidence, அம்மா (mum),” she hisses, feeling the heat seeping out of her body, nostrils flaring out in anger. 

“Okay. Okay. Calm down, kutti. We obviously want you to get your PhD. We will be very proud when you do get that doctorate,” her grandmother steps in while the two men quitely stare at the women. 

“But if we do get a great match, you will need to quit the program. It is five years long and you’ll be twenty eight when you’ll be don-“

“I need to get ready and I need to get rid of the plastic and the boxes. I don’t have time for this now.” Layla quickly presses on the red button, sliding on the button on the side of her phone to effectively silence it and tosses it on the loveseat. 

////

Four sharp knocks reverberates through the room, as Layla was fixing the plastic bra strap untwisting it near her shoulder. She thought she would just wear her white spaghetti strap ribbed crop top, but her boobs just wouldn’t work. Sometimes she wishes she could just make her boobs disappear. She did like the outfit though, she didn’t really plan for this ceremony when she was packing for her holiday. So she borrowed a chiffon dusty rose saree from her aunt and paired it with one of her crop tops, as her aunt’s blouse would not fit her. She was quite proud of the way she draped it, creating a perfect silhouette. Not bad for someone who was draping on her own for the second time; although her mermaid saree shapewear and an ungodly amount of safety pins helped. It looked traditional but also had her own spin on it. Her makeup was on point, but she did go in a bit heavy handed with the eyebrow pencil and she didn’t have the time to wipe it off and do it again. 

“Come in,” she shouts out over the music that was playing through the speakers. 

Harry steps into the room greeted loudly with My Chemical Romance’s Planetary (GO!). 

“We’re waiting for you to take some pictures,” he walks in further towards the vanity to find her sitting on the floor, in front of the mirror, sticking a small round bindi on her forehead. 

“Wow, baby,” he stops, stunned, eyes fixed on the reflection in the mirror. 

“What? It’s the eyebrows, right? I knew it was too boxy,” she mutters, moving her face closer to the mirror. 

“No no. You look - wow - I’ve just never seen you in a saree before and fuck - how did I get so lucky, eh?”

“Oh gosh,” she brushes it off, face heating up in response to his compliment. She stands up, albeit with some trouble, and clutching onto Harry’s hand for support. As elegant as a saree looks, they were hard for Layla to move around in. “Give me a second.” She quickly hurries to her bedside table and clasps on her elephant chain and her Winne the Pooh watch. The watch didn’t go with the outfit but it was a part of her. “Ther. All done.” She says slipping in her heels. 

Harry bends down to place a kiss to her before she backs away. 

“What?” He whines. 

“I spent thirty minutes putting on makeup. No way are you gonna come close,” she tells him. 

“Come on. I didn’t even get a kiss hello.”

“Fine. Kiss me but not anywhere near my face.”

He groans theatrically, but bends down to seize the opportunity. 

“Nah, not my neck either,” she says. 

He settles giving her wet kisses right below her collarbone, making her hum as her body sings. 

“That feels nice,” she admits. 

“I can tell.” She can feel him smirking against her skin, one hand coming to weave her fingers with his. 

“Hey do me a favour yeah,” Harry asks. 

“Yeah. Of course.”

“I don’t really care but I don’t want you to be embarrassed in front of everyone. Can you um, put makeup on my hickey?” He moves his unbuttoned shirt to the side to reveal a dull pink hickey - he was right, it would be on display every time he moved his arms and with a camera in hand it was hard not to do so. “I tried doing the same thing you taught me, exactly like how I applied foundation on my face but it doesn’t properly cover anything up here.”

“Yeah, you just need to colour correct. Did you bring your foundation?” 

He pulls out his Gucci foundation from the inside of his coat pocket and hands it over to her. Layla pats on the bed asking Harry to sit down and when he does she goes on to grab her colour correcting palette and a small makeup sponge. 

Harry sees her, use the pad of her ring finger, rubbing circles on the green cream. She then presses it right on the pale pink bruise that she managed to give him right in the valley of his neck and shoulder. She then shakes the foundation bottle and takes a small dollop on the back of her hand and picks it up with the egg shaped sponge and stamps it on top of the green.

“How did you do that?” He asks, looking at the spot in the mirror,  astonished to see the bruise gone, just the makeup blended in to look like skin. “Sorcery.”

Layla chuckles. “It’s basic colour theory, earth boy. Green and red are opposing colours, so you use green to neutralise the red.” 

“Still! Proper sorcery.” After he fixes up his clothes, his hands come to circle around her pudgy hips. 

“You’re such an idiot sometimes, you know,” she coos, with a smile. She caresses his freshly shaven soft cheek, with the back of her fingers, missing the prickly stubble. 

“I’d be an idiot if I didn't take a picture of you right this second. Now come on, lay down on the bed.” He tells her. 

“Babe, we can do it later. I need to be there to greet -“

“Nope. Nope. Sit your ass down. Mum’s gone to drive Earl over. Vasanth and Abi are FaceTiming Abi’s parents. We’ve got time.” 

Layla sighs and she lies down on her white comforter. Harry then positions her face and her hands, tucking her saree, and pulls her hair gently to the right. “Don’t move,” he orders, quickly moving to get the flowers from a vase on top of the dresser - twisting the blooms from the stem. He got her a bouquet from Earl’s two days ago, the flowers were a bit dull but it didn’t matter. He carefully arranged them in her hair, and around the bed and he takes the biggest pale pink peony and tucks it behind her left ear, being very mindful to not irritate her healing conch piercing. 

He straddles her upper thighs , knees on both sides of her, holding his camera from above and he looks at his sweet girl through the viewfinder, snapping picture after picture. 

“I want some with you,” she says, tugging on the lapels of his jacket, to bring him closer to her. 

He chuckles. “Want this sex on a stick right next to you to show off, huh?”

“Oh shut up, you goober,” she smiles, as he lies down next to her. 

“Please! I saw the way you were undressing me with your eyes when you were on your call with your family.”

“I wasn’t undressing you with my eyes,” she denies, but the dimple on her left cheek gives her away. 

“Whatever you say, dickhead.” He says, raising the camera up. 

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Thought you didn’t want to ruin your makeup,” she says cockily, arching up an eyebrow. 

“I’m allowed to change my mind, Har.” She says, turning to her side, hand coming to chip the side of his jaw - pulling his face to hers, stitching their lips together in a sweet lazy kiss. 

He presses down on the shutter, freezing that moment in time, a moment where their fondness for each other was palpable from the way their eyes looked drunk on each other, dimples signalling the mirth that filled the fibre of their being. 

////

The ceremony is in full force. House packed with guests, friends, colleagues, neighbours, and their families and kids all under one roof, making the house feel lively as peels of laughter came from kids, who were chasing through the rooms. The men stood in groups chatting away looking at the women performing the nalangu for Vasanth and Abi. Their families in India were on Zoom and an iPad was propped in a strategic corner, where they would be able to see everything. Harry was busy taking pictures of everything, he even managed to take a few candids of guests - laughing, mid conversation, eating something, and hugging. His favourite ones were of Layla talking to the iPad - frustration evident on her face as she explained how to mirror their screens to the TVs, so the live feed display would be much easier to look at. The other one is of Earl and his mum, sitting together side by side, laughing at Vasanth and Layla bickering before the guests had come in. 

Nandhini Aunty had explained the rituals to everyone. Turns out every single Tamil family did things differently, something to do with their caste. She went through the process of the nalangu, and why bangles were very important - to help stimulate the baby in the womb with audio, the sound of bangles tinkling against each other. Everyone commented over how gorgeous Abi looks with her orange silk saree that she paired with a floral beaded blouse and was adorned in antique gold ornaments decorating her ears, forehead, neck, hands and waist. Her hair was in a long braid wrapped around with flowers and bedazzled with more jewellery. Vasanth sat next to her, on the loveseat, in a matching orange silk shirt and his white silk veshti. Anne couldn’t help but join in the conversation with others as they guessed the gender of the baby based on Abi’s tummy position, even if the expecting couple did tell them that there would be a gender reveal after the ceremony was over. 

“How many was that, kanna?” Nandhini Aunty asks.

“I don’t know. Should I have kept track of how many people did the nalangu?” Layla says, with her eyes wide. 

“Eight.” Abi said. 

“We need one more person to do it. Cannot be an even number,” Nandhini Aunty states, looking around the room for women who were missed out. 

“Layla you do it. You’re old enough,” her grandmother's voice echoes through the iPad. 

“Really?” She asks, the corners of her lips twitching up in a smile. 

“Yes, kanna. பாட்டி (grandmum) is right. Go ahead. You’ll make it nine and that’s a good number to end on.” Nandhini Aunty says. 

“No no.” Vasanth says. “Look at the way she’s smiling. She’s gonna do the thing she did the last time. அம்மா (mum) come on,” he pleads to his mother through the iPad, looking at the sinister smile on Layla’s face as she leaves Harry’s side - she hovered around him the whole time at a respectable distance not wanting to give off any ideas, very cognisant of the fact that her parents were watching - and comes closer to the two of them.

“Her blessing is also important, Vasanth,” his mother scolds him. 

“Yeah. You tell him பாட்டி (grandmum),” Layla, hypes her up. Sticking her tongue out at him, tucking the draped end of the saree, in her hip, so it doesn’t catch on fire from the lit silver lamps. 

Layla has a wide grin as picks up the rose water sprinkles and shakes, so it drizzles on Abi and Vasanth. Her smile only becomes more sinister, as she eyes at her uncle as she dips the tips of her fingers into the sandalwood paste, she daintily applies it on Abi’s sandalwood smeared cheeks and moves down to do the same to the tops of her forearm. She then picks up some vermilion with her pointer finger and dots it on her forehead. She then picks up four bangles and gently pushes two on each arm of her Aunt, using some moisturiser, so it slips in place. She moves on picking up the turmeric stained rice and flowers and showers it on her head. 

“Now the same for your uncle too,” Nandhini Aunty reminds her. 

She moves closer to Vasanth, who’s shaking his head as she scoops all the remaining sandalwood paste from the silver bowl, giggling. She smears the woody smelling goop onto his cheeks, smearing it around all over his face, making the room laugh. She does the same to his forearms, spearing a clumpy mess of sandalwood. She then moves on to the vermilion, dotting a small spot on his forehead that is now a pale yellow. She then moves over and throws some rice and flowers on his head, as Abi cackles along with everyone in the room. 

“That’s for making me wait with everyone else for the baby’s gender,” she says, sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Hey! She kept it from you too!” He points to his wife in an accusatory tone. 

“Yeah. But you kept pissing me off the whole day. Aunty didn’t and she looks cute. Can’t say the same for you.”

“Sleep with an eye open, kutti.” He threatens, reaching for a wet wipe Anne hands over to him to wipe off the excess paste from his face. 

////

The ceremony was over and the expecting couple announced the baby’s gender and name, making some gasp  and others go ‘I knew it.’ Layla’s family and Abi’s parents cried on Zoom knowing their little bundle of joy now has a name. People were now spread all over the house chatting away and eating all the food. 

Layla fills up two plates of food from the buffet and heads over to the stairs, where Harry was sat. She pulled him aside during the ceremony, and asked him if they could eat alone and who was he to turn her down. It was traditional to have a variety of assorted rice for the event and both their plates had small servings of coconut rice, raw mango rice, coriander and mint rice, lemon rice, tamarind rice, curd rice, tomato rice, carrot rice and sweetened rice. Layla picked her favourite thayir vadai as the starter, it was sour and the hints of the chaat masala always hit her spot. Harry declined the starter as he does not eat cow milk - the only exception is when Layla makes the occasional mango laasi and her fruit loaded curd rice. She hands him a plate of food with the much larger portion and the one without the curd rice, and sits down on the step on the opposite side.

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t really interact with you at all. I really didn’t want my parents grilling me,” she says, picking up a pomegranate seed from the curd rice and popping it into the mouth, relishing the way juicy sweetness detonates on her tongue.

Harry digs into the coconut rice first, his favourite. “I figured. It was nice to meet them. Even if it was brief. Didn’t really think I get to. You look so much like your mum!”

She rolls her eyes. “If I had a penny every time someone said that. I actually resemble her little sister more than her; it’s uncanny.” She unlocks her phone and scrolls through her gallery to find a picture of her Aunt. “Look.” 

“Shit,” he says, looking at her. If he thought Layla looked like her mother, she was a carbon copy of her Aunt. The same chin, eyes, forehead, lips, their only difference was their noses but not by much - Layla’s was a little longer and her cheeks more fuller.

“Yeah.” She chuckles. “It freaked my maternal grandparents out. They said it was like watching my Aunty grow up again, but my granddad always told me my cheeks were more pinchable than hers, and that I had alien ears.” She giggles. “My lobes are attached, literally no one in my family does,” she explains.

“You are a walking cornucopia of recessive genes,” he laughs with her.

“Tell me about it.”

They eat in ease a blanket of silence that they both found enjoyable. Both basking in each other’s company after three hours of interacting with everyone else. Dhruv, Ashwin plops down on the staircase unceremoniously next to them, each with a bowl of thayir vadai. “Hey guys,” they both chirp.

“Sorry, we needed a break from the oldies,” Dhruv says.

“I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Ashwin.” He waves to Harry, not wanting to shake his hand as Harry’s using his to eat.

“Hey. I’m Harry.” He smiles, warmly.

“I’m Dhruv. Nice to meet you, man. My sister will also join us in a few. She’s changing the baby.”

“Hey, Layla, you ready to beat our highscore?” Dhruv asks.

“High score?” Harry looks at her confused, clearly out of the loop. 

“Oh, um, Ashwin, Pooja, Prasath, Dhruv and I went for a movie in Raleigh the day before. Dhruv and Ashwin came over to play Overcooked after,” she fills him in. 

“We made quite the team,” Ashwin says with a sweet smile directed at Layla, in a tone that irked Harry.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” He asks Layla, the corners of his mouth turning downwards.

“Oh, sorry, babe. You were with Earl that day, helping him with the weeds. Didn’t wanna disturb you.” She tells him, squeezing his left hand as an apology. 

“We should do it again. Watch another Tamil movie again. It was so much fun,” Dhruv says. 

“We shou-” Layla gets interrupted by Dhruv’s sister, Pooja.

Pooja. Layla’s heart immediately starts hammering. The first time she saw her was when they were headed to the theatre, she felt herself becoming extremely flustered. She’s never come across a woman in real life who managed to catch her attention like that. She was drop dead gorgeous. Layla can’t help but let her eyes rake through her standing figure, she had a thick mane of curly raven hair, hooked nose, streamlined eyes that were lined with a thick ring of kaajal, full lips, her cheeks had a rosy hue to them no matter what accentuating her pitted scars that were a remnants of her acne - she often found herself tearing her eyes away from Pooja’s cheeks. Her shoulders were broad and her hips narrow, pudges around her tummy and hips, and legs that were long and slender. She was a bharatanatyam dancer, so naturally she was expressive and animated. The brief conversations she had with Layla were livey, and loquacious. 

“Ash, you forgot this,” she says, handing him a small white box - that was wrapped in a baby pink satin ribbon - from the diaper bag. 

“Thanks.” Ashwin says, face heating up, handing Layla the box.

“For me?” She asks, surprised.

“Yeah. You mentioned that you loved elephants, and I couldn’t help but think about you when we went to the pottery shop.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Layla says, hesitantly.

“I insist, Lails.” Ashwin thrusts the box on her lap.

“We did the wine and paint thing, yesterday, at the studio downtown,” Dhruv tells her.

“Oh, Layla and I went there on a date,” Harry says, moving closer to her, wrapping his free arm around her.

“We had so much fun! I made Harry a ring dish and he still uses it,” she says, struggling to open the box with one hand, oblivious to her boyfriend’s bristling energy next to her in response to Ashwnin using Layla’s nickname. 

“Oh my god! Harry! Look! It’s perfect!” She squeals, showing him two miniature ceramic elephants in a bed of cotton - one ash in colour and the other a darker blue green with light pink at the ears. 

“Thank you!” She says, going to hug Ashwin. He returns the hug awkwardly. 

She stands up to go get dessert for everyone and comes back with small ramekins filled with tender coconut pudding topped with an exorbitant amount of sliced almonds and pistachios. They each take one. 

“Oh, Ashwin, that one’s for Harry,” she informs, handing him another ramekin. 

“What’s so special about it?” He chuckles, passing it to Harry. 

“It’s all from Chandru Uncle’s restaurant, right?” Pooja asks. 

“All of ours is, his isn’t.” She tells them, going back to sit next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist when Harry immediately throws his hand over her shoulder. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Harry’s doesn’t consume a lot of cow milk, so I made one from him with oat milk.” She says.

“Lactose intolerance?” Dhruv asks. 

“Most white people are,” Ashwin mocks and it makes Harry want to punch him. 

“That’s not very nice. He does so for environmental reasons,” Layla tells them.  “I hope you like it. I don’t know if it’ll taste the same,” she tells Harry. 

A blush creeps across his face and neck, the tip of his ears turning hot. “Thank you, baby.” He says taken back, kissing her cheek, brushing a stray stand away from her neck. He did not expect her to make something just for him, especially with all the other things she had on her plate today. It warmed his heart. 

////

“So, a baby girl, huh?” Earl asks. 

Harry, Earl, Anne were sitting on the kitchen island, while Vasanth was washing up the silver utensils that his mother shipped from Chennai. Everyone had made their way home, quietness creeping into the walls that were bouncing off exuberance a few minutes ago. Abi and Layla were in the family room, both with their feet up on the coffee table. Layla on the phone with her cousin trying to reboot her computer; following his instructions to try and reinstall windows again to her laptop that abruptly died on her when she was editing her and Harry’s paper with the suggestions from the journal editing theme. Abi was talking to her parents about the birthing and lactation classes she signed up for with Vasanth, and working out the dates they were coming over to help her along with the birth. 

“Yeah. We were hoping for a girl too,” he smiles, as he uses a rag to polish up the silver as per his mum’s instructions. 

“I love her name. Laya. It’s so precious.” Anne gushes.

Harry smiles, remembering Layla’s face when they told her that the baby’s name was inspired by her. Instead of gasping and being elated, she just stood there quiet, eyes cast on the floor - uncomfortable having all the attention on her, unable to process that she’s being honoured. Very Layla. All he wanted to do was to pull her warmth in and soothingly encompass her against his chest. 

“Still can’t believe you two named her after Layla,” Harry says, clicking around in his MacBook as he exports the pictures from his SSD, so he could edit. 

“We always knew that we wanted to do that. She is her big sister after all. Honesty, if Laya turns out to be half the person Layla is, it’s a job well done for us,” he tells them earnestly. 

“So all ready to be a father, huh?” Earl asks.

“I mean, I kinda already am,” he tells them, cocking his head in the direction of Layla. “I’ve never been just an uncle, you know. சித்தப்பா literally translates to small father. Her dad had to move to Delhi for work when she turned two. He was there for like three years. I was there for almost everything. Potty training, diaper changes, first wipeout on her bicycle with training wheels, bedtime stories, tantrums, dropping her off at school, teaching her how to golf, taking her to the zoo, and the planetarium on the weekends. She was such a well behaved extroverted kid growing up but she had this need for speed,” he chuckles before continuing. “She would sit on the motorbike or open up the sunroof, stick her head out of the car and demand to go faster and faster. She was so carefree. I sucked when I had to leave her to the US. She would act all grown up and mature so she wouldn't hurt my feelings but she’d cry to my mum every other day, convincing her to stop me from moving. When I came back three years later, she had completely changed. She was quiet, anxious, flighty, and just lost the child in her - like she was a husk of the Layla I knew…” He trails off. 

“Sorry.” He shakes his head. “To answer your question Earl, I feel every bit like a father. I feel very prepared but I also know it will be a complete experience. I’m excited. Abi is too. She cried when the doctor told us. She’s always wanted a little girl.”

Vasanth’s phone chimes and he calls out, “Layla!”

“என்ன (What)?!?”

“People from Chandru Uncle’s restaurant have come in to pick up the buffet utensils.”

“Okay.”

“I thought you wanted to be the one to return it back to them,” he clarifies.

“I did. Give me a minute.”

“Now! A minute is never really a minute with you. They’re waiting out in the cold, Layla!”

“Okay. Okay. I’m going now,” she groans, pushing her laptop on the couch cushion, and walking into the kitchen to pick up the buffet food containers and lugging them to the front door.

“Do you want any help?” Harry asks.

“No, that's alright. Only got five more. Thanks.” She smiles, picking two more of them and making her way to the foyer.

“Harry,” Anne prods.

“I offered. She’s got this mum,” he says, fiddling around with the colours of the picture of Layla on her bed in Lightroom.

“I didn’t raise a degenerate. You should do it without asking, love.”

He sighs, pushing himself off the stool. He would have done that but he really wanted to finish editing all of Layla’s pictures, to surprise her tonight. He picks up the rest of the stainless steel utensils and heads over to the foyer where Layla was talking to three people, one of whom he recognised was their waiter from the breakfast date.

“Thank you so much! The food was delicious. Everyone loved it. That புளியோதரை (tamarind rice) was to die for! I know you all work behind the scenes but you really made the event really special. It means a lot to me and Aunty and Uncle. I told Chandru Uncle that I’ll swing by the restaurant in a few days to thank the chef and the cook. Phenomenal jobs. Please send them my appreciation until then.” She smiles. 

A middle aged man speaks up, with a smile stretched across his face, deep creases evident on his cheeks that curve along the curve of his lips. “நான் பதினைந்து வருடங்களாக இந்த வேலையில் இருக்கிறேன். மக்கள் பொதுவாக என்னை கவனிக்க மாட்டார்கள். யாரும் வந்து எங்களுக்கு தனிப்பட்ட முறையில் நன்றி சொன்னதில்லை.( I have been working in this job for fifteen years now. People usually don't pay attention to me and my colleagues. Never have I had someone come and thank us personally. It means a lot.) God bless you, ma,” he says.

Although Harry doesn't know the language, he can decipher what he’s conveying by the embarrassed covers his girlfriend’s face. 

////

“You know what would be perfect with this?” Layla asks Harry.

 It was much later at night, she had bought the five remaining of his famous raspberry thumbprint cheesecake cookies. It was the easiest and quickest recipe he’d learnt at the bakery he worked at. He baked it for her yesterday, he really wanted to make it with fig preserve - her favourite - but she was too demanding and hungry for him to make a quick run to the store. 

“A kiss for the baker?” 

“Funny.” She says, biting into the ice cold cookie, dusting the crumbs off her fingers over the baby blue ceramic bowl. “Isn’t the phrase actually kiss the cook?”

“What’s the difference?” 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “But I do know that I want a glass of milk before I wipe off my makeup and head to bed.” She turns over and directs the sweetest smile to him. 

“Fine. I’m going,” he chuckles, popping the last cookie into his mouth, wiping his fingers on his suit trousers as he makes his way out of the room with the empty bowl. 

She quickly makes her way to the bathroom to remove the safety pins from her saree. She’d pinned some wacky places together to compensate for her inexperienced draping. She examines her face in the mirror, the light beaming off the grease on her face makes her huff out frustratedly. She scoops out the yellow cleansing balm from an aluminium jar to melt off her makeup. She squirts a small dollop of face wash onto her fingertips and starts lathering up her face, and washes it off with water. She pats her face dry with a towel and walks to find Harry on her bed, swiping through the touchpad of his laptop; a big glass of milk on her nightstand. She chugs it down in a very unladylike fashion and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before crawling on the bed. 

“What are you doing, hmm?” 

“Going through pictures from the ceremony. I think I’m gonna print it out and make a photo book for Vasanth and Abi.”

“Harry, you don’t have to do that. You taking pictures today was a great hel-“

“But I want to. Imagine how cute it would be for little Laya to look at once she’s older,” he informs, smiling at the thought. 

“It’s still weird.” She chuckles. 

“What? Her name?”

“Hmm. Plenty weird.”

“Hey, if someone named a baby after me I’d be on cloud nine.”

“I’m sure! It’ll feed right into your narcissism. Imagine if Aunty and Uncle named her after you. Something stupid like Harriet. Yuck!”

“Hey! I think Harriet is a great sounding name for a baby,” he defends. 

“Yeah. Great sounding name to get bullied in school.” 

He laughs, carefree and boyishly, crinkles by the corner of his eyes, gums peeking out from under his lips and dimples etching onto the curve of his cheeks. 

“How is that you manage to insult me every time before we have sex?”

“How are you so sure we’re gonna have sex?” She arches her brows. 

“Oh please. You’re still in your saree. Waiting for me to take it off.”

“I’m not waiting! I just wanted to um - I wanted you to take a few more pictures of me.”

“Really?” 

“Yup.” She holds her head up high. 

“Didn’t you send a paper plane asking me to come back here to sleep knowing full well I went home to put the lightbox and camera away?” He smirks. 

“I uh… I forgot. Go get it! Now!” She insists, trying hard not to smile to maintain her imperious façade.

“Please. Just admit that you want me! You’ve been salivating over me ever since I walked in!” He exclaims, trying to break her, closing his laptop and putting it on the floor. 

“I may have spared a glance at your direction once or twice,” she haughtily says, tossing her curls behind her shoulder. 

“And what about when you followed my ass around with your eyes, when I squatted to get a picture of Abi and Vasanth on the loveseat. Or did I imagine that?”

She looks down at her duvet, face heating up, a shy smile tugging the corners of her lips. “Didn’t know you were paying attention to me…”

“I always pay attention to you.” He mumbles, hand coming to cup her cheek. “Now come on, are you going to kiss the cook who made you cookies and bought you a glass of milk?”

She moves closer to him, lips against his ear, forehead pressing against his temple and mutters, “More like kiss this cock.” She leaves a wet kiss on the spot right below his ear, smiling when he draws in a sharp breath. “And seeing how you’re still in your tux tells me that it’s sole purpose of you leaving it on was to seduce me.”

“Now that we’ve both cracked each other’s game, don’t you think it’s time to take off our clothes?”

“Sounds like a great plan to me.”

They both shuffle out of bed and Harry reaches forward to tug Layla’s saree off. She quickly takes off the crop top, unhooks her bra and tosses it on the floor. Harry is busy unwrapping her skirt like draping that was tucked into the space between her hip and her skirt. 

“Jesus, how long is this thing?” He says exasperatedly, trying to unwind the fabric, and when he gets to the end, he tug it off, leaving her only in her black shapewear and her heels. He hooks his thumb into the spandex band of her skirt, wiggling it off from her body - along with her panties - as he trails wet kisses down her throat.

Layla pushes off the outrageously expensive suit jacket after she unfastens the single button of his suit jacket. Fingers quickly working to unbutton his shirt, she kisses his chest after prying open  a button, fingers coming to tease his nipples.

“Baby, please,” he whines loudly.

“Shh! My room isn’t soundproof like yours,” she scolds him, hand coming to clamp on his mouth, feeling a warm flush of embarrassment wash over her body at the idea of her uncle and aunty hearing it.

He nods, and she removes her palm. Stepping out of the blush coloured pool of chiffon fabric, tripping when the fabric gets caught in her heel, Harry comes to steady her, gipping her forearms tightly. 

“Leave your stilettos on,” he says. “I reckon they’d look pretty hanging off my shoulders.”

Layla chuckles, leaving her heels on, dropping to her knees and quickly unzipping his pants. Heat pools at the bottom of her belly, as she sees his growing bulge strain against the fabric, straining for some space. She pulls down his pants and his briefs to his knees, wasting no time before she grabbing on his length and mouthing at the tip.

He grunts, hands coming to bury in her hair, eyes screwing shut as she licks a flat stripe up the underside of his length, thumb messily spreading the precome around his head. She looks up at him with bleary eyes, as she swirls his tongue around him, moaning - a sound that shoots right up his spine, toes curling. She squeezes his thigh and he slowly starts moving his hips to and fro, thumb drawing circles on her cheek. 

“Shit, so so good, sweet girl.”

She gags around him as he drives in deeper and he looks down to check on her. Once she gives him a thumbs up, he moves again, looking down at the way she’s slobbering over him. Desire tingles through his body, as he lets his body take over moving in and out slowly and he hits a spot at the back of her head. Layla gags, flinching at the feeling and he immediately pulls off, before she can pinch his thigh to stop. 

“Fuck, you okay? Sorry.” He gets to his knees, eyes examining, his hand coming to wipe the mix of drool and his precome down her chin. 

“Yeah. It just tickled.” She tells him, blinking back the tears as she lets out a cough. 

“Come on up on the bed,” he says, licking his lips, she sits down at the end. He kicks off his trousers and his hands splays across her thighs, coming to part her knees, as he lowers himself.

“As much as I love when you go down on me, babe, I really want you to fuck me.” she mumbles, hands coming to twist in his hair, pulling him up.

She pulls his face to hers, and kisses him. Biting down on his bottom lip, tasting the raspberry from earlier, as he whimpers into her mouth. Harry lays on top of her - relishing warmth and  the way her breasts were pressed up against him, tongue licking into her, tasting the honey he mixed in with the milk. Layla grunts when he slips his fingers inside her, hands coming to tug at his trimmed locks.

“It’s too short,” she complains, frowning at the fact that she can’t grab at it like she used to.

“Well, I had to cut it! It was becoming too shaggy.” He defends himself.

She jolts in pleasure, when his thumb comes to draw tight circles on her clitoral hood, as his fingers curl up against her front wall.

“Stop moving,” he mumbles into her panting mouth, making a relentless come hither motion against her sweet spot.

“Make me.” She challenges squirming against him.

He quickly removes his digits and licks them clean, moving to get a condom from her bedside drawer. He makes quick work of tearing open the foil and rolling it down his length. He crawls over to her, grabbing a pillow and wedging it under her bum, before climbing over her. He quickly slips into her warmth, burying himself to the hilt, making her moan as he bottoms.

“Fuck, sweet girl, always feel so good for me,” he praises, as he suckles a bruise on her neck.

He moves slowly, letting her get used to the angle, she writhes underneath him - the way her bum was propped up made it so that he grazed her sweet spot every time he thrusts in. She wraps her legs around his hips, the end of her pointy heel digs into the swell of his ass, making him mutter a string of profanities.

“Shit. Har! You always fuck me so good.” She breathes out, nails scratching down his back.

“Yeah?” He asks.

She nods in response, closing her eyes and throwing her head back into the mattress, hands coming to grab at her bouncing breasts to anchor herself as she climbs to her peak steadily.

“Tell me,” he prods, sitting back on his knees, lifting one of her knees and throwing it over his shoulder. He thrusts back in again, moving with urgency, like he wanted to crawl inside her body.

“Tell me,” he urges her again over the wet noises their bodies were creating. “Tell me that I make you feel so good.”

She blinks up into his jade irises, mouth parting open in pleasure, as he bites into the jiggly soft flesh of her dimply thigh. “You’re the best I’ve ever had. The only one I’ve ever had.” He gasps, as the heat sears through her body as he keeps up his relentless pace.

He watches her carefully, hand coming to cup her cheek. He pulls the pillow from under her and pushes it aside, dropping her thigh down as he flushes himself against her and rubs his nose against her with a dopey smile spreading across his face. “Does that mean you’re mine, sweet girl?”

“Yours. No one else's,” she mumbles back with sincerity, kissing him fiercely. 

“I belong to you too. From the first moment I laid eyes on you,” he confesses, eyes blinking back the tears, burning his face into the crook of her neck, he rocks back and forth slowly. “I love you, Layla.”

She clutches onto the broad expanse of his shoulder, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she pulses around him, sinking her nails into his ass as she rides it out. She blinks back up and kisses his cheek. “You are my favourite person, Harry.”

It makes his dick twitch as his orgasm bubbles up in the bottom of his spine. “I’m close,” he whimpers into her sweaty neck.

“Come on then. Let go,” she coos, brushing back the stands of matted chestnut brown hair that stuck to his damp neck.

He exhales loudly in pleasure as he stills deep inside of her, filling up the condom. He collapses on top of her, cheek nestled between her breasts. He moves to slip his softening prick out of her but she  grips onto his love handles holding him in place - a perseverating gesture of hers, wanting to bask in the afterglow a little longer. He smiles against her chest, kissing the heated sweaty skin, hand moving to scratch her scalp.

Oscar Wilde was wrong, he thinks. Living is not better than existing. He has clearly never been in love. Because merely existing with Layla is a life worth living.

  LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!  

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles series #harry styles one shot #harry styles x oc #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles yn #camboy!harry #onlyfans!harry #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #indian!oc #six months #fishnets-fingers #one direction #COME SAY HI #please leave tags if you reblog #part twenty

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Just the Best 4/2000 2000 Pop / Eurodance / House / Europop / Pop-Rap / R&B / Alternative Rock / Downtempo / Hard Rock / Indie Rock / Pop-Punk / Trance / Progressive Trance / Latin / Novelty / UK Garage / Britpop

God, do I really love going through these Now That's What I Call Music-type comps from Europe. Late 90s/early 2000s releases like these always make for such fun, eclectic trips down memory lane, but from the perspective of a different region of the world. Our top 40 charts in America share a lot in common with other places, and that leads to a nice nostalgia rush for everyone involved, but there's also a lot of music we don't share in common at all. So the goal when listening to these ephemeral things is to get some of that good nostalgia, discover a few sweet tracks that you weren’t previously familiar with, and then hopefully find something so patently absurd and terrible that you can't help but smile at how ridiculous it is. And fortunately, I was able to tick all three of those boxes with this 26th dispatch from Germany's Just the Best series, although those latter two categories ended up being fulfilled to a much lesser extent.

So, first, the nostalgia: those Swedish-produced teen pop acts like Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, and 'N SYNC lead the way. There was a time in my life when I loved those songs, then a time in my life when I hated them, and now I'm back to loving them again, and not even really from a nostalgic standpoint. The production on so many of those tunes is actually genuinely fantastic; just so lush and so intricate. Go back and listen to them if you still need convincing. Max Martin and his Swedish disciples were spinning pop gold back then, and many of us turned up our noses at it, but I've been a total convert for a while now, so join me, won't you?

More nostalgia: America slept super hard on Craig David. "Fill Me In" is his most remembered song, and I don't even think it's really all *that* remembered. And even more forgotten was "7 Days." It was a top-ten hit on Billboard's Hot 100, but I feel like most Americans aren't even aware that it exists. This British dude could've been our R&B king and it's kind of inexplicable to me that he wasn't. Amazing voice and great, unique productions.

Also, did you know that catchy song "Around the World (La La La La La)" by German group ATC is an English-language ripoff cover of a Russian Eurodance song from 1998 called "Pesenka" by Ruki Vverh!? Now you do!

Plus, we've also got "Jumpin', Jumpin'" by Destiny's Child on here, "Porcelain" by Moby—possibly the greatest single off of an amazing album that was chock full of pretty much nothing but great singles—and the post-Britpop bop, "Dancing in the Moonlight" by Toploader, a song with a very early 2010s kind of vibe that actually came out in '99.

Now for the sweet tunes I'd never heard before as well as the so-bad-it's-good stuff. First is this song that kind of sits between both categories: an irresistible cotton candy fluff of Euro-cheer from Austria's Marque called "Electronic Lady" that blends 80s new wave/synthpop and Euro-disco vibes and kind of sounds like if Robbie Williams was channeling some kind of ABBA phase, but with an extra coating of sugar (🎶Just press "Yes" and I'll be on your screeeeeeeeen!🎶). And then there's this piece of Eurodance trash by this German guy called Kosmonova, who lays these big indigenous flute melodies over a pumping Euro-backbeat. A solid dose of purely bad and silly fun with that one.

Always an enjoyable ride with these compilations. Was hoping for a little bit more of that mindless Eurotrash absurdity, but there's still a good nostalgia rush to be had here anyway. Plus that Marque song is a total fucking pop music bop!

Highlights:

CD1:

Britney Spears - "Lucky" ATC - "Around the World (La La La La La)" Craig David - "7 Days" Christina Aguilera - "Come on Over Baby (All I Want Is You)" Marque - "Electronic Lady" 'N SYNC - "It's Gonna Be Me" Moby - "Porcelain" Toploader - "Dancing in the Moonlight"

CD2:

Kosmonova - "Discover the World" DJ Ötzi - "Hey Baby" Destiny's Child - "Jumpin', Jumpin'"

#pop #eurodance #euro dance #house #house music #europop #euro pop #pop rap #hip hop #rap #r&b #alternative rock #alternative #alternative music #alt rock #alt #alt music #downtempo #hard rock #rock #indie rock #indie #indie music #pop punk #punk #punk rock #trance #progressive trance #latin #latin music

[girl-bateman]

ABBA Anon here

Thoughts after the first semi final- my love goes out to Finland, I have said it right after last year’s Eurovision, and I will continue saying it, Finland in Eurovision is just superior and has my heart.

Sweden was good, but not my personal favourite, just like Norway. The rest was funky and had some, well, interesting performance and outfit choices

Anyway Eurovision so far has been quite entertaining, I hope the second semi final won’t be boring. What are your favourites so far?

Have a Lovely and delightful rest of the day💕💕💕

Findland definitely won me over with the performance tbh !! I listened to the song earlier today and I wasn't very impressed, but seeing it come together on stage made my half finish heart very happy indeed 🥰

I thought there were a lot of good performances but my favourites were Finland and Sweden (for obvious selfish reasons). Portugal girl was really appealing to me but I've already forgotten her song so maybe it was more about the look and the vibe ?

Hope you have a good rest of the week 💞💞

#i saw that you sent another ask as well and i will reply tomorrow dw !!<3 #abba anon my beloved <3

[simsoopi]

14, 21, 8 🌸

hiii thanks also sending me questions 🎷🐛

14. What’s your favorite color? yellow! but i also enjoy the colors pink and beige and black when i'm in a weird mood

21. How was your day today? my day was good just a bit tired from work (i hope you had a good day)

8. What’s your favorite band/artist? i think depending on my mood it changes but i'd have to say hozier i like a lot of his songs! and i listen to abba often and some metallica

#inbox

[chorusfm]

Sid Seth – “Hopeless War” (Song Premiere)

Today is a great day to share the latest single and lyric video from singer-songwriter Sid Seth called “Hopeless War.” With a sound that fits somewhere between the classic soul/pop of Stevie Wonder and the modern flair of Harry Styles, Sid Seth is really coming into his own on songs like this. I was also able to catch up with this artist for a brief interview below. Can you tell me a little more about how the Indian music you grew up with influences your sound? I grew up thankfully with a lot of music. My mother introduced me to ABBA, Simon & Garfunkel etc. whereas my father would sing Indian Ragas every morning and they were in the back of my head growing up. I listened to varied styles of Indian music from Classical to Hindustani Folk to Bollywood Music. I guess what I connected with was melody. Indian music (in general) is a very melodic heavy music. And the kind of music I heard and still enjoy regardless of any language usually has a good melody or melody that works with the lyrics. I think the varied choices of melody in Indian music probably influenced my sound. Whenever I’ve written a song, say it’s a down in the dumps ballad or a storytelling song or a dance bop, I play it for my friends and family and see if they sing even one section of the song after the first play. If that happens, I feel that song has done justice in marrying the message of the song and the melody I came up with.  Where do you pull inspiration from for your lyrics? Does life in NYC, where you’re based now, ever make its way into the lyrics? Real life! Haha. My friends know that very well. The most random things inspire me – a conversation, word, color, phrase and sometimes it’s just fantasy or activating my alter ego. Definitely! My previous single “Caffeine High” was all about NYC, nightlife and finding someone unexpectedly in the city. Hopeless War was also written in NY. The place really impacts the writing in my opinion. I don’t know how to explain it but the rhythm of each place has its uniqueness. And of course, my lyrics are heavily influenced by NY in general. NY has a tone, rhythm, feel and overarching sound. It’s like when I hear a record, I immerse myself in that world. Some records instantly take you to a sunny beach, while others make you want to take a quiet stroll, lost in thoughts at a busy NY intersection. Plus the life and people are so diverse in the city that you subconsciously end up exploring so many options. It’s like with one group of your friends you might use a certain language and with someone close the vernacular would be completely different. So I guess the endless options in the city really impact the songwriting.  What do you hope for in the future per your music? Can we expect any touring/albums/music videos? I am very grateful for the people who are hearing my music for the first time, and helping me build a community. As more of my projects are released, I hope people will connect with the different shades of life that I explore in my music. If my music ends up being a friend to people that I do not have direct contact with, that would really make me happy. So I hope for that in the future. At the moment, I am doing lots of shows in NY and soon, in other nearby cities. I post about it on my socials and website! I am too nervous to make a music video, but I am very excited to start doing it sometime soon. I love love love albums! I have an entire project in mind. So I hope that comes to fruition.  --- Please consider becoming a member so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/features/sid-seth-hopeless-war-song-premiere/

[schoolofghoul]

Tobias Forge Interview by Hardforce.com

Ghost are performing in Paris tomorrow at the Accor Arena. Tobias Forge spoke to French Site Hardforce.com about the Imperator. The writer, Jean-Charles Degroux remarks that Forge was very courteous throughout the interview and he gave full answers to all of the questions even though they went over the 15 minutes allocated time. He has 'a real respect for the media'. An English translation of the original French language interview is below:

  https://hardforce.com/.../39880/ghost-interview-tobias-forgeTobias, how are you feeling today, on the eve of hitting the road again for a headlining tour of the biggest European venues?Tobias Forge:  I feel excited in many aspects: I'm really looking forward to getting back on European roads indeed. It's been two years already. A little over two years even. Of course, we already toured a little, but it was in the United States, and touring in the US and touring in Europe are quite different. It's a mix of emotions and excitement, and obviously this year is very different from last time; so, yeah, obviously I'm excited, but I'm approaching all of this with a pinch of salt...caution !Like the Stade de France last time in May 2019, "Bercy" means something to you: we had already discussed together the possibility that you could play there in the future. Here we are. I imagine that each tour is important for an artist, especially for you, because it marks a new stage...

Oh, I feel like a gigantic accomplishment. Of course as we speak we haven't done it yet, I can't wait to play it, but also once it does. It's a hall that I've always known: I even went there to attend concerts, and of course I associate it with all the great groups that have performed there. Of course, this represents something very very exciting. It's one of those rooms that... (laughs)... if you're interested in public spaces, you know, Bercy sits next to Madison Square Garden or the Forum in Los Angeles. A very great accomplishment therefore, even if it is already there, just to be programmed there. Now it's up to us! 

Tobias, we met many times, for HEAVY1, HARD FORCE and METALXS, and each time it was backstage at each of your concerts, whether it was Olympia, Download Festival, Zenith or the Stade de France. Each time, I've already told you, I've enjoyed GHOST since the very first album in 2010, but I'll be honest with you: on first listen, I wasn't that thrilled by "Impera », even moderately disappointed. BUT... - because there is a "but" - after the second or third listen, I heard like a demonic little voice, that vicious little voice a la Papa Emeritus telling me "put it back on!" », « put it back »! This "Do it!" », like a subliminal mantra! And I must therefore "confess" to you, again, that I have become completely addicted to this record! So: it's serious, ( laughs )

Well, if you don't like it, I don't know if it's a good thing for you to keep inflicting it on yourself like some kind of masochistic little torture; but maybe there is hope and that is a good thing. You have faith!No, no, I'm telling you: now I love the album!Aaah! So that's a good thing! ( laughs )First impressions were not so good. Let's say: not as much as I hoped for a new GHOST album. But as I told you, after persevering, I'm completely addicted and I listen to it almost every day; it's a very very good album.

Well, I'm glad to hear it. That's what we hear here in Scandinavia: we call it a grower,  something that takes little by little, more and more, over time.Through all your albums and EPs, you have shown great songwriting talent, digging deep into your roots, in terms of heritage and culture, whether it's heavy metal of course, but also of pop, knowing that in addition to ABBA, Sweden produced a lot of dance music and pop hits during the 90s and 2000s, all made by real studio pros. Being so gifted yourself, why did you feel the need to be helped from outside? I had already approached things like that on “Meliora”, in fact. And it was completely natural and organic for me to progress in this way where, in my first life as a composer, before “Meliora” therefore, I did almost everything myself. And if for some reason someone else came in, then it was more of a form of "political" compromise that was going to lead to some kind of code, you know? Because it only resulted in very small things; a few changes which would, except in exceptional cases, have to imply a notion of credit, of co-composition.

 And so, in my previous bands, they always called me “the dictator” because, you know, I never let anyone come up with their own ideas. And I learned to live with that. where are you with your songs? - and I replied: “  It depends. As soon as I have an idea for a song, if you give me a few hours or a few days, I will be able to finish it  ”. And I know the songs. I know I can overcome them, but there, right there, they weren't finished. And he answered me: “  So I want to come and work on the record, I'm coming. I want to be able to influence you in some way  ”. And me: “  OK, let’s try! ". He really taught me that I wasn't as bad at collaborating as people might think. It's like with girls in a nightclub: I want to dance and kiss the one I've chosen. I don't want anyone else to come and kiss me. So it works perfectly well when I choose my partner. And Klas really showed me that I could collaborate. I can, but it has to be done with someone with the purest intentions. Someone who really wants to improve a song - and not just enjoy credits and royalties. And he was good at it. All his contribution to "Meliora" also convinced me to write by applying myself more. “  I want to hear you do better here. This word needs improvement ". And it allowed me to go find other people to work with, because it's actually a really cool way to sharpen your senses. I could show up with ideas from morning to night, but if I have to reveal them to someone else, I get better at defining what should be good, and discarding things that I would ultimately judge to be inferior. It's very common in writing. 

This is the reason why, when you write articles, you have an editor. This is why a writer also has an editor who can afford to tell him "  this passage is too long  " or " I understand what you are trying to say here in this little chapter. But you can also remove it or cut it in half, or with fewer sentences, because you will explain things better otherwise and it will make the story more fluid  ”. And that's how we proceed with my collaborator friends. Taking an idea, honing it, tweaking it, improving it...because I have to confront myself in everything I do to someone else. So it's a pretty good method.Hooks. There are pop hooks absolutely everywhere on “Impera”; and beyond these pop structures, I find a lot of traces of 80s Californian glam in songs like “Watchers In The Sky”, or even “Call Me Little Sunshine”, which could have been a DOKKEN hit in 1986 , and there's VAN HALEN DNA, here and there, especially on “Driftwood” which pumps up its intro to “Ain't Talking About Love” a bit, as well as all those flashy solos throughout the album.

 So would GHOST be guilty of hair metal fantasies despite your background in extreme metal?( laughs)

 Well yes, absolutely. I've never been afraid of... you know, I grew up on a 70s and 80s hard rock diet, so of course that creeps into my music - but I think it was also already the case before "Impera". However, I think it's just a matter of a few moments - I don't mean that in a negative way - but a few too many moments on this record that could make it seem like there was something like a tribute to that time , which was really unintentional. It was more of a… I think a lot of these people that I write with like Klas or Peter Svensson of CARDIGANS, all of these people are like metalheads. It's also worth noting that these people with whom I write, to whom I submit my ideas, love all these things that you have mentioned.Like THE DARKNESS who desperately wanted to bring back fun and flamboyance in 2003, after a dozen years of serious and sometimes boring alternative music, and like QUEEN in the 80s, it seems that one of the obsessions of GHOST is to want to appear as uninhibited as possible, and free to dose the good or the bad taste that you like so much, like this typically prog part on “Kaisarion”, even these gimmicks à la ABBA or SUPERTRAMP on certain keyboard plans, right?( laughs)

 Absolutely. I think one of your - I don't know if you can say "competitors"? - but Kerrang! in the UK they wrote in a review that - I'm paraphrasing it because I don't have it in front of me - but it was something like: 'Impera' is like eating a cake at breakfast, because there's no reason why you shouldn't, except that you're afraid of what others might think of you. And it's one of the best things I've ever read about GHOST. Because I believe it too. It's, "  You should have cake for breakfast if you like it." And even ten more croissants if you like”  ( laughs )The second part of "Impera" turns out to be much darker than the first. It starts with a very dark piece of music, à la Kubrick, somewhere between the soundtrack of Clockwork Orange and that of The Shining. And that introduces “Twenties”, which is one of your most ambitious tracks, even if you seem to have borrowed its dynamics from METALLICA's “Through The Never”…In “Twenties”? Oh, I had never thought of that.Yes, the dynamics of the intro of “Through The Never”, this jerky riff, which stops and starts again, of METALLICA - you know what I mean?

Yes, but I had never thought of it, it was absolutely not intentional. I would like to say that the sequencing of the album was obviously important: I always think about vinyl, so it's always like there's an Act I and an Act II. This first expresses the rise of the Empire. So you have this kind of national anthem at the beginning of the album and with the change of act, when you turn the record over, this time it's the fall of the Empire, which ends with the disappearance of this anthem national. And then, if you turn the disc over again, it starts again. It was therefore completely wanted to have these two faces so different from each other. And in a way, you know, I think it was a good choice. At times I had (laughs ) - but it's over, I don't waste my sleep on stuff like that anymore!What I find fascinating - and sometimes hilarious - in the universe of GHOST is this great abyssal gap between the graphic image and the sound. This Victorian industrial era mixed with a graphic neo-renaissance à la Da Vinci that meets steampunk, and on the other side all these pop catchphrases. Everything might sound a lot more doom and gloomy like the debut album “Opus Eponymous”, but the sound and those catchy songs are ultimately not. And that brings us back to pure entertainment, playing with horror or around Mephistopheles. And as far as our generation goes, we've all grown up with it, since Michael Jackson's 'Thriller', gore shocks and thrills on screen, and partying on the dance floor, don't you think?I think so.

 Yes... And it's funny because a lot of the things that are said about "Impera" in terms of polarization or ambiguity and in its nature of "looking like" but sounding completely different, it's basically the same thing I've heard since we released “Opus Eponymous”: “  this band looks so evil, but sounds so much like an AOR band!  ( laughs ) But it's always been – hey, GHOST is, in many ways, a mix of all the things I love. It's like eating pancakes with jam and cream, which will also turn into a big pancake. You add sushi, pizza and pasta at the same time. All this baked into a big cake! ( laughs) And it does, in the end. Somehow everything just got squeezed into a blender, it comes out like mush, it shouldn't work, but it does!Like any great band this unique and talked about, GHOST is dividing the metal community more than ever. Your band being, without a doubt, the new leader of the scene, is one of the most talked about topics - and among that metal community, and maybe even among your first original fanbase, those fans of occult metal and completely hardcore doom, people may not like your new artistic path anymore - even hate the band. 

Do these opinions offend you, or are they completely swept away by these legions of new fans who are growing your community?( silence of reflection) No, it doesn't hurt me, but that doesn't mean I don't care. So if there's some kind of common ground… But the thing is, I don't see… it doesn't… no, on the other hand it doesn't make me feel less like I've remained a fan metal, and I don't feel like I have to keep going to a metal bar to play pinball or listen to IRON MAIDEN, you know… so it's not really… it doesn't really move me more than that, because that nothing is ever so black and white to me. And if I try to look at it from a positive point of view, which is easy, just because we've already reached twelve years of professional career having released our fifth album: I think that's an achievement for, twelve years later, still be able to polarize in the same way we did twelve years ago. You might tell yourself that, somehow, when you do 360 degree turns, and do so many times, it's still quite rare that you stay - for lack of a better word - "relevant "as long as you're still THE topic of conversation in town whenever you do something new. Many of these people would have lost interest ten years ago saying: that you are still THE topic of conversation in town as soon as you do something new. 

Many of these people would have lost interest ten years ago saying: that you are still THE topic of conversation in town as soon as you do something new. Many of these people would have lost interest ten years ago saying: I will never talk about this band again! ". But yet, they keep talking about it. And some people may have even changed their minds or come back, while some others obviously picked up along the way, halfway through, and started loving the band again.

 Kind of like us when we joked about it earlier: it's like people are still interested in what's going on. And that's a very good thing. And that does not place me under the sign of the black mark, nothing less than that! ( laughs) So it doesn't really matter, but for me, professionally, it matters a lot because it means you get bigger. If people talk, that's fine. You know, don't they say it's better to get away with a big scandal than a little fiasco. Yes, the more people talk about it, the bigger it gets. So… “  Thank you very much, everyone. I'm really grateful to you !

  ".How are you preparing for the future? On what time scale do you plan all your ambition? Do you foresee a huge business plan for the following years? What do you have in mind in terms of progression and “world domination”?You can divide this idea into two things - the first being, of course, design and aesthetics. There are projects that I want to carry out, which undeniably have economic repercussions. If you want to create a stage show of the magnitude I have in mind, you need funding, so I have to be careful about the idea that it's commercial and therefore somehow profitable. of another. 

On the other hand, I am in charge of about forty people who earn their living thanks to my mistakes... uh no, sorry, not "my mistakes!")... to my decisions! So, out of decency, I have to plan ahead. But I wouldn't do that if I didn't feel there were things behind it, areas to explore graphically speaking. Always without losing sight that this is what I wanted to do in the first place. Even back when I didn't even think it was going to become commercial. I still have these feelings. I still think GHOST is really a very enticing concept. I find a lot of aesthetic ideas, a lot of creative ideas that I haven't even realized yet. And that's my main driving force for me, personally. But once all this has been acquired, I have to be very careful and take care of the people who work with me, to ensure that they always have something else to do. For now, I have no problem with inspiration. I always try to project myself, to concentrate on the elaboration, on what it can become.

In your wildest dreams, in 2009 / 2010, when you created GHOST, could you imagine that you would be there, twelve years later?No, I thought we were going to become a more artsy kind of band, if you know what I mean. I liked to compare it to a band like DEAD CAN DANCE. Or maybe LAIBACH. A small group which would not necessarily tour a lot but which would come to play, you see, in Paris for three evenings in a hall and which would then go and perform at the Roadburn. And then six months later, we would also play a whole week of shows in New York at an art gallery, or something. I thought we would be more like a theatrical troupe; I knew that one day or another we were going to turn a lot of heads because I had already noticed that many people liked GHOST much more spontaneously than most of the other projects that I had been able to carry out before. So I knew that we were going to succeed one way or another. I mean, I'm an old rock fan. I collect t-shirts myself. I'm on the lookout for anything visual. So I knew that this logo, as well as the visual representation of the band, was going to propel us. It could most likely become a merchandising group. Maybe if we treated the band right, if we got it right, we could become a MISFITS cult - something, you know, that sold hundreds of thousands of T-shirts long after they played their last concert in 1983! ( as well as the visual representation of the group, were going to propel us. It could most likely become a merchandising group. Maybe if we treated the band right, if we got it right, we could become a MISFITS cult - something, you know, that sold hundreds of thousands of T-shirts long after they played their last concert in 1983! ( as well as the visual representation of the group, were going to propel us. It could most likely become a merchandising group. Maybe if we treated the band right, if we got it right, we could become a MISFITS cult - something, you know, that sold hundreds of thousands of T-shirts long after they played their last concert in 1983! (laughs ) So that's basically what I thought we were going to become. But then we became a bit more of a traditional touring band. So I thought, " Well, we could be like the RAMONES, and maybe go play a lot of venues, tour, and finally become a cult band.was going to do it with GHOST. So it's like... it's like wanting to be, you know, a Swedish football player. You play and you are a great hope, you dream of winning the Champions League, but you know that the Champions League is only possible if you play at Paris-St-Germain. You never imagine yourself getting there with your damn little provincial team. But we ended up at least qualifying for the Champions League with my own local team, which is far from the plan I had thought of, with another concept, but now that we are there, nobody will go applaud if I put an end to it. but you obviously know that the Champions League is only possible if you play at Paris-St-Germain. You never imagine yourself getting there with your damn little provincial team. But we ended up at least qualifying for the Champions League with my own local team, which is far from the plan I had thought of, with another concept, but now that we are there, nobody will go applaud if I put an end to it. but you obviously know that the Champions League is only possible if you play at Paris-St-Germain. You never imagine yourself getting there with your damn little provincial team. But we ended up at least qualifying for the Champions League with my own local team, which is far from the plan I had thought of, with another concept, but now that we are there, nobody will go applaud if I put an end to it.

What you're saying is really, really interesting - this dream come true - but at any point did you ever find this huge beast getting too much for you to handle?

There are always moments, a moment of the day, when you have the impression of having had your eyes bigger than your stomach. But I am sufficiently well surrounded, and everything does not necessarily have to be accomplished at the same time. Rome was not built in a day. So whatever we can't do today, maybe we can do tomorrow too. Or if the opportunity does not present itself yet, at this precise moment, perhaps it was not so important. So you kind of have to balance and see this as one piece of an ever bigger, ever moving story - and just enjoy the adventure while you can, because that's what you signed up for. It's what I dreamed of. And that's what many people dream of. And if I hadn't grasped the full extent of the things it took, would I still do it again?

 Sure. I can't do anything else. It's the only thing I'm really good at.Finally, Tobias, what would you say to someone who is still hesitating to buy their ticket for the concert at Bercy on April 18?( laughs ) No one is perfect! No... I mean, come on. You might like. You might laugh. Or you could have something to say... like explaining around you how shitty it was: you will know it concretely, knowingly, since you will have lived it!We've gone well over the schedule and there's no question of taking more of your time. You must be in full preparation to join England?

Actually, I'm leaving tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. Yeah, we're way behind because of this thrilling thing called COVID. Since our last show in Los Angeles it has taken forever to send back all of our gear and stuff which has just arrived in the UK. So everyone is working on it and trying to put everything together. It's much more difficult these days to organize tours, just because of these huge delays, so... Well, here it is, I'm flying out tomorrow. Not really a choice.We wish you all the success for this tour. It was a great pleasure, as always, to chat with you. Shared pleasure. Thank you so much.

#ghostbc #thebandghost #hardforce #tobiasforge #papaemeritus

[ilballodellavitaa]

Måneskin for QX Magasin - translation

The Swedish magazine QX did an interview with Måneskin when they were in Sweden, which they’ve now posted and here it is translated into English! Also a huge shoutout to @bidet-and-legolas for checking spelling and grammar for me!

The Italian Eurovision winners Måneskin have achieved great success during the ummer. No other Eurovision winner, ever, has managed to get new hits immediately after the win of the over 60 years old music competition. ABBA didn’t become an international success until one and a half years after the win of Eurovision 1974. But the unusual thing is that it has gone “worst” for the winning song Zitti e Buoni of all their songs on the top lists. Instead the single Beggin’ from 2017 (!) and I Wanna Be Your Slave, which was released this spring, have been topping the lists all over the world and have been talked about far outside of the classic competition’s borders. Måneskin, who most of us know about at this point, got their name after the Danish word moonshine which came from the bassist Victoria De Angelis with a Danish background. The band had their breakthrough in the Italian X-Factor 2017 and have had success in Italy until they won the San Remo festival earlier this year and thus got the opportunity to represent Italy in Eurovision. They entered as favorites, and took the victory with a lot of support from Europe’s tv-voters.

- We never thought we would win. But when we saw how many points the people gave us we had hope, says Victoria De Angelis.

They are late to their interview in the Upper House suite in Gothia Towers in Gotherburg when Victoria, singer Damiano David, guitarist Thomas Raggi and drummer Ethan Torchio come out from a nearby room styled in black and white. It is Victoria who with her hoarse voice starts talking with the help of Damiano; the other two are listening interestingly, but mostly nod in agreement.

At this moment Beggin', a cover from X-Factor which came out in 2017, is number one on Spotify's global top list. Isn't it weird to have a hit with such an old song?

- Yes, very weird. It is not really typical for how we sound today either. Our sound has developed, Damiano David explains and Victoria continues:

- As soon as the European tour is over we will go back to the studio again and continue writing. We have a few songs but we feel that it's important to find new material. We like to do a lot of songs, so we can pick the favorites later.

At the beginning of the summer the band was on the cover of the Italian Vanity Fair's pride edition, a statement that was very important for the band.

- It was important for us, especially in Italy which is a very closed-minded country when it comes to LGBTQ+ people. They have a conservative way of thinking and many people are against being gay. It is crazy, and it shouldn't be like that. We have a huge audience so we try to spread a positive message. Hopefully people who look up to us can find the courage when we say that everyone should be able to be whoever they want. It has been a taboo subject in the past, but we think it is important to spread that everyone should be able to be who they want and love who they want.

When I ask what it means when Damiano David is mentioned as a "LGBTQ-advocate" on his Wikipedia he blushes and explains:

- We try to not call ourselves that. Because those are such huge words. We do our best, and only because we talk about it we can't call ourselves that. But if we have knowledge on a subject we try to talk about it.

Victoria continues:

- I read an article yesterdy about an 12-year-old boy who likes us and wears makeup to school. He was beaten because of that, it was so sad to hear. When something like that happens we want to spread a message about feelig free to be whoever you want and not let idiots push you down. You are the one who is right and they are wrong.

In an earlier interview it was reported that Thomas is straight, Ethan "sexually free", Victoria bisexual and Damiano David is straight but "curious". Is that true?

- That was reported incorrectly. I am completely straight, but I'm not against anything. I think it was a missunderstading of the answer, says Damiano.

Do you think putting people in boxes acording to their sexuality is an old view of reality?

- Yes, but people are comfortable to put people in boxes. But often that isn't possible. I think there are many different boxes today. People should be more open-minded and stop putting people in boxes. You should only be curious of life and other people, tastes and passions, says Damiano and the others agree.

Victoria talks about when she realized she was attracted to girls and that she then didn't want to put a lable on herself.

- It is so stupid that people create a picture of who you are based on your sexuality. That's when stereotypes are made which some people don't recognize themselves in at all. That you are gay for example says nothing about your personality. The norms say that people are straight, but it limits so many people if they get to hear that at a young age. It takes a lot to break free from it when you figure out your own sexuality.

Måneskin are different from other rockbands with their style, when they mix looks that traditionally are viewed as masculine and feminine. Victoria often wears pants, the boys wear makeup and Damiano David can sometimes be seen in skirts.

The stylist Nicoló "Nick" Cerioni is the man behind many of the looks of the band.

- We like him because he is smart and good. He understands what we want and stand for with our clothes. When he wants to experiment we often say yes, says Damiano David and continues:

- Tonight I will maybe wear a skirt, but I don't feel like that's feminine. It is my skirt. Everyone should wear what they want. If I wear a crop-top, skirt, I should feel free to do so. We don't think masculine and feminine clothes exist...

- But you have to think about enough space for the cock, Victoria butts in.

Everyone laughs before Damiano continues:

- I would say so, but in a little more reserved way (laughs) "Obviosly our bodies have different forms..." but, yes for boobs and cock.

Have you always been experimental with your style?

- Yes as a 6-7-year-old I was very "boyish" in the way I dressed, and I had short hair. I thought girl clothes stopped me and prevented me from having fun. Luckily I had the strength to not care about what others said about me, says Victoria.

Thomas, who has been mostly quiet and listening adds:

- Be yourself and experiment with whatever it is, music, style...

Do you notice that the fans are looking up to you?

- They are writing that they are thankful. That thanks to us they dare to take the step to dye their hair, wear jewelry or wear makeup. We are so greatful, because that means they have understood us. To give the strength to others is one of the most beautiful things in this job, says Damiano David and the others agree.

What does the rock stage look like in Italy?

We ARE the rock stage (laughs). There are many older bands, and there are almost no young ones. We hope our fans can form their own band and strengthen the stage.

Do you have a dream collab?

- Rihanna. Miley Cyrus. Harry Styles. But maybe they are a bit too big?

Not really though? If you as an Eurovision winner reaches number one on the global Spotify chart nothing is impossible.

#damiano david #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #ethan torchio #måneskin #maneskin

[aboutdamntimeme]

She’s a Femme Fatale

Rodrick Heffley x Reader

‘Right, I think it’s best we take a bit of a break’ you say gently, looking towards Rodrick as his fidgeting finally came to a halt. You were only 20 minutes in into introducing Friedrich Nietzsche, when the leg bouncing, pencil twirling and backward chair tipping became too much for you to ignore. He sighed in relief and gave you a weak smile before getting up from his seat next to you at his desk littered with textbooks and notes in your scrawly handwriting, and onto the bed with a loud thunk.

You frowned. Usually, Rodrick was a lot more chatty than this - never missing an opportunity to unabashedly flirt, rather poorly, with his little pick up lines or awkward compliments. He always managed to mention how he was in a band and how ‘popular’ they were becoming. But today, as you whirled the chair around to face him lying flat on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, you could definitely feel something off. You bit back the urge to ask him what was wrong - you didn’t want to pry. It’d been only a week or so since you started coming here every other day to help him out on request from your philosophy teacher; you didn’t want to push any unnecessary boundaries. So you got up and busied yourself with the the shelf in the corner of his room full with records and CDs that were neatly lined together and categorised, cover to cover, a rather ironic juxtaposition to the rest of his messy room.

You smiled at yourself with the names of bands you predicted would be there - Metallica, The Rolling Stones, Sex Pistols and what not - and laughed quietly when you found a small 80s section which featured ABBA and Grease’s soundtrack. As you skimmed over the spines of each with the tip of your finger, one particular album catches your eye as you stop to slide it out.

‘Do you mind if we listen to this?’ You ask into the quiet of the room, as Rodrick peaks curiously out of his pillow clad face. He sits up suddenly, beaming. ‘You like The Velvet Underground?’ He asks, the tiredness that clung to him suddenly melting away as you nod your head excitedly. ‘Yeah! This album is my favourite though’ you say, handing him the album as he takes it out of its sleeve and places it in his small record player which he pulls out from under his bed.

‘What’s your favourite song?’ He asks as you take a seat next to him on the carpeted floor at the foot of his bed. You pause in thought, a little warm in the face with the intensity at which he was gazing at you. ‘Probably Femme Fatale’ you sigh, ‘I love Nico’s voice. It’s so deep and beautiful’ He hums in agreement. ‘Didn’t take you for someone who liked rock’ he muses. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleasantly surprised’

‘Well just because I don’t wear band T-shirts to school everyday doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a little Velvet Underground every once in a while’ you laugh, pointing to his The Who T-shirt.

‘Touché’ he grins. ‘What else do you listen to?’

‘I’m more of a punk rock kinda gal. More into The Strokes and Weezer and Radiohead. But I do enjoy the occasional Clash or David Bowie - Brit rock has a special place in my heart so I’m always a little biased when it comes to that’ you babble on before before turning back to Rodrick, his mouth wide open in shock, eyes twinkling in admiration. His brain seemed to be almost buffering with this new information you were throwing at him, awestruck and completely at a loss of words.

‘Sorry’ you mumble, embarrassed. ‘I tend to ramble when talking about music’

‘No, no that was... really cute’ he smiled which had you looking away, heart beating loudly in your chest. He’s called you cute before on multiple occasions but it was never this genuine. You mumble a quiet ‘let’s listen to this then get back to work’ and put the needle down as the record began to spin.

That’s when he noticed it, a quiet radiance that surround you, like the slipping of gentle sunlight through the cracks of blinds that warmed up one’s skin in crisp winter mornings. The kind of beauty that didn’t necessarily stand out particularly from a crowd, but once noticed, would leave a soft impression on one’s mind, like a stain of a flower petal forgotten between the pages of an old book. Looking at you now, quietly singing along to Nico’s bluesy voice, he couldn’t help but feel this radiance of yours burning a little brighter, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

In that moment, he knew we was completely smitten.

I remember having a huge crush on Rodrick and decided it would be fun to write a fic about him for some reason. I hope this was a fun read even though I get a little geeky with the music bits whoops

#rodrick rules #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick x reader #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #the velvet underground #femme fatale #greg heffley #rodrick heffley x reader #punk rock #60s rock

[bethansfandoms]

Prompt suggestion — Remus masterminding a marauders prank (as usual) and Sirius just loves this version of his boyfriend so he's all heart eyes and he kinda stops paying attention to what he's saying and his minds starts wandering...

this prompt got a tiny bit away from me and is a little more marauders shenanigans with wolfstar on the side but anyway i hope you enjoy.

in the summer before their seventh and final year at hogwarts, remus and peter had stayed with the potters for the first two weeks rather than the last two as remus was going on holiday with his parents.

what this meant is when sirius greeted his boyfriend on the train station platform, he hadn’t seen him for four weeks and the closets he was allowed to get to fulfilling his desire to kiss him, was to embrace him in a brotherly hug which felt weird and wrong.

they’d planned to tell james and peter about them over the summer but when it transpired that remus would be away for the end of it, the beginning felt far too soon and both of them backed out.

sirius kept a hand on remus’ upper arm, squeezed, and then reluctantly let go as remus followed him onto the train. peter had claimed a carriage near the very back as the marauders needed top secrecy.

today was the day that their prank for the first day back of term would be finalised. of course, they hadn’t accounted for the fact that james potter would be made head boy. it hadn’t even been within the realms of possibility. james said he’d keep sneaking off patrolling the corridors to come and join them and him being head boy didn’t seem to deter his enthusiasm for the prank.

“hey moony, padfoot.” peter greeted. “how was france!”

remus smiled and told peter a few anecdotes as sirius listened to absolutely none of it and instead focussed on the fact that remus lupin had a tan.

remus never had a tan. during summer, he’d wear so much sun cream that his face actually got paler and the rest of his body was always concealed with clothing.

apparently remus’ freckles came out with the sun and sirius couldn’t stop thinking about the ones that smattered his nose and cheeks and how he’d quite like to kiss —

“okay, lads,” james snapped him out his daydream. “what’s the plan? quickly now because if evans notices in gone, i’m toast.”

remus grinned and pulled down a book from his trunk. “i researched it a lot. it’s entirely possible. even better, i think i found a way to choose what it says.”

a mischievous smile spread across james’ face. “you mean... when we put the spell on the sorting hat—”

“we can also add one that means it’s limited to whatever words we choose.”

james quickly stood and took out his invisibility cloak. “take this now incase i get called away. i assume you’ll be doing the spell, moony?”

the small smile that made it’s way onto remus’ face made sirius’ stomach flip. he loved remus like this. his eyes bright and excited with mischief, the dimple on his left cheek visible. sirius found himself contemplating just kissing remus right in front of them. that would probably give james and pete the message.

“sirius,” peter said, “any ideas?”

sirius blinked and looked quickly away from remus. “uh... about what?”

james laughed. “merlin, sirius, you feeling okay mate? this is the first and last prank we’re ever doing during the welcome feast and you’re a million miles away.”

remus smiled rather sheepishly at him. “any ideas as to what we should get the hat to say?”

they all went silent as they thought about it. well, the others all thought about it, sirius’ mind was still transfixed on the thought that kissing remus right here would be a pretty quick and effective way of coming out.

“we could get it to sing a song?” peter said slowly.

remus’ face lit up and sirius nearly did. kiss him for it. “pete, that’s brilliant! i don’t think i could get it to actually sing, but if we made it so every time it opened its mouth it could only say the lyrics to—”

“dancing queen?” james suggested. “i really feel like some abba.”

remus shrugged. “sounds great. peter?”

peter nodded enthusiastically, “if this works, we’re about to get the quickest detentions in hogwarts history.”

remus laughed, sirius decided his laugh was one of his favourite sounds. “sirius?”

sirius’ eyes flitted down to remus’ lips and it was mostly subconscious, however it meant that when he looked back up to remus’ eyes, he really couldn’t help himself.

sirius reasoned that they’d planned to tell james and pete at the end of summer originally and it was now the end of summer. sirius was also the one who’d requested they keep it a secret anyway and remus had always been okay with telling them. he also hadn’t kissed him for four weeks and he really needed to.

sirius cupped his face and felt remus laugh against his mouth as he kissed him. remus didn’t protest at all, instead he gripped the front of sirius’ shirt and pulled him slightly closer.

when they pulled away, james was watching them with a raised eyebrow and a grin and peter looked thoroughly surprised.

“that’s how you’re telling us about you?” james asked. “really?”

remus laughed again. “that was all sirius, i literally didn’t know he was about to do that.”

james shrugged and clapped sirius’ shoulder. “good on you. how long has it been then?”

“few months,” sirius replied, looking at remus and smirking a little.

james pouted. “weird. i only realised at the beginning of summer.”

“you knew?” sirius, remus and peter had all said it at the same time and it set them off laughing again.

“sirius, mate, you have the least discreet heart eyes known to man and this is coming from the guy who’s been pining after evans for years.”

sirius threw remus’ spell boom at him. “so you don’t mind?”

“as long as you two don’t break up and make me choose between you, i don’t mind.”

sirius gasped, “you’d choose me though, right?”

james looked to remus and hung his head. “i’m very sorry, moony, he’s my brother. you can have peter.”

“we’re not breaking up,” remus replied, rolling his eyes. sirius grinned and fought the urge to kiss him again. he quite liked the idea of being stuck with remus for the rest of his life.

+ bonus

sirius felt remus sit down next to him on the bench. they’d told the girls he was with madam pomfrey as the invisibility cloak would stay firmly on; appearing from nowhere would raise questions.

the group of shivering first years stood nervously in front of the stool, waiting. everyone else knew how this worked. the hat gave a speech, the sorting ceremony happened, they had the feast, they sung the school song.

the hat opened the the seam at the front and the hall went silent.

“you can dance, you can jive,” it’s voice rung out, “having the time of your life.”

some of the students got it immediately and burst into laughter. sirius couldn’t help but grin as well.

“see that girl, watch that scene, diggin’ the dancing queen.” remus was right, they hadn’t been able to get the hat to sing it, instead it recited the lyrics to abba’s dancing queen like profound and meaningful poetry.

mcgonagall had realised what was happening now and quickly waved her wand at the hat to stop it talking. some students booed in response.

she flicked her wand at the hat experimentally and waited for it to speak. “friday night and the lights are low.” she silenced it again.

the sorting was delayed until after the feast. they eventually managed to reverse the spell and the sorting hat gave it’s song, not one by abba, as normal.

after it was over, dumbledore announced it would be time for the school song. he flicked his wand and the lyrics appeared. everyone sung them in mismatched tempos, rhythms and pitches, just like always.

everyone aside from the marauders. they stood on the table and continued where the hat had left off. “looking out for a place to go! where they play the right music, getting in the swing, you come in to look for a king!”

the marauders, including remus as although nobody had seen him, they figured he was involved, were given detention on their first night back in the castle. mcgonagall informed them it was the quickest detention in hogwarts history and the first time gryffindor had ever been on minus house points.

to her dismay, they all seemed to see this as a grand achievement.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar fanfic #wolfstar fanfiction #marauders #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x remus lupin #mwpp #wolfstar oneshot #wolfstar prompts #wolfstar textpost #wolfstar prompt #wolfstar fluff

[emerald-phoenix-dragon]

"straight as a ruler"

Hey yall, here’s the long-awaited deamus fic that we’ve all been waiting for! If you want to follow my tumblr, it’s on my instagram profile now :). And if anyone from tumblr wants to follow my instagram, my handle’s @em.jade_dragon on there! Do like, share, save, reblog etc my posts, it really helps! More interaction (i.e interaction with my stories, commenting) would be very much appreciated :D. Anyways, without further ado, let’s get into things!

This is an eighth-year AU. TW/CW: food, alcohol, parties. stay safe everyone!

After the war, Professor McGonagall (now headmistress) invited all of the previous seventh-years back to Hogwarts to give them the chance to learn all of what they missed out on, as well as complete their NEWTs if they wished to do so. Most of the students did end up returning, even though a lot of them already had jobs (or offers that they had accepted).

The “eighth-years” were given their very own common room, and Dean was very glad for this.

It had been a relatively easy Saturday, and now, it was around 6pm, and the sun had just set. And because it was a Saturday, everyone was prepared for the event they all looked forward to - the weekly eight-year party. When Dean finally arrived on scene, albeit slightly late due to some solo quidditch practise (they didn't have any teams, but the eighth-years often had fun matches that were inter-house) to take his mind off something that had been bugging him for a while: Seamus. he couldn't quite put a finger on why he was having that nagging, butterfly-feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of his late best friend, but he kept on ignoring it hoping it'd go a way. He had the slightest suspicion what it might've been - after all, Dean was pretty sure he was pansexual, so it wasn't completely unexpected. But he'd intentionally tried to forget about it. He had, for a little, whilst he was outside, but now, as he entered the common room, he grew queasy again knowing his best friend would be looking for him.

As soon as he stepped foot inside, he noticed that a lot of people were already half-wasted. He must've been later than he thought.

"Dean-y, there you are!" He turned to see Ginny Weasley bounding towards him cheerfully, her eyes a little glassy. Other than that, she appeared to be pretty sober. "Gin, hey," Dean replied, giving her a light hug. They'd dated for a short while previously, but had broken it off after they both realised they were better of as friends. He was glad for that - they'd never have worked out, not when Ginny was practically in love with another classmate of theirs (spoiler alert - it wasn't Harry). He knew she, Neville and Luna had snuck into the party again. Not that anybody minded.

Ginny laughed loudly, and ran a hand through her cropped shoulder-length hair. She'd reportedly gotten Neville to cut it for her. "Needed a change", Dean remembered her telling him a month back. It suited her. "Dean, helloOo?" Ginny waved her hand in his face, and Dean blinked. "Come on, let's go say hi to everyone else!" she said, and promptly dragged him to the end corner of the room. There, on the couch, sat the golden trio, squished in with the bronze trio group. Neville and Luna were there too - Neville and Blaise were engaged in a flirty conversation on the floor, and Luna smiling fondly at them. She turned when Dean and Ginny approached.

"Oh, hello, Dean. How was quidditch practise?" she asked sweetly. He told her it was fine and she nodded. "Got a case of wrack spurts around you. Seamus, too."

Dean wondered what it meant. He was about to ask but before he could Ginny had strolled up to her girlfriend and had begun kissing Luna rather passionately. Sighing, he sat down near Blaise.

Hermione and Ron were cackling loudly with Pansy, who was telling a story involving Draco and the giant squid. Draco was silently sulking, leaning against Harry who was playing mindlessly with his partner's hair. "Dean, mate, you made it!" Harry said, nodding at him.

He smiled slightly. "Yeah. What'd I miss?" "Well, Dray here's been traumatised by Pansy and Ron and 'Mione-" "-They were not!-" Pansy cut in, now listening to the conversation as Hermione and Ron started discussing something about Percy Weasley and his new relationship with Oliver Wood.

Dean and Harry laughed. Malfoy scowled, but their eyes were light. "-Anyways, Ron and 'Mione and I had a fun time teasing Blaise and Nev, and at some point we were all dancing to ABBA music but we settled down again." Harry continued.

Ron nodded. He made a terrible impression of Parvati and Lavender, who had been singing along, before he stopped and seemed to remember something. "Oh yeah, and Seamus came looking for you. Not sure where he's gone now, but Luna said something about some girl rejecting him and now he's probably sulking-" Luna, by this point, had tuned into the conversation, with Ginny now sitting in her lap and gazing lovingly at her. "I never said she was a she, Ron. But yes, he had quite a lot of fuzz around his head." "You should go check on him, mate, he's your bestie!" Ginny suddenly exclaimed, her voice slurring. Dean nodded and got up, exiting the scene.

***

Despite having left his circle of friends rather swiftly, Dean had been interrupted several times for small chats and drinks with people in the room before he could even start searching for Seamus. He'd heard the latest gossip from Padma Patil and Wayne Hopkins, been given a bottle of fire whisky from Theo Nott, and had discussed the uses of owl feathers with owl enthusiast Michael Corner. At this point he'd gotten rather tired and was a tad bit intoxicated.

He ended exiting the common room and heading down into a more quiet hallway to try and sober up, when he'd heard quiet sniffling in the corner. Curious, Dean cautiously approached the noise to find Seamus sitting hunched against the wall, a bottle cradled in his palms. When Dean approached him, Seamus looked up and wiped the tears from his eyes rather swiftly.

"Guess you finally decided to turn up whilst your best mate got his heart broken, huh?" he said bitterly, his Irish accent coming out thicker than it usually did. Dean's heart melted a little, and he felt incredibly guilty. "Seamus, I'm so sorry I was clearing my head out a bit at the quidditch pitch and lost track of time, I feel awful I-" Seamus put a hand up, telling him to stop. He stood up and put the bottle on the floor. Dean couldn't help but notice how soft Seamus' hair looked tonight, and how toned his muscles were through the thin school shirt. Seamus, unfortunately, noticed Dean's staring. "What're you staring at for?" "I- nothing", Dean said quickly, awkwardly scratching his neck, looking away at the wall for a second. He'd forgotten how incredibly fit the Irish boy was, even though he was both taller and more muscular than Seamus. They stood in silence a bit, before Seamus spoke up. "I asked someone out today. Thought I'd give m'self a shot, y'know? But they said no. It wasn't a girl who- who rejected me. It-" he breathed out shakily, and Dean realised how incredibly shattered he was, and put a hand on Seamus' arm without thinking about it too much. "-It was a guy. Stephen something from Ravenclaw."

Dean didn't know what to say. He had wondered if his best friend had been 'bent', but never really thought about it too deeply. Inwardly he felt his guts churn and he suddenly felt strangely content, but he wasn't sure why "I- I'm so sorry mate, that's awful," he began, and trying to lighten the atmosphere, continued, "Maybe Steph wasn't into white guys?" His best mate laughed, and it was a broken, hollow sound. "Thanks Dean-o, really makes meh feel better. Perhaps he's into you, eh?" "I- well I'm not into him-" he began, but Seamus cut him off. "Bloody no shit, you're straight as a ruler!"

"But I'm not. Straight as a ruler, you say. I'm- I think I'm pan, Shay." "I- what?" Somehow, without Dean realising, Seamus had brought his hands onto his chest. And now all he could feel was his calloused palms digging slightly onto his chest, over his erratically beating heart. "I thought I was the gay bloke out of the two of us! Like, I dunno, at least the only fruity one."

"I guess you thought wrong." Dean said awkwardly.

"I guess I did." They stood there for another minute, staring at each other.

And suddenly Dean remembered that he was still holding onto Seamus rather tightly, so he made to let go, when he felt hands sliding down to his waist and gripping him. Astonished, he glanced up from staring at the floor and looked into his best mate's deep brown eyes. He reached his other hand out unconsciously, cupping his chin. "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Shay said, the lilt in his tongue sounding for some reason really hot.

Next thing Dean knew, Seamus had crashed his lips onto him, pushing him into the opposite wall of the narrow corridor.

He didn't respond at first. Seamus stopped for a second, pulling back. "Kiss me back, you dolt, or I swear to merlin I'll be punching that fucking sexy face of yours-" Next thing Seamus knew, Dean was snogging him back.

~fin

#deamus #seamus finnegan #dean thomas #dean x seamus #harry potter #hermione granger #ronald weasley #pansy parkinson #draco and harry #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #neville longbottom #luna lovegood #ginny weasley #linny #bleville #eight year AU #hogwarts #fanfic #fluff #angst #oblivious pining #lgbt #gay #oneshot

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Terrible Dancers

Prompt: You are spending the holidays at the burrow with George, Fred, Ginny and the golden trio. The house is packed most of the time, which is fine seeing you love everyone there *cough* especially Fred *cough* but when you get a chance of having some guaranteed alone time, you take it to your advantage. Only realizing you weren't totally alone when Fred comes downstairs to see you dancing around the living room in your pajamas, leading to a dance battle, laughing, and a confession.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, cute things, that's it I thing?

A/N:Is this probably the lamest, most corny, most bazar fic I’ve ever written? Yes, but this idea came to me when I was listening to ABBA in the car and I couldn’t not write it, So there will be 80s muggle music references in this to give you the full ⭐experience ⭐ . Anyway I hope you all enjoy it! Feel free to leave any fic recs. 

A/N2: I AM IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING THIS AND OMG PLEASE PLAY THE SONG I’LL WRITE IN WHEN JUST OMG IM CRYING.

You were currently sat on on of the couches in the burrow, your legs kicked up in front of you as you read a book. It was one of the few times you were able to find some quiet in the burrow. You loved the burrow, you thought of it as your second home, but with Arthur, Molly, Fred, George, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and yourself all staying for the Holidays, you had to admit it was a bit crowded.

However, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had least earlier in the day, saying they were running errands, which was probably code for doing something illegal, but you knew they were fine so you took the opportunity to finally catch up on a book Hermione had recommended to you. 

After about an hour of reading, Molly walked in, greeting you with a smile that lit up the room. You smiled back, marking your place in your book and putting it down beside you.

“Hello dear, the boys and I were going to head off and do some last minute holiday shopping, would you like to join us?” She asked.

“I’ve gotten all my shopping done, so I think I’ll just stay in today if that alright?” You asked.

“Of course! Though you will be here alone, you know where everything is if you need something?” Molly asked, concern in her voice. You nodded.

“Yes, thank you” You smiled.

“Alright, we’ll be back by sundown, try to enjoy the peace and quiet” Molly joked, making you laugh.

“I will, have fun!” You said, watching as Molly left the room headed towards the fireplace, before opening your book again to continue reading.

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before you started feeling antsy. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The burrow was known for always being active and full of laughing, happy people, so now that the only sound in the whole house was the steady ticking of the clock, you had to admit, it was a little freaky being the only one here.

You quickly closed your book, and idea popping into your head. You decided to bring your Walkman when you left to go to the burrow just in case you ever needed to block out the noise. You hadn’t used it at all so far, and now seemed like the perfect time.

You ran upstairs into the room you were sharing with Ginny and Hermione, digging through your bag and pulling out the rectangular object. Your parents had made you a mixtape of your favorite songs before you left, and while you loved some popular wizard singers, you missed your music.

You ran back downstairs, putting the Walkman down and pressing play, the music instantly starting up, playing one of your favorite songs.

A Man After Midnight, by ABBA

You walked to the empty area in front of the couch and started to dance, swaying your hips a bit, before starting to sing the words.

“Half past twelve and I’m watching the late show in my flat all alone, how I hate to spend the evening on my own.”

As you were singing you started swaying around the room, grabbing your wand to use as a microphone, and continuing to get more and more energetic as the song went on. 

“Is there a soul out there?”

You stopped moving just tapping your foot, slowly raising the hand that wasn’t holding the wand.

“Someone to hear my prayers........”

“Gimme Gimme Gimme a man after midnight!” You sang at the top of your lungs, jumping around the room and singing into your wand. You were so lost in the moment, you didn’t notice the figure walking down the stairs, until-

“Take me through the darkness through the break of the- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Your singing was cut off by the sound of you screaming, well cursing, as you turned around to see Fred staring at you with a confused, half asleep look, a grin spread across his face. “What the fuck are you doing?” You practically yelled, running over to switch off your radio.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Fred laughed, the slight smile he had before now turning into a shit eating grin.

“You know, just.... dancing’” You said, desperately trying to act casual, like your crush of two years didn’t just walk downstairs, shirtless by the way, to see you dancing around like a maniac”

“I can see that. Its awful” Fred joked, making his way down the rest of the stairs and walking over to you.

“Shut up I’m amazing. Wait I thought you and your family were going out shopping” You said, suddenly remembering you were supposed to be alone.

“Yeah, George tried to make me to come along, but I didn’t wake up so my mum left a note” He said, sitting on the couch in front of you.

You nodded in understanding, trying your best to look Fred in the face, instead of letting your eyes wander to his hair which was currently sticking out in all directions. Or toward his chest which was currently bare exposing a constellation of freckles, or at how low his sweatpants were hanging-

“Earth to Y/N” Fred said, waving a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your thought.

“Oh yeah, nice, cool” You said nodding, rocking back on your heels.

“What were you listening to, it doesn’t sound familiar?” Fred asked, leaning back on the couch.

“Oh, it’s a muggle band called ABBA, they’re basically music goddesses” You joked, walking over to your Walkman picking it up and handing it him.

“That's a lot of praise, considering your horrible taste in wizard music” He said, making you playfully swat his arm, a fake offended expression crossing your face before smiling, pressing the play button and continuing the song.

“Huh, its actually not bad, what else do you have on this?” He asked smiling.

You smiled back, taking back the Walkman and skipping to the next song, which happened to be “Africa” by Toto.

“This one’s really popular, I think you’ll like it” You said, setting down the Walkman and going to sit next to him.

As the music started I could see Fred starting to bob his Head to the beat.

“I like it so far” Fred said

An hour later, and you and Fred were dancing around the living room, singing at the top of your lungs.

“So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye!” Fred yelled

“So you think you can love me and leave me to die!” You sang back

“Ooooooh baby, don’t do this to me baby, just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here” You both sang in unison, Fred playing an air guitar as you sang into your wand.

As the slow started to slow down, you both just started swaying, smiling at each other and catching your breath. Finally after a moment the song ended, making you both laugh.

“That ones my favorite so far” Fred said laughing, going to take a break and sit on the couch, you plopping next to him.

“Its a classic” You laughed, taking a deep breath, trying to cool down from the very intense dancing. 

The next song started up and you instantly recognized it, practically lunging at the small radio to skip the song, but as soon as you hit the pause button, Fred snatched it out of your hands.

“Hey” You yelled, reaching to get the device back which Fred held over his head, making it hard to reach.

“What’s wrong with the next song?” Fred asked, making your face heat up a bit.

“It’s not really dancing music, my parents probably only added it on because they know it’s one of my favorites, but yeah it’s not that good we can skip it” You said quickly, attempting to get the radio back from Fred, but he still kept it over his head.

“Y/N, if you like it than I’m sure its great” Fred said smiling down at you. You let out a breath. You knew he wasn’t going to let it go until you played it.

“Fine” You said, Fred finally handing the radio back. You rewound the song so it would start from the beginning, before taking a breath, and pressing play.

*PLAY CAN’T HELPING FALLING IN LOVE BY ELVIS*

The music picked up, and with it your heartbeat, afraid of what Fred was going to say. You were internally panicking, playing one of the most iconic love songs ever written in front of your long time friend and crush.

You had been friends with this boy since first year. You might even go as far to call him your best friend. Sure there had been flirty moments but most of it was just kidding around, but this was different.

Before you could panic anymore though, Fred had stood up and turned to face you. A sly smile grew across his face before he held out his hand to you.

“Dance with me” 

“...What?” you asked, eyes widening. Were you hearing this right?

“Dance with me” Fred repeated. So without thinking you took his hand and stood up.

He led you to the middle of the living room, moving to put your right hand on his shoulder, holding your left and resting his other hand on your waist, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Trying to make a move on me Weasley?” You joked, trying to ease the tension.

“Maybe” He said smiling, but it wasn’t his usual joking smile, it was more sincere.

You started to sway to the music, laughing as Fred twirled you, your hand moving back to its original place on Fred's shoulder.

As the music continued to play, you couldn’t help but listen to the lyrics, while looking up at the boy you were dancing with, finding he was already looking at you.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be”

Fred suddenly wrapped his arm around your back, moving to dip you backwards, startling a laugh out of you, before he pulled you back up, pulling your chest closer to his, barely leaving any room between you to.

“For I can’t help, falling in love with you”

You moved your hand out of his, instead moving to rest your arms around Fred’s neck, Fred moving his now free hand to your other hip.

“Who taught you how to dance?” You jokingly asked, once again trying to relive the tension that had grown between you too.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m just a natural?” Fred smiled

“Definitely not” You smiled back, making a light chuckle leave his lips.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can’t help, falling in love with you”

“I think this might be my new favorite song” Fred said, making you roll your eyes but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face.

“Why’s that” You asked, noticing how Fred’s demeanor seemed to get more serious compared to his usual playful attitude.

“Because it’s your favorite song, and you’re my favorite person” Fred said.

The butterflies that were in fluttering in your stomach before were now in a frenzy, your heart beating like crazy. You continued to sway to the music, slowing as the song finally stopped. Fred moved a hand up to move a strand of hair out of your face, before closing the space between you, connecting your lips.

You pulled him closer as well, kissing him back and moving your hands to his hair while his moved back to your waist. After a moment your finally pulled away, looking into each others eyes.

“You’re my favorite person too” You said, making the both of you smile.

“Is that the end of the tape?” Fred asked, noticing that the music wasn’t continuing.

“Yep, but I have another one one second” You said, moving out of Fred’s grasp to sprint up the stairs, Fred laughing behind you.

You came back downstairs, a new tape in ahnd. You quickly switched out the tack and pressed play, waiting for the music to start.

“Who did you say was your favorite person again?” Fred asked as you walked back over to him, laughing as you wrapped your arms around him. He moved to take a step back and stumbled, tripping over the book you had put down earlier, and because you were already holding him, you fell as well.

“Shit! Are you ok?” You asked, landing on Fred’s chest, looking up at his face to see him laughing, sending you into a fit of laughter as well, before you were both cut off by the sound of the Walkman playing that oh so familiar Saxophone.

You would have appreciated the irony, but before you could you heard the front door open, looking over to see Ron, Hermione, and Harry all looking at you... laying on top of a shirtless Fred..... with careless whisper playing in the background.

“It’s not what it looks like!” you said, quickly sitting up, Fred helping you to stand so you could turn off the music.

“My eyes!” Ron shrieked

“She fell we weren’t!-” Fred started.

“We don’t want to hear it pervs” Harry said, a slightly joking tone in his voice.

“For shame” Hermione said shaking her head disappointedly, but as the two other boys left towards their room, she gave you a quick thumbs up before running off as well.

You listened in silence as the three ran up the stairs, the door slamming behind them. There were a few seconds of silence between you and Fred, neither of you knowing how to process what just happened.

“You know, we could do what it looked like” Fred said slyly.

“Fred!”

------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I’m not going to lie, I think the ending is hilarious. Any who, I hope you enjoyed this super sappy, almost cringe worthy fic. Feel free to leave requests if you want. 

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fic #fred weasley headcannon #fred fanfic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n