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#southpaw
stephendorff · 3 days
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Southpaw (2015) // Road House (2024
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smaiart · 8 months
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Here's a look at the Monsters I designed for Cassette Beasts! 📼
(Arkidd, Jumpkin, Southpaw, Frillypad)
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gmzriver · 10 months
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Rachel McAdams as Jessica in “The Hot Chick” icons
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chewbacca · 1 year
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Rachel McAdams as Maureen Hope — SOUTHPAW (2015) dir. Antoine Fuqua
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team-jakey-jakes · 4 months
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JAKE GYLLENHAAL | the serious actor contemplates…
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roxirinart · 5 months
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Head filled with this boxing dog thing from Cassette Beasts (amazing game, consuming my life, don't send help I'm very happy here ty)
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bdystchers · 6 months
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jake gyllenhaaal ★
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seals-and-doodles · 9 months
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Another Cassette Beast! Southpaw this time - so fun to play as this tincan punch wolf.
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xtrokeme · 7 months
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i'm taking one-shot requests for ryan gosling and jake gyllenhaal characters x reader if you are interested, i'm not a pro but i want to give it a try !!
ryan gosling's characters i can write:
holland march (the nice guys)*
sebastian wilder (la la land)*
driver (drive)*
sierra six (the gray man)
officer k (blade runner 2049)
henry letham (stay)
jerry wooters (gangster squad)
dean (blue valentine)
jake gyllenhaal's characters i can write:
detective loki (prisoners)*
billy hope (southpaw)
donnie (donnie darko)
-----
* means that they're my favs
don't hesitate to send a request please !!!
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adore-laur · 4 months
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SOUTHPAW
— a heartwarming friends to lovers story set in the 90’s 🌴
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——
ORLANDO, 1991
The city calls him Southpaw, a sobriquet graciously granted to the left-handed pitcher who has won every game for the Orlando Sun Rays at Tinker Field.
Harry Styles is the praised name behind it all. The tall, curly-headed boy is swiftly on his way to stardom. He's an undeniable force to be reckoned with, built with strong arms that can throw curveballs and fastballs with lightning speed. The twenty-five-year-old is the backbone of his team, the best in the Southern League, and the player who makes the others green with envy. He impressively balances the substantial titles while remaining charismatic and altruistic to everyone he encounters. 
When he's not found in the ballpark wearing his usual blue and white baseball uniform, a cap sits atop his head, paired with tan skin that seems to have a new ink design each time he's spotted by an onlooker.
Then there's Sawyer Clemente. Well, she knows for sure that she isn't quite as commendable as her best friend. Standing just a smidge over five feet, she could never amount to his accomplishments or role model status. To put it plainly, she's unemployed, lives with her parents, and has an ex-boyfriend that she hates because she just found out he cheated on her last night. 
She's merely Harry's closest companion, rooting for him in the bleachers even if she thinks baseball is a painfully dull sport that only inflates the male ego and makes her sweat in the merciless Florida heat.
She also has a plaguing crush on him but doesn't like to dwell on that matter too much. 
It almost seems punishing not to, though, because he's naturally flirtatious. It's impossible not to think about his innocent yet butterfly-inducing touches. To tell where his feelings for her lie, whenever he hugs her tightly after a successful game or looks down at her lips while she rambles about her day, proves to be even more unfeasible. 
Sawyer glumly watches the semifinal game, veering her troublesome thoughts away by appreciating Harry's legs in his form-fitting baseball pants. Nothing else seems to be working, so she borderline objectifies him while he chews his Bazooka bubblegum in concentration. 
She debated not attending because of the cheating revelation unmasked to her hours earlier, but she would never forgive herself if she missed such an important game for Harry. It determines whether the Sun Rays will compete for the highly illustrious minor league title. 
It's now the start of the seventh inning, and it's about the hundredth time she has caught Harry's eyes finding her in the crowd with a solicitous gaze and a frown on his lips. Her tense body language and absent-minded expression must indicate her mood. She absolutely despises how well he knows her. 
Harry focuses back on the game as he gets into position on the pitching mound, ball in hand and an undaunted mystique exuding from him. With unkempt curls framing his face, a smear of dirt on his cheek that was kicked up from his teammates sprinting to the bases, and his jaw contracting with each gum smack, he finally lifts one leg and throws the ball so fast it could be missed if someone were to blink. The crack of the bat reverberates throughout the stadium, and Sawyer sees Harry glance up to find her again. 
Then, every player's worst nightmare happens. Sawyer's worst nightmare happens. 
A cry of agonizing pain echoes loud and clear. Sawyer is up out of her seat instantly, her hands slapping over her mouth as she watches Harry double over and hold his wrist, his baseball mitt tossed to the side. His teeth are gritted, his knees bent as he rocks back and forth on the ground. Players hurriedly signal for the medics as whispers from fans in the audience mix with panicked yelling coming from the field. All of it is in the background of Sawyer's mind since the only thing she can focus on is Harry. He's in pain, so much pain, and it brings terror-stricken tears to her eyes as he cries out again when his coach jogs over to him and tries to touch his wrist. 
Everything escalated so rapidly. Sawyer doesn't know what happened, and she's petrified because she's never seen her best friend in such an excruciating condition before. The only injuries she'd seen him suffer through were a harmless twisted ankle and the sporadic cramp in his hand. 
The medics cautiously escort Harry into the dugout. Sawyer doesn't hesitate to follow them. She can't just wait it out; there's a dire need in her to take care of him. She shuffles past people and quickly walks down the wide stairs toward the dugout, where his team is gathered. Some have their arms over their heads. Some are crouched with uneasy expressions. 
Sawyer goes to where she's seen the medics stand by during previous games. One of them, wearing a red vest, immediately lifts their hand to stop her. "Ma'am, fans are not allowed back here," she informs, her calm tone doing nothing to mitigate Sawyer's pounding heart. "Please return to your seat." 
"I can't! H-Harry," she stammers, standing on her tiptoes to try and locate him. "Harry Styles is my friend. Where's his coach? He'll recognize me. Please just let me see him." 
The medic sighs and calls behind her, "Someone tell Gardenhire I'm letting a girl in! Tell him she's Southpaw's friend!" 
Sawyer almost collapses with relief. "Thank you so much, miss. I owe you my life. Um, where do I go?" 
"Go straight ahead and take a left." She points and guides her in the correct direction. "Don't get too close. Let everyone do their job." 
As Sawyer runs to the medic tent, she can hear Harry's muffled groans and heavy breathing get louder. She puts a hand on her chest as his coach notices her and silently ushers her in. 
"Get her out," Harry strains from his place on the stretcher. "Sawyer, leave. Damnit, someone take her."
His voice grows weaker as his pain worsens. Sawyer only gets closer. 
"Looks like the ball hit and fractured his hamate bone in his left hand," explains a medic over the commotion. "It's swelling pretty fast, so surgery will be required as soon as possible. He won't be able to play for a while." 
Harry's eyes are pinched shut as they poke and prod his skin. Sawyer's heart sinks when she notices the pain etched on his face, a face that's usually so radiant and lit up with a smile. Her feet are frozen as she watches people surround him with bandages and ice packs. His body is stiff, and he's breathing shakily through his nose. When his eyes open, he reaches out his uninjured hand. Sawyer knows he would never want her to leave when he's hurting. He would never leave her side if the roles were reversed right now.
"Come here," he whispers scratchily. "It's okay. I'm fine." 
"Harry, no, you're not!" she exclaims, running her hands through her hair as her bottom lip wobbles. "God, why did you keep looking at me? Why weren't you paying attention out there?" 
"Hey, hey, hey," he says softly, gripping her hand and bringing her toward him. "Less of that, please. You looked like something was bothering you. Tell me." 
Sawyer stomps her foot and groans in frustration. He's too selfless! He's on the verge of tears but concerned about her instead. 
"Don't worry about me right now. I'll tell you later, okay? You need to go to the hospital." 
Harry squeezes her small hand with his large one. "Is it about your boyfriend?" 
She sighs sharply. Again, she despises how well he knows her. A reply doesn't come, though, because an ambulance suddenly pulls up, the back doors opening as the sirens shriek. The medics help Harry sit up, and Sawyer doesn't let go of his hand the entire way to the vehicle. 
"Go home," he says once he's sat on the edge. "Just go home and run a bath or something. I want you away from here." 
Her wide, brown eyes dart back and forth between his. "At least let me ride to the hospital with you." 
"Sawyer, no. Listen to me." He cradles her tear-streaked cheek and roughly kisses the opposite one. "Listen, please. I'll feel better knowing you're safe at home." 
She would do anything to relieve his worry, so she nods her head with a sad sniffle. "Okay." 
"Don't cry over me." He winces with an uncomfortable groan when the ice pack slides off his wrist. Sawyer picks it up and gently returns it to his bruised, swollen skin. "I'm alive. It's not like I'm dying." 
"That's not funny," she scolds, crossing her arms. "But I'll go home now. You're in pain, so I'm not going to keep you any longer. They'll take you to the hospital, fix you, and everything will be fine." She's convincing Harry, but more so herself. 
"Correct," he says with a smirk. 
"Correct," she repeats while standing. "Keep me updated." 
"I will, Sawyer. Drive safe." He swings his feet like a child and scrunches his nose. "Tell your parents I say hi... with a broken wrist."
She smiles fondly and reluctantly leaves with a ruffle to his sweaty hair, glancing back on her way out to witness the ambulance doors shut with a bang. On her way home, she calls her mother and asks if she could start running a bath for her. She plans on sinking down in the warm water and praying to whatever higher power that Harry will be okay. 
Praying his sunrays won't dim. 
——
Tinker Field is empty when Sawyer arrives in the early afternoon. Harry is there throwing a baseball up and down with his right hand, just like she assumed. A new accessory adorns his left one, a bandage wrapped around his wrist from the surgery he underwent. He looks incredibly gorgeous in his purple corduroy pants and fitted white T-shirt. The bandana tied around his neck is a nice touch, along with his lucky yellow sunglasses that glimmer under the open sky. And to no one's surprise, his recycled denim cap is peeking out from his pocket. 
"Hey, sunray," Sawyer says with a hand shielding above her eyes. It's what she's called him ever since they became friends. Not only does he play for the Sun Rays, but she thinks he's a ray of sunshine himself. 
Harry saunters to her, chewing gum and skillfully spinning the ball with his hand. "How did you know I'd be here, shortstop?" 
"Where else would you be? Also, I give you a cute nickname, and all you give me is one that pokes fun at my height? That's not fair." 
"Don't care. Hug me, please." He pouts dramatically. "I have a boo-boo." 
"You have a broken wrist, Harry, I'd hardly call that a boo-boo." Sawyer snatches the stitched ball from his grasp. "No more. You're supposed to be resting." 
"You sound like my mother." He tries to grab it, but she holds it behind her back. "I'm not even moving my hand that much." 
"How was the surgery?"
He shrugs and circles around her to try to sneakily pluck the ball. "Dunno. They knocked me out real good. The nurses told me everything went well and sent me home the next day." 
Sawyer skips over to home plate and sits. Harry plops down beside her. "I'm sorry I couldn't visit. You know my parents don't like the hospital being in a dodgy part of the city." 
He nudges her. "It's all right. I still got the flowers you sent. Since you're here now, I expect you to tell me what was going on during the game." 
Sighing, Sawyer forms circular shapes in the dirt using the baseball. "You were right; it was about my boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend. My friend saw him making out with another girl at a bar last night. You know what's crazy? I asked him if he wanted to come to the game with me, but he said he had to work early. I guess he lied to avoid seeing me." 
Harry lets out a disappointed hum, then cracks his neck. "Mind if I leave right now and practice my screwball pitch on him?" 
"Please don't do that," she says with a wary laugh. She knows he's getting pissed. "Trust me, he's not worth it." 
"Yeah, but you are," he replies while fixing the folded cuff of her sleeve. "I'd do it in a heartbeat if my wrist wasn't fucked up." 
Sawyer smiles at his generosity. "Not necessary. He was a jerk, and we were only together for two months. Let's talk about something else." 
Harry tilts his head toward the sky, and Sawyer admires him for a bit. She notices his baby hair, which is sun-bleached from hours spent outside, the stubble that grows along his jaw and above his lips, the mole adjacent to his mouth that he's insecure about, and his sloped nose splattered with faint freckles that she wishes she could kiss. 
Her sublime sunray. 
Harry clears his throat and leans into her. Sawyer loves it when he leans into her. "I think I'm going to go tomorrow." 
"To South Carolina?" 
"Yeah. Even if I can't play, I still want to support the team. The flight leaves tomorrow morning." 
"Oh," she says quietly, picking at some overgrown weeds. "That's... really soon." 
He nods and scooches closer. "You could come with and keep me company. We can watch The Golden Girls together. You can cut up my massive pain pills and put them in food for me because I'm a big baby. You know, friend shit." 
"Harry, I can't," Sawyer says hesitantly.
He tuts. "Why not?" 
"Um, I actually have a job interview scheduled for tomorrow. About time, right?" She laughs, but it quickly dies when he stares at her with a serious expression. "Don't look at me like that." 
"Why didn't you tell me?" 
She squints as the sun peeks over the nosebleed seats. "I just did." 
"No, before that," he says, taking off his sunglasses and setting them on the bridge of her nose. "When did you get the call?"
"It was right before you got hurt." She crosses her ankles and shakes her head. "I guess I forgot to tell you since I was so worried about your surgery." 
Harry hums understandingly. "Well, what's the job?" 
"Office clerk. It's lame, I know. I'll probably be printing and typing stuff all day." 
"That's not lame. It's a job; we all need one." 
She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, but you travel the country and play professional baseball. It's nowhere near the same level of cool." 
"And look where that got me," he mutters. "I can't even play for three months." 
Sawyer doesn't say anything as Harry picks up her leg and sets it over his. He unties the bandana around his neck and uses it to clean the dirt off her white sneakers. His bottom lip is cutely jutted out as he carefully scrubs with his right hand while the other lays limp beside her. 
After a few beats of silence, he asks, "Will you have time to say goodbye to me at the airport?" 
"Of course." She knocks her foot against his shin. "My interview isn't until the afternoon." 
"Kay," he says with a shy, dimpled smile. He ties the bandana around her thigh and pats it. "By the way, you still haven't hugged me."
Sawyer grins and bends down in her sitting position to wrap her arms around his torso, her face squishing against his soft stomach. He gives her a noogie before setting his arms around her shoulders. For the next hour, they watch robins and sparrows swoop throughout the ballpark, the sun beating down on the field as they talk about anything and everything. 
They melt deeper into each other until it's time to leave. 
—— 
Suitcases roll on terrazzo flooring, and voices boom through public announcement systems as Sawyer walks behind Harry at Orlando International Airport. 
She can't stop staring at his back. His white T-shirt is way too tight on his buff body, but she can't complain. His yellow sunglasses are on his face again, partly to hide his tired eyes and partly because those same eyes are puffy from crying. His coach told Sawyer that the healing stage after surgery is the most painful part. On the way to the airport, Harry had slumped next to her on the charter bus, and she could tell how exhausted he was from how he immediately fell asleep on her shoulder before they even started moving. 
Now, they walk toward the correct terminal to wait for the team's flight to be called. Harry holds his suitcase and duffel bag stuffed with all the uniforms in his right hand while the other is still bandaged and basically useless. Sawyer occasionally sees him flex it uncomfortably, the veins and muscles protruding against the exposed skin rather attractively. 
She catches up to his long strides and gently grabs his forearm. "You need to let it rest. Stop moving it." 
He swallows harshly before shoving it into his pocket. "It hurts," he says, his voice laced with an undertone of strain. 
"I know," she whispers sadly, squeezing his bicep. "Your pain meds should be kicking in soon." 
They eventually arrive at the terminal, where people are bustling around to get to their designated boarding gates. The blinding sunrise pours through the large airport windows. As the team gets in line, Sawyer stays behind and watches Harry drop his luggage before standing in front of her. 
"Bye, sunray." She frowns sympathetically at his dog-tired expression. "Have a safe trip. I hope you guys win." 
Harry gives her a weak smile. "Thanks, shortstop. Good luck with your interview. Make me proud, okay?"
"Can I hug you?" she asks. Harry immediately opens his arms and winces when his wrist moves. She still hesitates. "Are you in too much pain right now? I don't want to hurt you." 
"You'll hurt me mentally if you don't give me a hug," he replies while jerking his head, this time with a genuine smile on his face. "Get over here." 
Shuffling toward him, she closes the distance. He hugs her with one strong arm around her neck, pulling her in and swaying her as the woman over the speaker announces that his team's flight is boarding. 
Harry nuzzles his nose against her head and hovers his mouth next to her ear. "I'll call you as often as possible. Please don't worry yourself sick, okay? I'm in good hands."
Sawyer nods against his firm chest, matching her breathing with his. She'll always worry, but she won't tell him that. "I love you," she mumbles when the final boarding announcement chimes. 
It's not uncommon for her and Harry to exchange those words, but this time, she wants them to mean something different. She wants to love him, not just as a friend. She wants to kiss his pretty lips. She wants to romantically hold his hand. She wants to feel his warm body pressed against hers at night. He could offer all those things, and she can't wrap her head around what's stopping them. 
Even if a nagging fear deep inside her is confident it would ruin everything, why can't he just give her a sign? 
—— 
The ringtone of Harry's Nokia phone blares at max volume, rudely cutting his nap short. He covers his ears with a pillow, grumbling about how he just got off a six-hour flight before slowly sitting up to answer the call. 
Rubbing at his bleary eyes, he checks the number on the screen — it's Sawyer. His annoyance immediately dissipates, and he rolls over to hide his giddy smile in the mattress before hopping out of bed to open the hotel room's sliding door that leads to the balcony. 
Pressing the button with the little green phone on it, Harry holds the device to his ear. "'Ello?" he answers, his voice cracking from sleep. 
"Hi," she breathes out on the other line. 
He toes the ground and scratches his stomach under his pink sleep shirt. "Hey. How are you?" 
"Doesn't matter. How are you? Are you in Charleston yet?" 
Based on her tone, he notices she sounds a bit jittery. "I'm good," he says with a slight hint of confusion. He can hear her fidgeting, and it's making him curious. "Um... I'm on the balcony." 
"Oh, that's nice," she replies. "Really nice. Balconies are great." 
Harry smirks and starts pacing, staring at the ivy climbing the exterior walls. He loves it when he makes her nervous. "Mm-hmm. Yeah, for sure." 
"So, how's it going? Is your wrist—" 
"Hey," he interrupts softly. "What's up? I can practically hear you biting your nails." 
Sawyer huffs. "I have to tell you something. It's not bad, I promise. Just didn't want to make everything about me." 
"Don't go there with me, Sawyer." He yawns, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear while he rewraps his wrist bandage. "Lay it on me." 
"Well," she says timidly, "I had that job interview about an hour ago." 
He nods to himself. "I remember." 
"And... they hired me on the spot. I can't believe it. I got the job!”
Harry stops in his tracks. "No fuckin' way," he says with a growing smile. "Really? Actually, no shit, you got it. I knew you would."
Sawyer releases sweet laughter, and he closes his eyes to picture how she looks. Is she all cozy in bed? Is she pacing around her room while twirling the phone cord around her finger? Is she watching The Golden Girls and wishing he could be beside her? God, he misses her already.
"They said I start next week. It's only a five-minute walk from my house, so I don't have to worry about driving. It's—" 
"Excuse me?" he butts in teasingly. "You'd rather walk instead of letting me pick you up?" 
Another giggle from her, making his heart soar. "You shouldn't drive with a broken wrist, silly." 
"I drive with one hand anyway." Harry sits in the balcony's single plastic chair and crosses his legs. "Speaking of picking up, did you want to meet me at the airport when my flight lands?" 
"What time?"
He sputters his lips as he foggily tries to recall. "Tomorrow, a little after four in the morning. Don't have to, though. I know it's early." 
"I'll be there." 
No hesitance. All confidence. Harry swears if she was next to him, he would kiss her lips until they ached. 
"You're the best, Sawyer." 
She hums delicately, almost sensually. "I'll see you then. I miss you, sunray." 
At the sound of his nickname coming from her, Harry's cock twitches under his denim shorts. "Yeah? I miss you more." 
Her smile is evident when she replies, "I'll bring your favorite blanket from my house in case you want to sleep while I drive." 
"Fuck, I can't wait for that." He doesn't tell her it's his favorite blanket because it smells like her, an irresistible blend of coconut and pure sunshine.
"Me neither." The sound of her car starting is muffled in the background. "I have to run to the grocery store, so I'll let you go. Good luck with the game tonight." 
"Thank you. Hey, can you buy some toaster strudels for me while you're there? The apple kind, please." 
"I got a job, and now you want me to buy you food? Absolutely ridiculous." 
"I'm injured. That's my excuse." 
"Bye, Harry." He can totally tell she's rolling her eyes. "Get some rest, okay?" 
"I will," he promises while toying with his bottom lip. “Bye. I miss you so much that it hurts." 
She snorts before his phone beeps twice, indicating she hung up. Harry uncrosses his legs, a brutal mistake that has him hissing and palming his bulge. There's a tender ache that isn't painful, but it's still present and will definitely be an issue he needs to take care of before seeing anyone. 
The things she does to him without even trying. He got so horny over a friendly conversation that it's almost shameful the way he's about to jerk one out in a Holiday Inn bathroom. 
Sawyer. She's all he can think about when he steps under the hot water, biting down on his thumb and bucking his hips as he unravels from just the thought of her sweet voice and smile. The image of her doesn't leave his brain until he falls asleep again, but even then, she manages to seep into his dreams like it's some unconscious sign sent to him. 
—— 
There's no one else Sawyer would do this for. It's four in the morning, and she's in the airport parking lot waiting for Harry's plane to touch down. It's raining; downpouring, to be precise. The droplets hitting her car lull her to sleep, her head leaning against the headrest as the squeaky windshield wipers do their best to clear the continuously pelted glass. 
September in Orlando brings torrential precipitation most days. It's peak hurricane season, so the palm trees seem to constantly be swaying in the wind. Florida has been Sawyer's home since birth, but she wishes she had been raised elsewhere. Someplace where it isn't so humid, the citizens aren't so entitled, and the traffic isn't so unbearable. The only thing keeping her in the city is her best friend. He makes it worthwhile.
The passenger door suddenly opens, and Sawyer jolts awake. She slowly opens her eyes and stretches uncomfortably. 
"Can I ask why your door was already unlocked?" Harry asks hoarsely, his morning voice causing a shiver to run down her spine. 
"There's no one here," she grumbles as her seatbelt clicks in time with a distant thunder rumble. 
He throws his luggage in the backseat and says, "It doesn't matter. There could be creeps lurking around." 
Sawyer hums monotonously and turns on the interior light to look at him. He's wearing a grey hoodie, the right sleeve covering part of his wrist bandage. Black sweatpants are loose on his legs. Strands of wet curls stick to his face and fall across his forehead, officially labeling him as the epitome of handsomeness. Somehow, he's gotten more tan in the single day that he was gone. The sun in South Carolina must have kissed his skin with kindness, leaving more freckles across his perfect nose and cheekbones. 
"Where to for an early morning snack?" Harry asks, adjusting the air vents. 
"7/11 is open. Slurpees?" 
He nods eagerly, so Sawyer reverses out of the parking spot and heads in the direction of the convenience store. She turns on a rock radio station. They quietly sing "All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You" by Heart the whole way there, the thunder and lightning outside providing the background ambiance for their duet. 
Once they arrive, the orange and green neon sign reflecting off the puddles on the slick sidewalk, Sawyer parks and grabs her fleece blanket from the backseat so she can gently lay it over Harry. 
"Blue raspberry?" she asks him, even though she already knows the answer. 
"Please and thank you," he murmurs, putting his lanky legs on the seat. He tucks her blanket under his nose and inhales deeply.
She steps out and walks through the glass doors. No one else is inside except the lone cashier, who looks like he's about to tip over from exhaustion. She pays and gets the cups, then walks over to the machine to fill them up—a blue raspberry for Harry and a Mountain Dew for herself so she can stay awake during the drive home. 
When she returns outside, the slanted rain falls even harder, and she can see Harry with his head pressed against the window like he's in some depressing music video. She hopes he isn't too sad about the unfortunate outcome of yesterday. News quickly spread that the Sun Rays lost the title championship game. Deep down, everyone knew a win would be asking for a miracle without Southpaw pitching on the field. 
Sawyer sits in the driver's seat and hands him his drink. "I'm sorry about the loss." 
Harry sighs and takes the cup from her. "I think we all knew what the result would be. We were in our own heads, which unfortunately translated to how everyone played." 
She gives him a warm smile before taking a sip of her drink. "That sucks. I'm sorry." 
"There's always next year."
After a minute of tranquility, Sawyer finally turns off the radio and musters up the courage to ask the question lingering in the back of her mind since yesterday. 
"At the airport, why didn't you say I love you back? Or did you not hear me?" 
Silence. Harry seems to be internally debating a response while he stares straight ahead and sucks on the straw in his slushy, his cheeks hollowed as he takes gulp after gulp. Sawyer is genuinely worried he'll get a brain freeze. 
Eventually, he puts his drink in the cup holder and clears his throat before tilting his head back on the headrest. "Fuck it," he exhales in a single breath. "I knew if I said it then, it would've changed everything for me. I wouldn't have meant it the way you did." 
There's the sign. She asked for it when she hugged him goodbye at the airport. The one that's been hidden deep down in both of them for so long, trying to crawl up to the surface but always shying away to avoid potential rejection. Always creating a barrier between the fine line of their friendship and something more. Constantly on the edge of a confession but never taking the leap. 
"How do you know the way I meant it?" 
"Friendly, I guess," Harry mumbles, plucking imaginary lint from his sweatpants. "Because we're friends. I don't know." 
"You don't know. You have no idea." 
He looks at her, narrowing his eyes. "What are you talking about?" 
"You're wrong," she says vaguely. "I didn't mean it like that." 
He shakes his head, not understanding what she's getting at. "Stop speaking in riddles. What do you mean?" 
Cracking her fingers anxiously, she murmurs, "What do you think it means?" 
"Cut me some slack, shortstop. I don't know, all right? I like to think I know what goes on in your head, but I'm clueless right now." 
"Then answer this question." She shifts in her seat to face him. "In what way would you have meant it if you had said I love you?" 
He sighs and rubs his temples. "Sawyer, don't." 
"Tell me," she demands. 
"No. Let's just go home." 
"You might as well just say it." 
"Say what?" He runs a hand through his damp hair. "Just drive." 
She takes her key out of the ignition. "I'm not moving this car until you tell me." 
"You're so stubborn, do you know that?" 
"I'm not just going to drop it, Harry." 
"I would really appreciate it if you would." 
"Then we'll be here for a while because—"
"I'm in love with you, okay?!" Harry leans over the console and grabs her cheeks, glancing down at her lips for a fraction of a second. "Okay?" he says more softly. "Does that answer your question?" 
The sign is beautifully clear.
"Yes," Sawyer chokes out. "Yes, it does." 
He slowly settles back in his seat and crosses his arms. "Wonderful. Now start driving." 
Lightning strikes. Rain batters. Hearts pound. She doesn't listen to him as she opens the car door and steps out, letting the downpour mat her hair and saturate her clothes. 
Harry hastily gets out and walks around the car toward her. "What in the world are you doing?" he asks, completely dumbfounded. 
Every fear about whether or not it will ruin everything disappears like grey skies after a storm. The sign has been spoken, and it now hangs in the cloudburst as it seeps into Sawyer's veins like the raindrops on her skin. 
"I'm in love with you too," she says over the sound of the rainfall. Harry leans back against the car like he physically took a blow from her admission. "I mean it," she continues more firmly. "That's how I meant it at the airport." 
After a laugh of disbelief, he prompts, "And you made me admit it first because...?" 
"Because you make me nervous!" she says, spreading her arms. "You make me so nervous, Harry, but in a good way. In a way that makes me wonder if all those times you'd be flirty or handsy with me were on purpose." 
He steps closer, flexing his hands. "Of course they were, but I never wanted to just blatantly throw a confession of love on you. You had a boyfriend, and I would never screw that up for you. Even if he was a total birdbrain and didn't deserve you." 
Sawyer smirks. "Yet you flirted with me anyway?" 
"Well, I-I..." he stutters, scratching his head. "To be fair, I was flirting with you way before you were taken. The first time we met, to be specific."
She laughs loudly. "We're so stupid! Why were we so blind?" 
He wrinkles his nose and squints up at the sky. "I don't think we were blind. I think we were scared." 
"I'm not scared anymore."
He uses his uninjured hand to tuck strands of her hair behind her ear, then moves it to caress the side of her head. "Then kiss me." 
Her chest visibly deflates. "But your wrist…" 
"I really don't give a fuck about my wrist right now." 
"Okay, but I do," she argues, pointing at his gauze that's now soaked through. "You just had surgery—"
Harry's blue-stained mouth shuts her up. His teeth clash with hers, but his soft, wet lips quickly take control and remedy the slight pain. Placing both hands on the sides of her neck, his thumbs tilt her jaw upward to coax deep and perfectly messy kisses out of her pliant mouth. Sawyer settles her hands on his narrow hips and leans into him, doing her best to return his constant kisses. His hoodie is drenched, and his hair tickles her face as his nose nudges against hers, slick from the rain. They're both breathing heavily, and she hums into his mouth when he tilts his head to kiss her from a different angle. Faint groans and whimpers come from the back of his throat when she returns his affection. 
They make out until the rain causes their teeth to chatter, forcing their aching lips apart. Sawyer pulls away first, feeling a bit dizzy. "Damn, Southpaw. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet." 
"Please don't call me that," Harry says breathlessly, kiss after kiss being placed on her forehead. “I only want to be your sunray. Forever." 
"I can't call you my boyfriend?"
He turns to the side and awkwardly coughs into the crook of his elbow. "Is this… am I your boyfriend? Wait. Don't… aren't you supposed to ask or something?" 
"Sunray," she says, cradling his cheeks like she's wanted to do for so long, "will you be my boyfriend?"
He gives her a noogie. "Duh. Will you be my girlfriend?" 
Sawyer nods elatedly, and Harry pumps his fist in the air before bringing her in for a suffocatingly affectionate hug. The two lovers stay in that position until the rain lets up and the sunrise lightens the sky. They sway like the palm trees do on the boulevard, kissing until their lips are numb. They hold each other until their clothes stick to their skin. They fall deeper in love since life's too short to not act on buried feelings. 
The storm has passed. 
The sky has opened. 
The sign is crystal clear. 
——
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dood1e-bug · 8 months
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Wanted to draw the two monsters Freya and Felix mainly use/transform In my playthrough.
First thing I thought of is sleeby
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stephendorff · 2 days
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Southpaw (2015) // Road House (2024)
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bughusbands · 7 months
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participated in another "Draw with me" stream, this time it was for Southpaw!
i need this game now omg
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gmzriver · 8 months
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Rachel McAdams as Maureen Hope in Southpaw (2015) icons.
like if you save or use
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editfandom · 3 months
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Inez - Midnight in Paris, 2011
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team-jakey-jakes · 4 months
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JAKE GYLLENHAAL | ong he was so playful prisoners era 😭
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