well then, game over.

starry-eyed: a playlist for harry/louis during the x-factor

tracedust — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 02:11:55 GMT

a too-long playlist for harry and louis during the x-factor!!! it starts out a little pining-ish but degenerates into sickeningly sweet giggly hook-ups and oblivious feelings and a lot of falling in love ^__^

Part I.

1. at home | crystal fighters

"i never thought i'd see you again, i never though i'd get to be with my best friend."

2. the tension and the terror | straylight run
all the tension and the terror, thin-limbed gorgeous green eyes smiling
and i'm going straight to hell
all the possibility and promise just weighs on me so heavily
and i try but i'm not convincing
your lips they pout and twist, and i die trying just to keep myself from kissing you

3. bruises | chairlift
i tried to do handstands for you
every time i feel on you, yeah every time i fell
i tried to do handstands for you, but every time i fell for you
i'm permanently black and blue, permanently blue for you

4. trouble sleeping | the perishers
i'm having trouble sleeping
you're jumping in my bed, twisting in my head
i'm having trouble breathing

5. ache for you | ben lee
and it's alright if you're undecided or you're scared that you might like it
or if it's true; i ache for you
and i'm tired of so much wanting, and what if - don't even think it, but - why not?
there's no rhyme and there's no reason, you put a secret in the back of my skull
there's no logic so please believe me, my love's confusing but it never gets dull

6. maybe you can owe me | architecture in helsinki
the room where i'm staying, you can sleep on the floor
half way through the night can we talk and see?
because there's no way that i'll sleep when you're near me

7. heaven's on fire | the radio dept.
fighting to keep it together, but it's pointless
one look at you and my heaven's on fire

8. heartbeat | scouting for girls

i'm doing all i can do just to be close to you
every time that we meet, i skip a heartbeat
always up for a laugh, she's a pain in the ass
every time that we meet, i skip a heartbeat

9. moth's wings | passion pit

you come beating like moth's wings
spastic and violently, whipping me into a storm
shaking me down to the core

10. starry-eyed | ellie goulding

so we burst into colours, colours and carosels
fall head first like paper planes in playground games
next thing: we're touching
you look at me, it's like you hit me with lightning

Part II.

11. closer | tegan and sara

all you think of lately is getting underneath me
all i dream of lately is how to get you underneath me
here comes the heat before we meet a little bit closer
here comes the spark before the dark, come a little closer

12. you're the only one | maria mena

well i saw you with your hands above your head
spinning around trying not to look down but you did and you fell hard on the groud
and you stumbled around for a good ten minutes
and i said i'd never seen anyone look so dumb before
and you laughed and said, "i still know how to turn you on though."

13. the first five times | stars

fifth time in your bedroom, when finally we rested
and you leaned upon your elbow and began to speak to me
but you stopped yourself and kissed me, and i grabbed your wrist and told you:
"i know, i know, i know, i feel the same as you."

14. can't help falling in love (daytrotter sessions) | ingrid michaelson

so won't you please take my hand, take my whole life too
'cause i can't help falling in love with you

15. be my honeypie | the weepies

be my honeypie, never say goodbye
if you don't love me, i will die
be my honeypie
you turn me on, keep me up till dawn

16. what i'm trying to say | stars

and the heat is turned all the way up, so don't pretend like you don't feel the pull
i am trying to say what i want to say without having to say:
i love you.

17. superhuman touch | athlete

i know you feel the same way, say say say you feel the same way
your fingertips are like a superhuman touch, can't get enough of this electric love
burning the sun with just a wave of your hand
sparks flying out in every direction, there's more of this to come;
i think it might be heaven.

17. young dumb and in love | mat kearny

with your gypsy necklace and my big brown bow tie
you kissed my lips like i was catching a flight
i said, "if i'm honest, i fell for you that first night."

18. teenage dream (cover) | boyce avenue

i finally found you, my missing puzzle piece, i'm complete
let's just talk all through the night, there's no need to rush
let's just dance until we die, you and i will be young forever
you make me feel like i'm living a teenage dream
the way you turn me on, i can't sleep
let's run away and don't ever look back

20. safe and sound | capital cities

i could lift you up
i could show you what you want to see and take you where you want to be
you could be my luck, even in a hurricane of frowns
i know that we'll be safe and sound

21. youngblood | the naked and famous

we lie beneath the stars at night
our hands gripping each other tight
you keep my secrets, hope to die
promises, swear them to the sky

8tracks, download

Makes a Cathedral

tracedust — Thu, 30 Aug 2012 01:06:46 GMT

Title: Makes a Cathedral
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Louis wants to leave something more permanent. (Tattoo!porn?)
Word Count: ~3,500
Warnings: unprotected sex, absolutely no proper knowledge of tattoos, unlicensed and unsafe tattooing, some pain!kink, a little D/s, a little blood?
A/N: Hahaha oh god. So I kind of wrote this last night in a delerium and I have no idea what it is? Or how to write porn? Or anything about tattoos? So suspension of disbelief is probably required, since this is really stupidly unsafe (don't try it at home!) and also unrealistic, because I'm sure in real life needles + permanent ink + sex = bad times. Also, in this world Zayn conveniently has All the Tattoo things?? Inspired by these photos (x, x, x) (this one added at a later date because. um.). Title is from Richard Siken's poem Saying Your Names, which I highly recommend for Harry/Louis reasons. Dedicated to the anon on tumblr who suggested that Louis might have done the "Hi" tattoo himself and likecharity, just because ♥

"You don't think it's weird? Or dangerous?"

Zayn shrugs, handing him the small bag of supplies: needle, ink, jelly, gauze, antiseptic. "Dunno. I mean, I'd be worried about not using a stencil, and if you fuck up, you really fuck up like, long term, but I'm not sure anything really qualifies as weird with you two. I can stand by and watch if you want, make sure you're doing it right..." He trails off.

"Where's the fun in that?" Louis' nervous, but—there's something about this that's weirdly intimate. He doesn't think he could do it with Zayn there.

"I thought so. Oh, and here." Zayn grabs a travel-sized bottle of vodka from his mini fridge and passes it to Louis.

"Uh, liquid courage?"

Zayn rolls his eyes. "No, you should wipe his skin down with that before you rub in the petroleum jelly. Being drunk isn't going to help your hand-eye coordination."

"Right. Well, I think I got it all then? Sterilize the needle, wipe his skin down with the vodka, petroleum jelly, tattoo, antiseptic, gauze."

Zayn nods, looking apprehensive. "That's the right order, yeah."

Louis grins, false-bright, feeling less than encouraged, but. He wants this. "Right then, see you on the other side? Thanks, mate. Really." He turns to let himself out of Zayn's hotel room, but the other boy's voice stops him before he can close the door.

"I get why you're doing this, Lou. It's gonna mean a lot to him."

Louis just swallows, nods.

"Don't fuck it up!" is the last thing he hears before the door shuts behind him.

He heads down the hallway, supplies in hand and instructions running through his head, until he stops in front of the room he shares with Harry, heart pounding. Don't fuck it up.

****

Half an hour later, Louis' got Harry on his back on their bed, stripped down to his pants, left arm stretched above his head and. Okay. It’s just—Louis' straddling him, right? Because he had to, because Harry kept twitching his arm or shifting, and Louis' less than a fucking novice, he's never even had a tattoo done on himself, he has no idea what he's doing and he really doesn't need Harry's help fucking this up. And he expected that he would have to hold his arm down, maybe sit on him a bit for leverage, but he didn't expect Harry to react, well. Like this.

The second Louis had touched the needle to his skin—before that, even—the second he mentioned the idea, Harry had flushed, eyes wide. He'd seemed eager, yeah, but...quiet, too. Docile. The way he gets sometimes when Louis tells him to do something stupid on stage or during a really rough fuck. And he knows it's probably just the pain more than anything that's making his eyes unfocus, his hips squirm, but—it's distracting.

Now Louis' got Harry’s arm pinned above his head and he hasn't even finished inking in the "H" yet, and Harry won't stop moving.

He lifts the needle from Harry's skin, reaches out to brush the fringe from the other boy's forehead with sweaty fingers. "Harry, babe, you have to stay still. You can do that for me, yeah?"

Harry cracks his eyes open. He looks dazed. "Yeah, sorry. It's just—" He swallows and closes his eyes again, head thudding back on the pillow. "Go ahead."

"You gonna be good?"

Harry moans. "Fuck, Louis. You planned this, didn't you."

"Well no, not really. Actually, I'm sorta hoping it won't to be as stupid as it's started to seem in my head? I should have let you decide." It's true. Harry had mentioned wanting to get a new tattoo, something for Louis, while they were sprawled across the bed that morning. Louis had just hugged him close, eyes drifting down to the small "A" that Zayn had traced into the crook of his elbow, and he had thought of actually tattooing Harry himself, claiming him with permanent ink and, well. He had really, really wanted it. That had only been a few hours ago now.

"That's not what I—I do want to know what it's going to be, but—God, Louis." Harry finishes the mumbled sentence with a roll of his hips and. Oh.

"You're getting off on this?" Intrigued, Louis shifts lower so that their hips line up and, yeah. Louis can feel the heavy length of him straining against his pants.

And Louis knows it's stupid, god it's stupid, and so reckless, but—he's still in control of this. He has a feeling his smile is wicked now, but he was never very good at controlling his face anyway, and what's the point with Harry, really. He grips Harry's arm tighter and brings the needle back to the skin there, lightly rocking his hips at the same time.

"Interesting."

The sound Harry makes is desperate. Louis gets back to work.

***

Five minutes later, Louis' inking in the base of the "i" and Harry’s just writhing under him, his pupils blown and his breath ragged over the buzz of the needle, and Louis doesn’t know if he should be worried—he's full-on restraining the other boy now, pinning him down with his thighs, and the grip Louis has on his bicep has to be painful where he’s pressing it into the bed and really—it shouldn't be making Louis this hard.

He tries to swallow it down, tries to focus, because this is not something to fuck with and he's not a horny teenager anymore and he can control himself. But Harry’s bucking up into the air, searching for more friction, and this is ridiculous, it is, it’s dangerous—what Louis’ writing into his skin right now will be there forever and he could hurt him, he doesn’t have a tattooing license and this is so fucking stupid of them, but it’s—fuck, he’s marking Harry permanently, like he’s always wanted to, like he’s been trying to do every day since they’d met at bootcamp—before then, probably—at that goddam Script concert all those years ago, and earlier, earlier. He thinks there’s always been the shape of him, the press of him in Harry’s life, his skin, like they came into the world marked with the traces of each other.

And the thought is ridiculous and so soppy, but he lowers his hips to Harry’s anyway and grinds because yeah, the marks inside won’t fade, but the love bites and pen marks and bruises do. And it’s not that he needs the reassurance himself—Harry is his, always. He knows that. But no one else does. And this is going to be there forever, visible—their prep team won’t be able to dab over it like they do the bruises he sucks nightly into the soft skin between Harry’s collarbones or scrub it clean like the L’s he scribbles on the fine bones of Harry's hands. He thinks about Harry lifting his arm on stage and fans and their management and whoever the fuck else seeing it there, seeing something Louis had seared into Harry’s skin while Harry fell apart underneath him, and it’s too much—he can feel his thoughts scatter and his fingers start to shake, so he lifts his hand away from Harry's arm, closes his eyes for a second and just breathes, letting their hips connect and rock together.

Harry’s eyes open slowly, missing the burn of the needle, and they’re glassy and unfocused and fuck, he looks absolutely wrecked. His head lolls to the side and he sucks in a breath when he sees what Louis’ inked into his skin so far.

“Hi.” His voice is hoarse, but it’s not a question—he doesn’t look amused or upset or even confused, like it doesn’t even matter what it says, like Louis could tattoo the contents of a greeting card onto his arm and he wouldn’t give a shit because it’s Louis and he’d be happy with it no matter what and god, Louis' so in love with him.

He's starting to break out in a sweat, so he places the needle on the covers and lifts up to strip his shirt off in one fluid movement. Harry's half-lidded eyes trail over his torso, but he's only wearing the faintest glimmer of his usual smirk. It's like he's drugged.

Louis just has to finish the “i” and then he’ll be done, for now, so he breathes deep and steels himself, picking the needle up and dipping it back in the ink on the bedside table, hips still moving in a slow, dirty rhythm, and presses Harry's arm down more firmly against the bed—one of them has to remain in control. With the needle back on his skin, Harry’s eyes close again and he hisses, throwing his head back onto the pillow and exposing the pale line of his throat. Louis fights the instinct to lean down and pull the skin there between his teeth—he’s so close to being finished and this is so much more permanent, so much more important than the marks he usually leaves.

Harry’s making pathetic whining sounds now, grinding against Louis more frantically, and it’s like he’s actually getting off on the burn, the sting of it, and that thought makes something short-circuit in Louis’ brain. He tightens his grip on Harry’s arm and locks their hips together, pressing down to keep their pace slow and careful, controlled. Harry fluidly adjusts to his rhythm, like he always does, and lifts his head from the pillow again to fix his gaze on Louis, blinking the haze from his eyes.

“L—Lou. Louis. Hi?” He sounds disoriented, a little floaty, like he gets sometimes. And completely ruined. Louis doesn’t respond and just keeps at it, absorbing himself in the buzz of the needle, the thick black letter he’s inking into Harry's skin and not his desperate gasps, the hot length of him against Louis' cock.

With only the dot on the “i” left, he takes the needle away from Harry's skin again and leans down, pressing his lips to the other boy's ear. “It says 'hi' now, but it’s not done. When we’re—when we’re ready, when I’m ready, I’m gonna finish it, okay?”

Harry just pants and exposes his neck again, so past the point of caring. Louis groans and lets his lips close over the skin there, biting the line of his jaw. Harry whines, hips surging against Louis'.

“I know things have been shit recently, but it's like, I know you’re mine, yeah? I know it, and that’s nice, god that’s amazing, but one day everyone’s going to know it, I promise, and I just—I want to leave this here now. I need something. Something permanent. Like, as permanent as I feel about this, I mean. As permanent as us.”

Louis pulls his mouth away, circling his hips. As he returns the needle to Harry’s skin, Harry looks up at him with wide, blown eyes, still confused. “I don’t—”

“I’m gonna put an 's' right here, Haz.” Louis puts his finger to the right of the “i”. “It’ll say 'his'.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but his eyes cloud over and his mouth falls open, obscene and pink, and with one more slow drag of their cocks, he starts to shudder.

“Are you gonna—fuck, Harry. Come on, yeah.” Louis drags the needle against Harry’s skin, hard, bringing little droplets of blood to the surface, and circles his hips deep, trapping Harry’s convulsing body to the bed, and then Harry’s coming, body jerking under Louis’, mouth slack, eyes glazed and locked on Louis’ face.

“Fuck.” Louis digs his teeth into his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting to keep his hand steady. Harry's still trembling beneath him when Louis lifts the needle from his skin and sets it on the nightstand. He wants to just pull down his zipper, yank Harry's pants to the side and fuck into him while he's relaxed and pliant, body still rolling with aftershocks, but there's a Zayn-voiced litany of infection, infection, infection running through his head, so he leans over to blow softly on the fresh tattoo, drying the skin there and making Harry shiver. Then he picks up the antibacterial ointment on the nightstand, uncaps it, and with shaky fingers, carefully dabs the goo into the messy, bleeding letters on Harry’s arm. Harry’s eyes haven’t left his face, and when Louis glances over, he’s stunned by the peace there—his gaze is hazy, pupils blown, and he looks totally blissed out, barely even present, but his hips continue to move lightly with Louis’, like a reflex. When Louis' covered the tattoo, he sets the ointment to the side, picks up the gauze and carefully winds it around Harry’s arm like Zayn taught him, breathing deep and licking at his split lip. Harry’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue and he lets out a shaky whine, but otherwise remains quiet under Louis, complacent.

As soon as he’s taped off the bandage and set the rest of the roll on the dresser, he lets go of Harry’s arm and lifts up, quickly shucking his jeans and turning back to where Harry's sprawled on the pillows.

“God, Harry. Take your pants off, okay? M’gonna fuck you now.”

Harry still has that blissful expression on his face as he fumbles with his underwear, so relaxed that he’s uncoordinated, sloppy. Louis crawls over and helps slide the article of clothing over Harry's ankles before tipping him onto the comforter, lowering his head gently so that his curls form a messy halo on the pillow. Harry gazes up at Louis and reaches out to pet briefly at his cheekbone, just to touch, before shifting as if to roll over onto his stomach.

“No, no. I want to see you. Wanna see this.” Louis lifts Harry’s arm up and over his head again and strokes lightly over the fresh bandage—Harry cries out and rocks his hips and god, he's already getting hard again. So Louis does it a second time, harder, digging his nails in a bit, and this time Harry shudders, the sound he makes going straight to Louis' cock.

Louis groans and grabs the lube from the bedside table, slicking his fingers. Harry’s already relaxed enough that it doesn’t take much; he’s thrusting back on Louis’ fingers before he’s got two inside. Louis keeps working them in, slowly, but Harry doesn’t beg, just rolls his hips and locks eyes with Louis, gaze burning, and it’s too intense—Harry has a sincerity about him, a directness that's overwhelming, and Louis feels exposed, raw, but it's—it's empowering, so he fights the desire to turn away and keeps his eyes on Harry's as he scissors his fingers. When Harry’s cries get painful again, desperate, Louis sits up, strokes over his cock once, twice with lube-covered fingers and then—using one hand to strech Harry's arms above his head and leaning down so that he covers the other boy's long torso entirely, chest to chest and mouth to neck—guides himself to Harry's entrance and thrusts in.

Harry's body is pliant and welcoming, legs instinctively curling around Louis' waist, and Louis' struck by the grace lurking beneath the surface there—something subtle and honest, more a responsive fluidity to the people around him, to Louis, than any actual physical coordination. Louis rests his full weight on the other boy, hitching Harry's waist up and rocking only their hips together so that they're touching everywhere. His body is screaming at him to sit up, to grab the bed or Harry's hips and just pound into him, but he keeps working himself in and out in deep, rolling movements, unwilling to lift any part of his skin from Harry's. They're both sweating, the slide of their bodies fluid and slick, when Louis releases Harry's arms to tangle his hands in the other boys' hair. He yanks, hard, so that Harry throws his head back, hissing through his teeth as Louis kisses the sweat glistening between his collarbones, keeping his grip tight in Harry's curls.

He’s beginning to lose his coordination, thrusting raggedly, dragging his stomach against Harry's cock. Harry hasn't moved his arms from where Louis had them pinned above his head—it's like he's waiting for direction, or hoping Louis will hold them down again, and that thought has Louis gritting his teeth and fucking into him harder, less controlled. He gasps open-mouthed kisses into Harry's neck and trails his hand up from Harry's bicep, the other boy crying out hoarsely as Louis scratches over the Temper Trap lyric, the star, finally dragging his nails over the bandage covering the fresh tattoo, making Harry's body jolt beneath his. Louis just grinds down and in harder, rolling his stomach against the head of Harry's cock, his hands finally meeting Harry's. Tangling their fingers together, he lifts his lips from Harry's neck and twists to the side, mouthing over the bandage covering Harry’s new tattoo, thrusting in deep and biting down hard and then Harry's coming, body locked and jerking under Louis'.

"Fuck, Harry. Sweetheart." Dropping his head to Harry's shoulder, Louis digs his toes into the bed and, pinning their hands down for leverage, fucks into Harry's still trembling body, not letting him shudder away from the constant stimulation on his cock, until Harry's gasping "Yours, yeah?" into Louis' hair and Louis' nails are breaking the skin on Harry's knuckles and he's following him over the edge.

****

When he can form a coherent thought, he unlocks their hands and tries to slide off of Harry onto his back, but the other boy simply rolls with him, throwing his leg over Louis' and tucking his nose into his neck. They're sticky, bodies slick with sweat, Harry's come streaked across both of their stomachs, but. It's not so bad.

Louis still plays the part. "You're gross," He whines, pushing half-heartedly at Harry's good shoulder.

Harry just beams and licks a long stripe up Louis' neck, over his chin. "You love me."

"I do, yeah. But that doesn't mean you're not sweaty. Shower? We should probably redo your bandage, too." He surveys the damage on Harry's arm; the gauze is wrecked, loosening from Harry's bicep and starting to spot with blood. The top of the tattoo is peeking out, and it's sloppy, like it was scrawled by an over-caffeinated primary school student attempting to write with their left hand. Louis loves it.

Harry gets quiet and looks down, stroking lightly at the fresh tattoo, only shivering a little. He seems...awed. Louis knows it takes a little while for him to find his words sometimes. He waits.

"Louis, I don't—I know you know what this means. To me. But I don't want you to think I'm like, unhappy? I mean, things seem a little messed up right now—"

"Cause they are, Haz."

"I know, yeah. It could be better. I wish I could kiss you in public. Or I don't know, that we could go to a restaurant sometime—without sneaking in through the back door like it's something we should be ashamed of. And I want people to know that I like, belong to you. God, I want that so much. But I don't—I don't need this or anything. You've already marked me, permanently. I don't need the physical reminder."

Louis feels his heart plummet. Was it too much? Of course it was, what the fuck was he thinking, tattooing "his" onto Harry's arm like some kind of caveman—not even "his", not yet, just "hi", like a four year old. He can't even write legibly with paper and pencil, much less skin and permanent fucking ink.

Harry feels him tense. "No no no, don't get me wrong—I love it. Really. You don't even know what this is going to do to me, on stage, in front of so many people. God, Louis." He ducks his head against Louis' shoulder.

"I mean—" He breaks off and looks up again, grinning and trailing his fingers through the streak of come on Louis' stomach. "Clearly, I'm a fan." His eyes light up at Louis' laugh before sobering again. "Really though. I don't want you to think that I'm not like, confident or sure about this. That I need some kind of reminder that we'll last. Because I know we will. It's like the only thing I really am sure of right now, with how mental our lives are. Just—" He sighs, voice rough. "I am, yeah? Yours."

He breaks off and nuzzles into Louis' sternum, content, and Louis smiles. He gets it. He thinks of Harry in cities all over the world, fucked ragged on too many mattresses to count. Drooling on Louis' shoulder in airplanes over the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Indian Ocean. Throwing heated glances his way while an interviewer asks who the "ladies' man" of the band is, love bite peeking out of his collar and thumbprint bruise yellowing on his arm. With a full-wattage grin dimpling his cheeks as Louis presses a thumbs-up sign to his face in front of thousands of people and all those lights. And here, in a hotel Louis can't even remember the name of, clinging to Louis' side, arm covered in messy ink.

I am, yeah? Yours. Louis doesn't know if Harry meant it as a question, but. "Yeah."

Louis means it as a promise.

repeated, repeated | an OT5 fanmix

tracedust — Tue, 28 Aug 2012 23:08:45 GMT

So this is a sickenly upbeat OT5 mix that I cobbled together while on self-imposed exile from the internet in order to get some real world work done. Funny how that works. Basically it's about how they're so young and this is amazing and so much and superstardom is INSANE but they'll always be fine because in the end they're all in love and they'll have each other, no matter what? Ok good.

black water by apparat

we will be ephemeral
we will be ephemeral

we are young by ennui
i can do anything i want
we are young, we are young, we are young

you! me! dancing! by los campesinos!
taking props from these boyband fashions
all crop tops and testosterone passion
if there's one thing that i could never confess,
it's that i can't dance a single step.

camera talk by local natives
it's alright, the camera's talking
oh and even though i can't be sure
memory tells me that these times are worth working for

dreams (the cranberries cover) by passion pit
all my life is changing every day
in every possible way
and oh my dreams
it's never quite as it seems
cause you're a dream to me

new innocent tyro allegory by havergal
you're the wildest sail in the wind
you have heart fulls of heart
believe in the art of just giving until you can't give
i've swallowed that note back deep in my throat
a round ringing key balled up in my belly
and when i am cut from navel to neck
i will lie still until i hear that note
repeated, repeated

teen angst by m83
how fast we burn
how fast we cry
the sooner we learn
the sooner we die
i am so glad we're crying

so here we are by bloc party
i made a vow to carry you home

stranger things by local natives
we'll start from where we last left off
the lines that we'll draw begin and don't stop
the corners approach, we'll take the best turns
the bends have brought talk of what we have learned
enjoy the chance of frozen new grounds
everything's odd with beautiful sounds
i've learned to smile without a bearing

all i need by awolnation
all i need is you smiling
all i need, all i need
all i need is life, love with you

young blood (slow version) by the naked and the famous
we lie beneath the stars at night
our hands gripping each other tight
you keep my secrets, hope to die
promises, swear them to the sky
the bittersweet between my teeth
trying to find the in between
fall back in love eventually
as it withers, brittle it shakes
can you whisper, can you whisper, can you whisper

download :)

silent signs | a stylinson fanmix

tracedust — Mon, 11 Jun 2012 19:01:45 GMT

Part I

1. the tension and the terror | straylight run
all the tension and the terror, thin-limbed gorgeous green eyes smiling
and i'm going straight to hell
all the possibility and promise just weighs on me so heavily
and i try but i'm not convincing
your lips they pout and twist, and i die trying just to keep myself from kissing you

2. you already know | bombay bicycle club
looking out the glass, always sit together
we both know we could be someone better but not with out heads like london weather
said love was painted gold
but like all things growing old, the paint peels and slowly falls: you already know

3. self-preservation | the lucksmiths
getting this happy takes practice
the world would be duller without us
blacklist anyone who tries to attack this
they can say what they like but the fact is, they know nothing about us

4. night drive | gotye
i don't know just where we're going and i don't care where we've been
we just coast on through, cause while i'm here with you
you know there's no place i'd rather be
such a quiet joy, knowing that i'm your pick-up fix and you're my favourite boy

5. this sweet love | james yuill
be the greatest man that you can be, just be
walk out on the beach with me, walk out in the sea with me, just be
all of the time you show me your love, sweet love
and oh, how you know this sweet love

6. my favourite book | stars
cause i never knew a home until i found your hands
and when i'm weathered, you come to me, you're my best friend
and that is why we'll always make it
how I know your face, all the ways you move
you come in, i can read you, you're my favourite book
all the things you say, the way you shift your eyes
i never knew there was someone to make me come alive

7. sunday | bloc party
i love you in the morning when you're stlll hungover
when i'm with you i am calm, a pearl in your oyster
head on my chest, a silent smile, a private kind of happiness
you see giant proclamations are all very well, but our love is louder than words

8. clouds | the long winters

the ground is so proud just to hold us up
we're a kiss away from being dangerous
kiss me and show me that it's true

download

Part II

9. blue eyes | cary brothers
i can help you to stand, saved it up for this dance
tell me all the things you can
i just want to sing a song with you, i just want to be the one that's true
cause blue eyes, you're the secret i keep
all the lights on and you are alive, but you can't point the way to your heart

10. fair | remy zero
when you'd hide your songs would die, so i'd hide yours with mine
and all my words were bound to fail
i know you won't fail
see, i can tell

11. oviedo | blind pilot
i didn't know i'm not in control, i didn't know i'm not invincible
and maybe some things are better left unsaid
if you wanted to test that out, well i guess i couldn't say
but there were nights in bars that i recall, your breath was courage laced with alcohol
you leaned in, you said, "make music with the chatter in here and whisper all the notes in my ear."

12. your smile's a drug | patrick park
your smile is a drug that i can't afford anymore
cause you're a tongue-tied talker with sleepy eyes that always gets the last word
you're not broken, you're just tired and it shows
when you're done acting tough, you only take two and a quarter to get fucked up
and when you say you're in love, you just sound like you're giving up
to say i'll be alright would be a risky bet cause i'm about as good as i'm gonna get
these chains are tight, and the courage that i showed left a long time ago, just so you know

13. silent signs | deyarmond edison
desire direction
and once a little vital laugh sings introspection, redefined
buried in brotherhood
my body's built much braver cause i once befriended you

14. broken | s. carey
i will always be there
rest your weary head, dismiss your doubt
i will always be there, and this won't get broken

15. a dream for us | the appleseed cast
cause what i feel inside, i don't want to hide
it's you that got to me, it's what i want to sing
cause i've got a dream for us

16. the weight of us | sanders bohike
your secrets are mine to keep, protected by silent sleep
i'm not ready, i'm not ready
for the weight of us, for the weight of us, for the weight of us
the time has come
let us be brave

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so we're helpless in sleep and drowning

tracedust — Tue, 22 May 2012 22:10:51 GMT

Title: so we're helpless in sleep and drowning
Pairing: Harry/Louis
Rating: PG-13
Summary: We have swallowed him up, they said. It's beautiful, it really is. Set between Australia and Sweden.
Word Count: ~4,200
Warnings: Mentions of sex, evil!management, far too many angsty Louis rants and general self-loathing.
A/N: So, I guess I write fanfiction sometimes? References this video and these photos and a lot of other things that I'm sure everyone's already seen. Also, timelines are confusing. Also, please excuse the shameless Sweet Disposition reference. BUT THAT SONG, YOU GUYS, THAT SONG. Title and summary are from Richard Siken.

It’s dark when they get back to their flats in London, and the thing is, Louis really wants to be mad at Harry. Nothing about this is easy, for either of them, but it’s…it’s okay for him. To wear obvious t-shirts and go to obvious clubs and be obvious, and maybe people who don’t know him will say mean things and maybe he’ll cry, but at least it’s out there. At least he’s himself. Louis wonders how Harry can be so simultaneously vulnerable and reckless and maybe that’s something else all together. Maybe that’s bravery.

Louis isn’t brave. He's so trapped inside himself that he wants to claw away at his own skin. Sometimes he can barely breathe from it.

Zayn stays outside to smoke and they say goodbye to the other two boys in the lobby, pressing their hands with tired half-smiles.

And then he and Harry are in the lift that'll take them to their flat, finally alone for the first time since they heard about the video that morning, and it’s quiet. Harry looks at the lift buttons and Louis looks at Harry.

When they get to their door, Harry presses his key into the lock and Louis feels his mobile buzz against his thigh. Knows already by the Darth Vader ringtone that it’s management. He remembers picking the song out on his back in Harry’s bed, with the younger boy giggling into his shoulder, before a call from management had even warranted a foreboding ringtone.

“What is it? We just got home.”

Louis shoulders off his bag and drops it on the kitchen counter with the phone pressed to his ear, flicking on lights and watching Harry pad across the floor to sit on the couch, not looking at him but obviously listening.

“So Harry’s there? Can you put me on speaker?” It’s Sarah, then.

Louis does and Harry looks up, finally meeting his eyes.

“Okay, so it’s not good. But it’s not as bad as we thought, either. Luckily, whoever took the video cut it off before anything too incriminating happened, but the guy who posted it has been answering tweets, saying you two were kissing.”

Louis drops his eyes from Harry’s and looks at his shoes, trying again to think back. They were so buzzed off of the concert and they were in New Zealand, they had fans in New Zealand, and they hadn't been out together in ages, hadn't been allowed, and he was so drunk and it makes him feel sick, that he can’t even really remember what happened, what he did, but so many other people have seen it. There’s a video.

Sometimes he feels like he’s made of glass, muscles and veins and nerve endings exposed for everyone to see, to take parts out and rearrange others like ill-fitting puzzle pieces, making a distorted picture with holes and gaps and senseless images that leave him vacant and aha, that’s it, this is who we want, we the world, the faceless suits at Syco, the millions of screaming teenage girls and their mothers too and no, no, Harry’s the transparent one, with his heart on his sleeve, Harry’s honest, Harry’s already what people want, what everyone wants, and how is Louis supposed to compete with that. How is any of this worth it. He feels like his bones don't sit right in his skin anymore. He feels old.

“We got him to backpedal a bit, he took the video down and he's saying it wasn’t his, that he was just speculating, but, you know, it's the internet, and it’s already all over tumblr and twitter. We think you guys should watch the video sometime, we've emailed it to you, Louis, just so you’re aware of what's out there. Also to know what not to do next time."

Louis rolls his eyes, wishes she could see him.

"As for damage control, Louis, you need to see Eleanor again sometime this week. Maybe go visit her at uni, something, as long as people get pictures.”

"But I was just with her at the airport! There were paps everywhere." Louis doesn't hate Eleanor, she's a friend, even, but he only gets to be home for a week and he doesn't want to spend that time in Manchester.

"Louis, you've been apart for 3 weeks, people are going to expect you to see your girlfriend more than once before you go to America for the summer."

Louis feels his mouth twist and, yeah, Harry is looking at the ground now.

“Harry, you should be okay for now. You did good with Emma. That took a lot of the heat away from the blind item and we think it's cushioned us against too big of a fallout from the video. People are still talking about you two, which is what we wanted.”

Harry’s face looks white, and so, so tired and Louis knows how much he hates this, hates lying, playing this part, and Louis wants to hang up and sit down next to him, pull him into his side and into his neck and bury his face in his curls, feel him warm and solid and there. It’s shit that since realizing the extent of how much he wants to touch Harry he gets to do it less, that it’s harder. Less natural, because now he's always, always thinking. Even when they're alone, there's that instinctual panic, that moment of wondering who's watching, how each movement will be catalogued and analyzed and reposted a thousand times on a thousand websites. And the thing is, it's easy for Harry because he doesn't worry about it, does whatever the fuck he wants, and it's always Louis that has to hold back for the both of them.

“That’s all we really have right now, we’ll keep you updated on any press that gets out. You're splitting up for a few days tomorrow, maybe that's a good thing. We don't want you guys out alone together anymore, we can't stress that enough, especially until the American tour starts. The press is too aware of you here."

"Got it, Sarah." Louis tries not to spit out the words, fails.

"Prove it then. You just need to try harder from now on, be more careful, okay? Now I know you've had a long flight, get some rest."

Louis hangs up and fights a bubbling, manic desire to laugh because try harder. God, god he’s so sick of this, fighting this, feeling this way, and there are so many other people in the world, and why does it have to be this person, this lazy talker with ridiculous hair and freakishly large eyes and a stupid bellowing laugh that makes his insides drop and twist and land somewhere in his throat.

He thinks about if he wasn't in One Direction and only a couple hundred people in the entire world were aware of his existence and if he’d fallen in love with a boy then. Any boy. He wonders if he could deal if the worst coming out meant was some teasing at school and a teary conversation with his mother. Thinks it probably sucks regardless, no matter who you are, and that makes it worse, means being a spokesperson, some kind of gay poster boy, and the weight of that potential pressure makes his hands shake, makes it hard to breathe.

He thinks of Hannah and wonders if she’s happy. Wonders if he’d be happy with her now, if things were different. He thinks about big capitalized things like Choice and Fate. Tries not to laugh at himself, though nothing about it's all that funny.

He looks back at Harry and Harry’s leaning over on the couch with his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, his hair everywhere, and Louis' fingers twitch. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I…should we talk?”

“What’s there to say?” Harry's words are muffled. He lifts his head from his hands and fixes his eyes on Louis. Louis fights the desire to say something ridiculous and stupid, to cross the room and kneel between the other boy's legs, reach up and brush the hair off his forehead. The urge to touch him is unbearable, the air's heavy with it. He takes off his shoes and shuffles into the kitchen to put the kettle on, less because he actually wants tea and more to keep his hands busy and his eyes off Harry’s.

“You know how I feel about all this.” Harry speaks again and this time he’s closer, in the kitchen. Even after all this time, he can still sneak up on Louis. Harry lives surprisingly quietly for how much of a mark he leaves. Louis lives loudly. He grates.

"I don't understand what you're so afraid of, Lou. People you don’t even know judging you? You’ll still have the fans that matter. The good fans. You’ll have your family, the boys. You’ll have me."

The kettle's on and Louis' fetched the Yorkshire tea and two cups from the cupboard above his head and there’s really nothing else he can pretend to do in order to keep from turning around and meeting Harry’s gaze.

And really, if he could count the number of times they’ve had this conversation. This fight. Louis is tired.

He turns around so his back is to the counter and holds out his hand.

“Come here."

Harry’s deflates and steps into Louis’ arms, tangling their legs together, fisting his hands in Louis' shirt. Presses his lips to the place where Louis’ neck meets his shoulder and mutters it's okay, you know, and Louis finally, finally lets his hands tangle in the other boy’s hair, feels his skull. There's something malicious about the way their bodies were made to slot together so perfectly. It feels intentional. They stay wrapped together until the water boils.

****

The worst part is that, even in his head, he can't think of a time or reality where they could be together, can't think of a safe place where he could love him. Because without the band, without this amazing, amazing, invasive experience, there's no Harry. Or, there's no LouisandHarry. He thinks about not trying out for The X-Factor and not being aware of Harry's existence, ever, and them just living out their lives that way and he feels nauseous.

But maybe then Harry's hair would still curl like it used to, maybe he wouldn't be asleep on his feet half the time, dark circles under his eyes like ghostly thumbprints, needing steroid shots in the bum to keep him going, like he's some kind of fucking energy bunny that only needs to be recharged. Maybe in that universe Louis would be less of a coward.

It’s like a sick joke, it is, that what’s given him this person is what’s keeping him from having this person, like someone is setting him up for failure and cackling and fucking hell if Louis isn't following their script.

They curl up in Harry's bed later with Louis' laptop, clutching cups of tea, and watch the video. It's short, maybe 15 seconds long, and blurry as shit. Louis wants to laugh because really.

They're at the bar and Louis' swaying like an idiot, singing something loud and off-key and fuck he should never drink, ever, and okay, so maybe he leans in to kiss Harry because he always wants to kiss Harry, he does, and sometimes Louis thinks Harry doesn't understand that, like just because he's more careful, doesn't broadcast it to the whole world like Harry does, it means he wants Harry less. But he always wants Harry, feels dizzy with it, and they'd snuck out to this bar and he was drunk and not thinking and of course there's a fucking video the one time he slips up. But Harry stopped him, didn't he? Harry stopped him, putting an arm around his neck and whispering in his ear instead and Louis feels guilt unfurling in his stomach because he never gives Harry enough credit.

He forgets that Harry is aware, he's so aware sometimes it's unsettling. He's reckless, yeah, and too impulsive, but he's observant too, he watches, usually making Louis both uncomfortable and hot all over. Doubtlessly he wanted to kiss Louis in public, has before, launching himself at Louis' neck before Louis or Liam could stop him. But he wouldn't do it with Louis' guard down, when it'd be reciprocated, because even if he wants to come out, tell the world, he knows Louis doesn't. It's one more thing Louis has to feel guilty about. One more reminder that this is a problem with Louis. Maybe they're in this together, but Louis is the reason for the lies that make Harry curl in on himself at night and bite his knuckles in his sleep.

They replay the video one more time and then Louis closes the laptop, places both of their mugs on the bedside table and tips Harry back onto the bed, scraping his teeth over his collarbone, along his jaw, Harry's breath already stuttering hot in his ear, and Louis kisses him like he should have been able to in that stupid video, fighting the invasive prickle on his skin, the panic, pushes it down until it's just them, Harry's hands and Harry's tongue and HarryHaryHarry.

****

Louis wakes up on his back with Harry's leg thrown over his, his hand splayed out on Louis' stomach, breath soft on his neck. He knows it's early by the light coming through the window, the pink-gold shade it dusts over Harry's skin. He wonders when he started telling time by Harry, too.

They're separating today, going home to stay with their families for a few days. And then he figures he's off to Manchester to be seen with Eleanor. He tangles his fingers with Harry's on his stomach and closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, Harry hasn't moved. Carefully, so as not to jostle the boy sprawled on top of him, Louis reaches for his phone on the bedside table: 9 am. They need to get ready. But he wants a few more moments of this.

Louis knows he takes some getting used to. He can be loud, abrasive, but in the end people kind of love how mental he is. And it's like, it's like maybe his nervous, manic energy distracts from whatever else everyone is constantly prying at, poking for, and maybe Louis needs it that way. Most of the time. But this is Harry, who he's not trying to distract from anything. And it's nice. The only time he feels still.

Louis blows softly out of the corner of his mouth at the stray curls tickling his cheek, above where Harry's face is pressed into his neck, until the other boy stirs, batting his hand at the nuisance, slapping lazily at Louis' face.

"Do you treat all your pillows this way? Fairly unappreciative if you ask me."

Harry snuffles a sleepy protest into Louis' neck and wriggles closer and Louis aches with the familiarity of it, can actually feel his heart contracting and fights the insane desire to squeeze the other boy to his chest until neither of them can breathe.

"What time is it?" Harry lifts his head, breathes the words over Louis' jaw. His voice is even huskier in the mornings and Louis feels goosebumps break out on the back of his neck. Rolls his eyes at himself.

"Time for us to have been packed and fed and ready to go at least half an hour ago. Up we go, Curly. I require breakfast. And tea."

He gently slides out from under Harry and mourns the loss of his body heat for much longer than it takes to put on one of the jumpers (Harry's) strewn across the floor. He slips into a pair of trousers (his) and pulls on a beanie (his, he's almost sure) and looks back at the other boy, who hasn't moved from where Louis rolled him.

Harry's watching him. He's always watching him. Louis used to flush and vibrate with it, pleased and craving his attention like air, something vital, but now it makes him feel guilty more often than not. Undeserving. Harry's gaze hasn't changed, he's not asking Louis for anything. Louis still feels indebted.

Harry blinks up at him slowly through his fringe and doesn't look away until Louis huffs a breath and climbs back into bed, letting Harry slide off the beanie and the trousers first, jumper last. Louis aches. They skip breakfast.

****

It's been two days. Two days and Louis misses him so much he feels sick, unwhole. He remembers reading about "phantom limbs" and thinks that's what this is like, like Harry is such a part of him that he still feels him there, like an itch, like as long as he doesn't turn around the other boy will be behind him, laughing at his jokes and shaking the hair out of his eyes or grasping Louis' shoulders, kissing the back of his head.

His mum knows something's wrong, his sisters too, and they're used to his moods but they're not used to him missing Harry, and they know it's that, his mum gazing at him so pityingly over the mug of her morning tea he wants to shake her and shake himself because there's something really, truly horrible about feeling like such a steaming pile of shit and knowing it's entirely your own fault.

"You alright, love? Seem a bit off since you've been back."

He fakes a smile, feels guilty. Transparent. "Course, probably just jet lag and all that."

His mum nods and lets the conversation drop.

He sips his tea and presses at the bruises Harry had kissed into his sternum, his collarbone, when he pressed Louis against the door before they left, their bags piled around their feet, marking him in places he knew Louis would be able to hide. Harry doesn't cover his, wears them like a badge, something he's proud of, all reckless low cut shirts and exposed skin. Louis knows this. Familiar with the nervous thrill he gets when Harry pulls his jumper off in public, purposely leaving his shirt skewed, and Louis loves the contrast, the clean, delicate lines of his collarbones and the angry purple of the bruises Louis had sucked there, but he tries to be more careful with Harry's skin regardless. Finds other less visible ways to mark and possess.

So they're listening to management. They're keeping their distance, literally, they're trying harder and if Louis wants to fall asleep in the t-shirt he stole from Harry and not wake up until the day after tomorrow when they're back in London together, that's just something he'll have to deal with on his own. Louis wonders when he crossed the line from unhealthily attached to pathetically, desperately dependent. Wonders if the line ever existed.

It's just that Louis literally can't remember a time when they were apart for more than two or three days, fuck, doesn't want to, because he's sure it'd be a really shitty memory anyway, feel a lot like this. Like missing the little desperate noise Harry makes when Louis licks under his hipbone, or Harry's breath hot and panting in his ear and ghosting over his ribcage and Harry's mouth on his cock, yeah, but also like missing tripping over his own shoes that Harry borrows and kicks off in the most ridiculous places, in front of the fridge or the bathroom door, or missing waking up sputtering on Harry's hair because jesus it's everywhere, stray curls always inexplicably finding their way into Louis' mouth while they're sleeping, the other boy pressed to his side like a leech, and maybe he misses the way he bites his lip and his dimples pop out like fucking craters when he's trying to stifle a laugh and the big stupid outburst when he can't, the one that's never fake and for the whole world to hear but mostly for Louis and fucking hell Tomlinson, pull yourself together.

He presses harder at the marks Harry left, like the sting will make them last longer.

He hasn't even called Harry since yesterday because he doesn't want to be the weak one, the one who couldn't handle it, and time apart, maybe that's a good thing. He'd tweet him, something simple and easy-affectionate, but they're not supposed to do that anymore either and Louis just wants to scream at how much his life isn't his anymore, and sometimes he's so weighed down with it all he feels like he's going to suffocate. It's like he's in the middle of the ocean and there's a stone tied to his waist and he's sinking, sinking, and that suffocating panic, that I can't breathe, I'm sinking and I can't breathe is there always. And maybe Harry is there with him, but that doesn't make it any easier. Makes it infinitely more terrifying because it's Louis' weight bringing them down, it's Harry who's not strong enough to lift the both of them, shouldn't have to be.

It's barely noon, but he kisses his mum on the cheek, climbs the stairs to his room and sleeps.

****

Louis wakes up sometime later that evening. Sweet Disposition is playing, muffled somewhere in his sheets, and he tries not to sob with relief.

Rolling over, he finds the phone tangled in his blankets and puts it to his ear, closing his eyes and pressing his face into his pillow.

"Harry."

"Hey, Lou." He says it on an exhale. Louis knows something's wrong.

"Alright?"

"Sarah called again. They're flying me to LA the day after tomorrow. Some girl out there's agreed to be seen with me."

Louis sits up so fast he drops the phone. Grabs it. "What? They're making you go all the way to LA for that?"

"Yeah."

"Can't they just start the rumor from over here, like they usually do? Since when do you actually have to be in pictures for people to believe shit?"

"Yeah, well, apparently they're going to start some story about me looking for a new place over there, too? Same as always. They know we refuse to actually split up or move out or whatever, but I guess the rumors are good? Like, maybe we're not getting along or you're planning on moving in with Eleanor or something. I don't know."

Harry's voice sounds normal but Louis has seen Harry cry enough, senses, even through the phone, that his eyes are bright with tears, and now his own are prickling, and they were supposed to be back in London together in less than 2 days and he misses him and-

"Fuck this".

"Well, yeah, but I mean, it's basically what you want though, right? It's good fake press. And it's not like I'm complaining, I'll, uh, hopefully I'll get to go to Marvin's bachelor party while I'm over there. It's just..." His breath finally stutters, his voice tight. "Fuck, I miss you, Louis."

Louis squeezes his eyes shut, doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I miss you, too. You don't even know."

He hears a shaky exhale from the other end of the line and, well, fuck it.

"Let's meet up."

"What?"

"Tomorrow. Before you have to go to LA and I have to see El. We'll meet up somewhere in between. Maybe go with Niall to that JLS concert in Sheffield. Get a hotel room after."

"But we're supposed to be keeping our distance or whatever. I mean, Wellington. People might see."

He feels a little hysterical because since when is Harry the logical one, the careful one, and it's just one more example of him covering for Louis' stupid fucking cowardice.

"I can't not see you before you fly to Los Angeles, Harry."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay."

Harry's trying to keep his voice neutral but Louis can feel the smile there anyway, happy Louis is the one taking the risk for once, knows his eyes are sparkling with it, and Harry's always been so easy to please. He hardly asks anything of Louis and just this one little thing is enough, this one day, and it makes Louis feel a little shitty but also more than a little in love. There's a whooshing in his stomach and his chest feels, well, light.

And okay, so management won't be happy about it, and he still agrees with them, mostly, isn't ready to hold hands with Harry in the street, and maybe he won't be wearing Love is Equal t-shirts or posing for photos at gay bars, and it's hard, he still feels too vulnerable, exposed, but he wants to see Harry, needs to see him, and he may not be in complete control of everything in his life but he's not helpless. So he will. Thinks maybe they'll even go to dinner soon, at an actual restaurant, not order take out or room service like they usually do, and he realizes, pathetically, that he's actually grinning at the thought.

And if choice, fate, Simon Cowell, whichever, whatever it was that put them in this shitty situation, he doesn't even care, should send them a fruit basket, because he feels...he feels lucky, he is lucky, and fuck if it isn't all worth it.

Louis starts packing.

tracedust — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 05:21:13 GMT

Hi.

tumblr.