#I could list alllllll the things for them

[ohraicodoll]

ahhh your headcannons are so amazing would you be down to do more? maybe one focusing on red and joels relationship developing in jackson?

also did you ever explain why joel and ellie call her red. or did i just miss it?

Joel wasn't paying attention when Ellie named her those first few days. He was too busy trying to ignore her completely and then was too stubborn to ask. (You may get the reason why in the next story I post).

Here's some more headcanons:

They both don't know how to navigate life in Jackson. Which means they default to continuing what they were doing before and not talk about it

That first night in the house, after bringing Ellie home and that conversation on the hilltop, everything felt stiff. The teenager was still quiet while Joel did his best to get her to open up. She took up residence in the room she stayed in last time while Joel took the other. Red didn't know where she was suppose to go and decided to just take the first floor bedroom

Skin clean from showering, food in her belly, the room felt cold and alone no matter how much she arranged it to make herself feel comfortable.

She woke to the sound of her door opening and then a curse as whoever it was stepped on the random junk she had put in front of it as a makeshift alarm. Joel glared at her, huffed, then told her to get her ass upstairs. So she did, both of them knocking out quickly next to each other.

Ellie eased up a bit more after time, which meant they both breathed a little easier.

It was a few days after settling in that Joel slid the hand on her stomach to under her shirt as they lay in bed. It was like lighting a bonfire. For the first time since they started whatever relationship they were in, he saw her completely naked and mapped out every scar, freckle, and mark on her body. They didn't sleep at all that night.

Both of them are not good at relationships.

Joel hadn't been in a real one since Sarah's mom and as important as Tess was and as long as they were together, he'd put up a wall emotionally between them. Could never give her what she wanted.

Red hadn't been with anyone really since Harry years before in the early days of the outbreak. He was her high school sweetheart and the only man she had been with for years into her 20's until she shot his face off years later.

They don't confront what they are.

But Joel doesn't like the eyes of the men on her or the way he overhears some wondering if she was wild in the sheets too. Talking about taming her. He almost breaks one of their jaws. Tommy has to come up with an excuse for him.

Red finds that settlement life has brought something up she hadn't had to deal with in a long time. Insecurity. She's not young anymore and her appearance wasn't a necessity when you're surviving. Is aware of the differences between her and the other women. Add in her protectiveness of her people and it made her hyper aware how the women in town looked at Joel.

No one considered her more than his partner in a non-romantic sense. The person Joel was taking care of. It rankled her but she couldn't argue against it, couldn't exactly claim him in front of them all. Because she didn't know if he was hers.

Joel however, didn't think it needed explaining that she was his. His what exactly, he wasn't sure. But somehow it all had morphed beyond needs and sex and survival. Girlfriend and partner seemed contrived in comparison. Red was just...his.

Her abrasiveness made the gentle moments all the better. He liked seeing her relaxed and laid out in the sun, body loose. Loved the way her eyes became bright with life anytime music was brought up. The gentle smile and soothing hands when he would wake up from a nightmare, urging him to breathe.

The first time she smiled and laughed at him, not Ellie, he was stunned and may have blushed. She looked like a completely different person and if he could drink the sound of her laughter and joy, he'd be drunk on it every day.

There were some mornings when she slept in later than him and he took the time to count the small stars tattooed on her collarbone and watching her breathe.

It takes months before she shares the cassette tape in her bag. She hands it over to him like she's handing over her first born child. And then she leaves, saying they can give it back when they're finished. He borrows a cassette radio and him and Ellie listen to the mixtape her sister made for her.

When they hear her sing on that tape, the last song on the tape her sister had secretly recorded one band practice, Joel had to clench his teeth and close his eyes at the sudden feeling of wanting to sob for some reason. Because the young girl's voice was full of sunshine and laughter and god, she had been so good and then the apocalypse robbed her of all of that. He can hear hints of his Red in that tape and it feels like they're mourning a loved one. Ellie discreetly wiped away tears.

Tommy sometimes asks what her real name is. Joel didn't know it and told him so and his brother seemed baffled at the notion that he didn't even know the name of the woman he was with. But she did have a name and it was Red or Starshine or Darling.

They don't know her birthday until one day he finds her in the small wildflower covered hill outside the harvest field. There are no cakes, no parties, nothing but her and the flowers and the whispered confession that her family never celebrated birthdays, but her sister would come into her room every morning and surprise her with something if only to celebrate in some way. He sat behind her, legs on either side, and held her before confessing that his birthday was Outbreak day and the day Sarah died.

Ellie's birthday is the only one they plan on celebrating.

She traced her name into his palm one day, but he never speaks it out loud.

When they argue, Ellie knows to take cover in her room. Joel can get loud, uses his height and stature to get his way, but she's used to being smaller. Knows how to stab with words and snap her teeth and not back down. They're both so stubborn and rarely does either of them win.

The makeup sex usually lasts all night

When Maria gives birth, Joel finds the pain of seeing another baby isn't as bad as he thought. That natural part of him kicks back in when he holds the baby boy, smiling softly at the newest member of the Miller family.

Red stays in the doorway, watching them all. She looked a second away from bolting. She doesn't hold the baby.

Sometimes wild animals kill their young. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes accidentally. She's not taking any risks.

He comes home a few times and finds her on the couch, one of the older kennel dogs curled into her on the couch and her arm around it. He's old and has been taken off duty which meant the patrols don't care about him. The cold has been hard on the old dog.

She stays in the kennels for almost a whole week when the dog dies from old age, tucked away with the other pups, and he has to carry her back home.

There are moments of seeing the girl she used to be. When they get drunk in the house, Ellie staying over with Tommy to help them with the baby, he manages to make her laugh and even persuades her to dance with him. She has a hard time being gentle but she becomes liquid in his hands, bashful and pink cheeked and a grin so bright it could rival the stars.

She is two different people but he finds he loves both. The girl before whose name was written into his skin late at night and the woman after with sharp teeth and narrowed eyes who Ellie had named in the forest.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Who is Mew Anyway?

I realized we are over halfway through Only Friends now, and that I have only talked about Mew once in my write ups. Which…makes sense for me, all things considered, until now he’s kind of been a blah character in my eyes. And I am leaning in to and really appreciating how intentional that is beginning to feel on behalf of Jojo and co. 

When you think about it, until literally halfway through the show we have known almost nothing about Mew besides the fact that he is the table keeper for his friends, he is a hotel management student, and he’s a virgin. If you asked me to list any other facts about Mew’s life or his role in life, I would not have been able to answer much of anything. 

And that’s because Mew isn’t really anything. Personally, I feel like Mew thinks he has a strong sense of self and the second that something comes along to question that, all those illusions he has of himself start crumbling. When I look at Mew’s character, and I mean start getting in to the nitty gritty of Mew’s character, I don’t think Mew has any idea who he is. Which, for a show about college students is fucking brilliant. I thought I knew who I was in college, and then I graduated and promptly became queer and trans. I thought I knew what career I wanted, and then I ended up going to grad school for something outside of my initial plans. I know @waitmyturtles mentioned something similar about trying on different personalities in college in her Episode 7 Review. 

Think about Mew’s apartment, it was his mother’s old place. He took it over after she moved out. He didn’t choose this place, we can’t be certain this is the type of apartment or the location that Mew would actively decide to be in. When he brings Top home the first night they meet, Top comments on the place:

“Your room is nice, it suits you” 

To which Mew replies ‘It’s my Mom’s old room. I decorated it using ideas from the internet” 

Which says to me that Mew’s own personality, his own interests weren’t even involved in the creation of his own personal space. He decorated it based on inspiration from what other people had done to their own places. And Mew’s apartment fascinates me further, as a color-coder in BL kinda person. Because Mew’s apartment is all over the place in its decoration. 

On one wall we have striped wallpaper, in orange hues.

On another we have light blue walls with white and golden patterning. A yellow couch, a blue bookshelf. 

In his room he has a wall that is painted a solid green

And I can’t quite get a good image of it, but the opposite wall in his room is painted a dark turquoise with white patterning, which is different from Ray’s house, but still evokes a similar visual point of comparison.

Even Mew himself, when we first meet him is alllllll over the place with his colors. He has lines all over his shirt, with squares of different colors. His second look of the show is a solid light blue shirt over top of a striped shirt with orange, green, yellow.

His bed sheets are similarly stripes with dark gray, green, yellow, and orange.

Which is to say, at the beginning of our time with Mew, it is hard to pin down who he is as a person. He doesn’t have a color, he doesn’t have a pattern, to associate with his character. He fluctuates between rich, saturated colors and light, washed out pastels. 

When I think of Mew, I think of all the outfits he’s worn that have a strong green tint to them, but honestly, looking back through his wardrobe, Mew has a broad range of colors he chooses from. 

(Now, I recognize that all of this could be because the costuming department does not actually care about color coding, and that the eclectic styling of Mew’s apartment was just how it already was. And that’s fine, but I’m here so I’m gonna overanalyze it.)

All this to say that, Mew’s colors, Mews home, Mew’s pattern choices are all very disparate. All this to say that as a result I am now assuming that Mew does not know who he is, and neither do we. He could go any number of ways. Mew could go orange, yellow, green, blue. He could be complicated (with complex patterns) or straight forward (with solid colors). But none of us know at the beginning of this show quite where he will go. 

Truthfully, the only aspect of Mew that I have seen be steadfast throughout the show, is Mew’s moral superiority complex. Everything else is mutable. Mew has throughout most of the show, regarded himself as a good person. He doesn’t drink much, he doesn’t dance much, he doesn’t sleep around at all, and that somehow in his mind, grants Mew the opportunity to talk down to his friends. 

He’s not an alcoholic like Ray who he has no problem lecturing in the bathroom about how he is  going to be dead by 30, despite knowing that Ray is/was suicidal. He’s not a slut like Boston, who is far too obsessed with Mew’s virginity, etc. etc. etc. Mew fucks with Top, deciding that he is going to wait to have sex with him for awhile. And that is his right, but Mew doesn’t say he’s waiting because he isn’t comfortable with sex. He tells Boston and Cheum that he is waiting to have sex with Top to make sure that Top is serious about their relationship. Because if Top is serious about dating Mew without sex being involved, that means that Mew is worthy of the top tier because he is top tier, and not because he is an easy lay that Top can use for bragging rights (bagging a virgin). 

And I would have previously entertained a conversation around whether or not that is true, but unfortunately for any dissenters to my read of Mew, now that Mew has decided to #embracethenasty, there is no convincing me out of my observation that Mew does not know who he is. 

Why? Because the second that Mew starts retaliating against Top, the second he decides to ruin Top’s life, to stoop low, to be the lesser person…Mew starts dressing like Ray. I am certainly not the first person to notice this, it has been circulating in multiple different forms across my tumblr page, but.

Gif from @firstmix

Mew doesn’t know who he is, Mew doesn’t know how he fits in to the world now that he has decided to make Top’s life a living hell. I am not convinced Mew is capable of seeing himself as a bad person, because he isn’t a slut or an addict or a cheater. [As an aside here, this is Mew’s thinking, not my own personal beliefs on what makes someone a good or bad person]. So, of course, if he wanted to become a bad person. If he wanted to play at being as toxic and terrible as the people around him, it makes sense Mew would don the wardrobe of his “best friend”, Ray. Ray, who Mew looks down on for being an alcoholic, for not valuing his life. Who Mew has told time and time again to love himself, and to quit drinking and doing drugs, as if that is going to cure Ray’s addiction. And who in under five minutes just took a blowtorch to everyone’s relationships. 

Why? Because Mew is so self-righteous that he looks down on others around him. Mew isn’t ready or willing to look at and acknowledge the nasty, flawed parts of himself, so he adorns the nasty, flawed parts of others, to abstract himself from his own behavior. He uses Ray’s clothing, Nick’s methodology, and Boston’s personality to retaliate at the people he feels wronged by. 

Mew uses Boston against himself, wielding Boston’s sexual prowess, his willingness to fuck, his Hunter charm to get himself in to Gap’s apartment. He uses Nick’s methodology to steal the video of Boston and lords the knowledge over Boston’s head (like Nick did to Top), and again, he is wearing Ray’s clothing. But while Mew is trying to be a chameleon in his behavior, his appearance, his strategy to get back at Top, Mew’s own flavor of flaw starts becoming ever more clear. 

Mew has a superiority complex.

It is absolutely, unbelievable shitty and vile to threaten to out Boston to his father. To treat Boston’s privacy and safety with such disdain. Boston records others and he keeps those images as evidence, so Mew steals Boston’s MO. Mew takes the recording of Boston, looks Boston in the eye, and makes Boston think that he is going to hold on to that for evidence.

Now, right before this, Mew does actually draw a comparison point between himself and Boston. 

“You and I have something in common.” he says

“We’re both gullible” 

Mew makes Boston beg. And after he has made Boston sweat sufficiently, he throws the flashdrive on the ground. He says: “I’m kidding. No matter how much I hate you, I won’t do it. Because I don’t betray my friend like you did. 

“Then I’d be just as filthy as you are.”

While Mew is able to identify a potential flaw of his own, being gullible isn’t a fundamental aspect of Mew’s personality or character, being gullible isn’t who Mew is. It’s a flaw that he is pointing out only because he is still reeling from allowing himself to be fooled by Top and Boston. It’s a flaw that he is point out so that he can weaponize his superiority complex. 

In other words: “You and I have something in common, but I am better than you because I don’t betray my friends”  As if he didn’t just threaten to publicize Boston’s sex life to his father, the implications of which could have a national impact.

And while it is ultimately unsurprising that Mew channels Ray in doing all of this, it is interesting. Interesting because Mew is using Ray. Mew not only knows that Ray is capable of fucking up his own life, and the lives of the people around him, he also knows that Ray is the least liked by both Boston and Top. Boston’s distaste for Ray is subtle, as his obsession with Top and Mew has been more at the forefront of his interactions with his friends. But we have seen from the very beginning of this show that Boston does nothing to care for Ray. Boston is assigned to take care of Ray and make sure he is safe when he’s been drinking too much. Boston literally never once helps Ray when he’s drunk. Boston sees Ray and Sand crossed, cuddling, and generally having a good time, and Boston goes and airs Ray’s dirty laundry. Ray is the first person to confront Boston about cuckolding Mew. 

So wearing clothing that is reminiscent of Ray when Mew goes to Boston’s house to threaten him is a flavorful undertone for how Mew is hoping Boston will see him. 

At the points in which Top and Mew interact during the episode, Mew is not dressed like Ray, but he sure as shit does lord Ray over Top just to fuck with him. When Top comes to apologize to Mew, Mew asks Ray to find a new designer, literally asking Ray to replace Top. When Ray helps treat Mew’s injury after the group fight, Mew decides to use Ray as a rebound. To use Ray’s feelings for him as a way to experiment, once again, with the type of person he wants to be and the type of person he wants to be with. We end the episode with Ray and Mew dancing together at the bar, Mew dressed in a very Ray style

Because Mew is trying Ray on for size, trying his fashion, his company, his lifestyle (as we see from the promo for next week) and that is prone to make RayMew crash and burn, because Ray is self-destructive enough as is, and I don’t think Mew is going to do well with treating himself with Ray’s level of self-care.

Mew doesn’t know who he is, Mew doesn’t know what he wants, the only thing Mew knows is that he’s better than everyone around him, and he can only stoop as low as them is by pretending he is them, rather than facing the fact that he's just as terribly human as the rest of the group.

[dont-call-me-baby-posts]

Blacking Out and Breaking Hearts - Chapter 37

Blacking Out and Breaking Hearts - Master List

Word Count: 19K

Warnings: sex drugs and rock n roll baby!! But on a real note there's also some mental health stuff in here so be warned!!!!

Summary: Y/N is a successful musician, trying to navigate the world of stardom along with her complicated feelings for her best friend, Harry.

Alternatively: The one with some closure.

A/N: Hey guys :) Long time no see.

This chapter is starting to tie up all of our loose ends; we need happy endings for everyone! I kind of flip between alllllll the characters in this chapter so we can see a little bit of what they're all doing. Sorry its a little long! As always, please let me know what you think!

Here's what we've got lined up for the rest of the story:

chapter 38 will probably be around 16k of straight smut, plus an ending. 39 and 40 will be the epilogue and then we'll have as many blurbs as y'all want! thank you again everyone who still loves this story! I can't wait to finally see it through with you guys :)

Chapter 37

Rachel wasn’t a confrontational person.

She couldn’t tell if it was just the fact that she’d been born and raised to sit still, look pretty, and be pleasant, or if that was just the personality she’d been cursed with. Either way, she had been soft for as long as she could remember. She was kind and nurturing and never raised her voice, but that also meant she was constantly being stepped over, talked over, and told exactly what to do. She felt like a show dog who never learned to play fetch; all she was meant to do was sit, or speak, or jump. 

That was one of the many, many reasons she loved Logan so much. She was almost the complete opposite of Rachel; She never held her tongue, she never let anyone step on her toes, and she said what she meant with her chest. She was everything Rachel wanted to be and couldn’t. She was strong and brave and also soft in her own way without being weak. 

For some reason, the news of Harry and Y/N’s inevitable rekindling didn’t bring Rachel the same warm, sappy feelings it did for everyone else. Sure, she was happy for them… But she had to fake the excitement in her voice while she listened to Logan go on and on about how amazing it was that her best friend had finally “gotten the balls” to open up to Harry and fix the “good thing they had”. 

Instead of the nice, bubbly feeling Rachel knew she was supposed to have, she felt something else entirely. Something wicked and foreign and almost sinister. Because you know what? Rachel and Logan had a good thing, too, and yet here they were tiptoeing around and lying and covering up every track they left behind them. Here they were, going on nearly two months without having seen each other. Here they were, happy and in love and almost entirely secret.

She didn’t talk to Logan before she did what she did next. It was almost like she was possessed by someone else, someone like her beautiful, talented girlfriend who was brave and bold and decisive. She hung up the phone, after having spent a better part of an hour insisting that she was over the moon for Y/N when in reality she was feeling quite bitter and jealous and angry, and sat motionless on her bed for another 45 minutes. Then, as if someone else had come to rest their hand on her shoulder, she stood up and walked down the stairs to where she knew her parents were enjoying cocktails and fancy little finger foods. 

(She, as she marched down the marble stairs, thought how interesting it was that her parents were still having guests over in the height of a global pandemic but insisted it wasn’t “safe” for her to go see Logan. Funny, she thought to herself. Hilarious, really! If Rachel didn’t know any better, she'd suspect they had different motives keeping her away from Logan! Imagine that!)

And then, still guided by some outside force completely out of her control, she found herself in the middle of the expansive kitchen of her parents enormous house, surrounded by at least 20 people she only sort of knew. People who ran companies her parents invested in or directed movies Rachel never bothered to watch or owned record labels that fucked over people like Logan and Y/N. She, in her pajama pants and hair undone, face bare of any makeup whatsoever, slapped her palms on the cool of the island counter and found herself smiling. Cheesing, actually. Nearly giddy with excitement. 

Her mom noticed her last, letting out what could be considered a gasp as she turned to see her perfect, hand-moulded daughter in front of all these people looking the way she did now. Hair thrown up on top of her head, not clean. Logan’s oversized t-shirt over her narrow frame, covered in various stains. (The stains were an homage to the exciting, vibrant life Logan had lived before they met, one that Rachel would never experience or understand. Stains from house parties in basements and 9-5 jobs and public school. Rachel loved the spots where the material was stained blue or purple with paint, or slightly torn from a fight Logan had gotten into with some girl from Junior year. None of Rachel’s clothes had stains. Not any of them. It was almost as if she’d never existed at all.)

It was after the gasp that Rachel’s mother said: “Oh! Oh, wow! Sweetheart, why don’t you go upstairs and get dressed and you can join us for dessert?”

Rachel, quick with a response she hadn’t taken any time to think over or plan, shook her head. Her smile didn’t falter. 

“Actually, mom, I don’t think I will.”

Nervous laughter, from everywhere. It came in small spurts, someone else’s uncomfortable chuckle filling the silence one after the other. 

“Okay, well…” Her mom started, letting out her own high pitched chortle. “Why don’t you-“

“I’m going to see Logan.” Rachel interrupted. (She couldn’t remember one other time she had ever cut someone off while they were speaking, but she was already far from her usual self tonight). Rachel looked around at the confused faces around her, “Logan is my girlfriend.” She clarified with a smile. Her mom laughed tightly again. 

“Oh, no, she’s-“

“Yes, mom. Logan is my girlfriend and I’m going to go see her. I think I might stay there a while, actually. With the virus and everything, you know, I figure it would be safer than staying here with all of your lovely guests.”

Now she’d done it. Her mothers face changed shades three times over, going from pink to red to a stark white that for some reason made Rachel feel even better than she already did. Her mom, after a quick excuse to her friends, walked herself up the stairs, knowing Rachel would follow. 

When she got to Logan’s house later that night she didn’t recount the events of the evening. She didn’t tell her what her mom had said, all the threats she’d whispered under her breath. She didn’t tell her how she’d cried the whole time packing her bags, or how her dad had run out after her telling her to think it over or sleep on it. She didn’t tell Logan that her mom had, in her own words, told her she wasn’t welcome back in their home if she did anything “unsavory”. She didn’t tell Logan that she’d essentially been cut off by her parents when she told her mom she was going public with her relationship. She didn’t feel that she needed to, not yet at least. 

Rachel didn’t need her family's money. She was successful in her own right, and the whole pandemic had given her a chance to start thinking about careers other than modeling, anyway. She didn’t take time to think it over. She didn’t have to. 

///

Logan was snuggled in her bed when Rachel knocked on the door. At first she wasn’t sure what she’d heard, knowing she had already had her daily DoorDash interaction and wasn’t expecting anything or anyone else. The second knock came once Logan had sat up in bed, ears perked and skin prickly with nervous goosebumps. 

To say she was surprised was a massive fucking understatement. She’d never been so happy. She threw herself into Rachel, whose arms were slung with bags, and didn’t notice the way her cheeks were still a little puffy. She tugged her inside and she sat her down on the couch before running to the kitchen to whip up some of Rachel’s favorite cookies. 

Rachel could’ve cared less about the cookies, but she knew Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, she sat backwards on the couch, gazing into the kitchen just watching the love of her life pant and stress and measure and stir. She’d never looked more beautiful, Rachel thought. Never ever ever. 

They stayed on the couch the rest of the night, catching up and kissing and saying over and over how they’d missed one another. Next to a half eaten tray of cookies is where Logan helped Rachel pick out all their favorite photos together for Rachel to post on Instagram. A post dedicated to her girlfriend. And in a way, a post dedicated to herself. 

And it was that easy. After so many months of lying and hiding and longing desperately for what all these other couples had, Rachel had it. She was free. She was cut-off and angry and hurt and scared but before all of that she was free. And, now, she was out. 

///

You didn’t see Rachel’s post, or Logan’s texts, or the countless tweets breaking the internet. You were… preoccupied. 

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like that.” Harry praised, running a hand through your hair to rest on the back of your skull. “So fucking pretty. Fucks sake.”

You hummed around him, running your hands up the length of his thighs to rest on the soft part of his hips. Harry was laid back against the headboard, body at a slope while you nestled yourself between his parted thighs. Your head bobbed softly around his length, his hand applying no extra pressure but still making your scalp tingle warmly. You weren’t in any hurry, your movements slow and sleepy and delicate. Harry hummed softly above you, telling you again and again that you were so pretty, so pretty, so fucking good. 

The last few days had gone pretty much like this. You’d wake up wrapped up in Harry’s gangly limbs, kiss his eyelids open, and stay in bed until one of you was desperate enough to go pee or eat. You’d sometimes lay in bed and talk or make out or, on days like this one, you’d shuffle yourself down the length of Harry’s body and take him into your mouth like you were starved. Harry would do the same for you, usually pulling you by your hips up his torso and onto his face or bending his leg just enough so you could situate yourself on top of his tiger tattoo and curl into his chest until you came. 

Life was so good. Everything was perfect. Harry was an angel, as usual. The weather was just right for leaving the windows open. No one texted you or called you about meetings or bothered you. It was just you and Harry and a kind of calm contentment you hadn’t felt in years. 

You still hadn’t had sex, but after listening in on Harry’s conversation with Anders you decided not to push it. You thought maybe if you just proved yourself to him, he’d be ready. You didn’t mind giving him time, even though you secretly hoped each night you curled up next to him that he might take you right there and press your face into the mattress until you couldn’t think or even speak. You would never ever want him to do something he didn’t want to, and he was giving you more than enough to hold you over. In fact, the amount of affection and love and attention he’d showered you with the last few days had been enough to last a lifetime. Not a second went by that you didn’t know with every singular cell in your body how much he loved you. He wouldn’t allow it. 

Even when you had a nightmare a few days before, Harry had been awake and alert the moment you needed him. You didn’t even have time to get to the worst part of the dream and startle yourself awake before he’d pulled you on top of his body and began whispering in your ears. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and his legs around your thighs, tying you to his front. You weren’t scared when you woke up and didn’t pull away from the touch. “I’m right here.” He’d whispered, shifting his weight to rock you slightly. “I’m right here. It’s okay, flower. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

He must have heard you mumbling his name in your sleep, the same way you always did when you had these nightmares. You called his name like always and he was there. You were calm and back to sleep in a matter of minutes, something you wouldn’t have even thought possible a few months ago. 

And now, on another beautiful morning, you were leaving the half-moon indents of your nails on the inside of Harry’s thighs. Feeling more alive than ever. On top of the world. Like the luckiest girl alive. 

///

Anders wasn’t sure what to do with himself. 

He’d not been doing his weekly therapy sessions like he was meant to, and hadn’t been for weeks. Talking about his feelings with some stiff old man was bad enough, and doing it over a Zoom call was just downright unbearable. He’d rather do anything else, and so he did. He crocheted and wrote songs and annoyed his parents to no end practicing his trumpet from middle school. He painted and talked to Harry and Y/N and learned the dances from three separate Justin Bieber music videos to a fucking T. He kept himself busy by any means necessary, because he had to. He even built a tiny house for a lady bug he found on his window still out of a cereal box. The ladybug died the next morning, but Anders liked to think it died comfortably at least. 

But on this day, Anders was inclined by some outside force (perhaps the same force that had moved Rachel all the way in LA) to find his laptop under all the dirty laundry and half-finished projects on the floor and open up the stupid fucking website and message his stupid fucking therapist that he was actually going to show today. 

He found himself talking about Y/N, and Jena, and Macy from the grocery store. (She’d been the one to stop him from nearly overdosing that day he’d bought all those drugs, after all. He thought about her all the time lately. He thought about her every time he ate one of his oranges he’d bought that day, which was a lot. His mom told him he had to finish the entire bag as some sort of fucked up punishment, he supposed). His therapist, with his cable knit sweater and glasses slid half-way down his nose, had to basically force Anders to talk about his parents. 

“It sucks, man. What else do you want to know?”

The doctor, Dale, narrowed his eyes at Anders’ answer to his question about how things were ‘at home’. When he realized Anders wasn’t going to continue, he sighed and lifted his hands. 

“Could you be any more specific about what sucks so bad, man?” Dale retorted. Over the weeks that Anders had spent with him before the pandemic, Dale had learned it worked better if he talked to Anders the way Anders talked to him. Dale thought, genuinely, that they bonded this way. Anders just thought it was funny. 

“Everything about it sucks.” Was all he could think to say in return. 

By the end of the session, Dale had somehow convinced him that spending more time with his parents might help. If he didn’t put so much space between them, he said, he may feel less suffocated. So, in a desperate fucking attempt to feel a little less crazy, Anders decided to do just that. 

Every night his dad would hobble up the stairs and knock softly on the door and invite Anders to dinner, and every night Anders would decline. (Ever since the incident with the drugs, Andy couldn’t stand looking either of them in the eyes.) When Anders would inevitably turn him away, his dad would say something about how he would save some if he changed his mind and Anders would mumble a quick “thank you” and that would be that. He knew his dad was trying his best, and he believed it when he said he missed Anders and wanted to spend time with him. His mom never made any attempt to talk to him after the drug incident. Anders was okay with that, he thought.

To put it plainly, Anders’ dad was fucking bamboozled when he accepted his offer to come to dinner later that night. He’d been leaning against the door, his ear pressed to the wood to hear Anders’ response when it had been thrown open to showcase a bright-eyed and surprisingly content son on the other side. “I’d like that.” Anders smiled, feeling like this was his first big step into fixing everything. “Thank you for asking.”

His dad had followed him down the steps, even the sound of his socked feet on the stairs sounding confused. Anders spun around the corner into the kitchen, throwin’ a little razzle dazzle on his triumphant return to the family unit as he found a seat at the table. He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. He felt almost excited to be here. 

“Whatcha makin’?”

His mom, at the sound of her only son’s voice, turned to face him and froze, serving spoon still in hand and dripping twice onto the tiled floor before she looked back at her husband. 

“I told you I didn’t make enough for three.” She said to him.

Oh. 

And, just like that, it was over. The high Anders had felt following his talk with Dale fizzled out and settled into an ache in his abdomen. He was stunned for a second, looking back and forth between his parents. Surely he misunderstood. 

“I’m sure there’s enough.” His dad said, an over the top sunshine in his voice. When she didn’t answer right away his dad spoke again, his sunshine feeling a bit more shaded. “He wants to have dinner with us, hun.”

“Well, there’s not enough.” She reiterated, literally throwing her spoon onto the stove. “If he wanted to eat he should’ve said something. Since when does he want to spend time with us?”

“He can have mine, then.”

Before anyone else could speak, Anders stood up. He felt so small and yet too big, like he was taking up too much space no matter how far he folded into himself. 

“It’s alright, Dad.” Anders smiled, turning to face his mom. She met his eyes, finally, though she couldn’t have looked more uninterested. “I have oranges upstairs.”

And he turned and walked back up the same stairs to his same room and collapsed on that same bed he spent all day every day in. He could hear the bickering, just like when he was a child. He covered his head with a pillow but he could still hear them. 

“That was cruel.”

“He doesn’t want anything to do with us! Why should I continue making him dinner if he never eats any? I’m tired of cleaning out the tupperwares you insist on saving for him.”

“I’ll clean them, then.”

There was a pause. Dishes clanging in the sink. 

“Why do you do this? Why do you defend him after the way he’s talked to us?”

“You’re holding him hostage here! What is he supposed to do?”

“Be grateful, I don’t know!”

Anders turned under his covers. He decided already he wouldn’t cry, but it was threatening to gurgle out of him anyway. 

“He is our son. We’re supposed to be helping. You read all those books… You- you went to classes! And now you’re not even going to let the boy eat?”

“I'm tired of the books! I'm tired of the classes, and the coddling, and the fighting! I give up. I give up, okay? I’m done!”

“You give up? Haven’t we failed the boy enough?”

“He failed us! We gave him everything. He could’ve been anything and, and, and… and look at him! You’re proud of that? I’m tired of feeling responsible for how he turned out. He did that on his own.”

“Damn right I’m proud. He may have his… struggles, but he is not a failure. The boys a goddamn rockstar!”

“He’s not a rockstar, he’s a junkie. And I’m tired of pretending that he’s not.”

Now, to anyone else hearing this conversation, there’s a few things you might miss. 

Number one:  Anders’ dad never cursed. He had, in all of his son’s life, uttered at most 4 curse words and even that was a stretch. Him using the word “damn”, and taking the lord's name in vain? Anders’ could’ve thought hell had finally frozen over! 

Number two: Anders couldn’t remember a single time in his life that either of his parents had said they were proud of him. So, even if he hadn’t said it to his face, his dad saying those words was like winning the fucking lottery. 

Number three: In all of his years as a semi-professional drug addict, Anders had never been called a junkie by anyone. He hadn’t even seen it online, and he was called his fair share of names. So, to hear his mom say it… It was like a kick in the back of the head. It was like a blow right in his chest. It was worse than going to therapy and making phone calls and being punched in the nose. It was worse than anything he’d ever felt before. 

He sprang up out of bed, grabbing his car keys and stuffing his feet into the nearest pair of shoes. He sauntered down the stairs, making no attempt to hide his presence. The conversation in the kitchen stopped as both parties watched him. With a captive audience, Anders thought, it was the perfect time to put on the performance of a lifetime. 

“I’m heading out.” He said, spinning the keys around his finger. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

Anders, when his mom said nothing, thought he might have been hoping she would stop him. She didn’t. 

“I would ask you not to wait up, but seeing as you’ve already eaten I suppose you’re about ready for bed.” He continued. His dad followed him to the door. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He said, stopping a few feet away from Anders as if he was some feral cat that might be startled away. “We can go grab a bite somewhere. It would be nice to spend some time together.”

Anders actually thought about it. His dad, who his entire life had stood by like some decorative piece of furniture, was finally doing what Anders had always wished he would.

“I’m just going to go do some shopping, but maybe we could watch a movie tomorrow, okay?”

His dad smiled, a real smile, and nodded. “Okay, son.”

“Okay.” He said back. 

Anders gave one last look to his mom, waiting. Any second now she’d say sorry and tell him not to go. She’d tell him at the very least to be careful, or be home by 10. She didn’t. 

“I’ll be home by 10.” He decided for himself. Maybe she’d hold him to it. Maybe she’d call a hundred times if he wasn’t home in two hours. Maybe she’d do what she used to and demand he be home by 9 instead. 

She didn’t say anything. She turned back into the kitchen and continued clanging against the pots and pans she had on the stove. His dad gave him a sad, knowing look, but forced a smile anyway. 

“Call me if you need anything.” He said, giving a quick slap on the shoulder. “I’ll still be up when you get home if you decide you want to hang out. Be safe, okay?”

Anders nodded and because he was possessed by some much more kind hearted spirit tonight he wrapped his arms around his father with an awkward pat-pat on his shoulder blades. His dad took the opportunity to hug him tightly against his chest, even ruffling Anders’ hair the way he had when he was only a kid. 

“I trust you.” He whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

///

The drive to Taco Bell didn’t take too long. Anders turned at the second stop light, hooked a left by the library, and took two more rights until he had made his way into the drive thru. He was the only car there, which was fitting. 

He ordered himself two soft tacos, a quesadilla, a cheesy gorrida crunch, and three spicy potato soft tacos. Instead of bringing it home he sat in the empty parking lot and ate there. He wasn’t hungry anymore after the first two tacos but he forced himself to eat the rest anyway. He kept eating and eating and even when it hurt he kept going. He didn’t need his mom to feed him when he could feed himself, he kept thinking. He didn’t need anyone when he could take care of himself. He was eating, wasn’t he? As long as he was eating it was proof he didn’t need anyone at all! He was doing just fine.

When he’d finished the last scraps of food, he nestled himself further into his seat. It was 9:55. His mom would call any minute. 

He tried to call Y/N, but she didn’t answer. He tried calling Rachel. No answer. He almost called Logan, but knew he wouldn’t have shit to talk about with her. He was about to call Harry when he changed his mind, not really in the mood for someone who was going to try to fix his problems instead of just listening. He settled on sitting and waiting instead (for what, he wasn’t sure), watching the clock change numbers. He didn’t even put on any music. 

He bent forward, picking at a spot of dried paint on his pant leg. He hadn’t even noticed the red splotch there before, the paint somehow reaching his ankle while he painted a portrait of his now deceased lady bug that morning. He kept picking at it but somehow made it worse, chips of red shoved under his nails so deeply it was starting to hurt and the stain now more deeply embedded into the fibers of his sweats. He kept trying and trying and it just got worse and worse and it hurt more and more but he needed the stain out. He needed it out. It had to come out. 

When he looked up again, it was 10:37. His mom never called. The red paint was still on his pants. 

///

You’d already cum twice before you picked up your phone that morning. After Harry had finished, he’d pulled you up onto him (as he was in the habit of doing), nestling his face against your belly as he pressed kisses into the spaces under your hip bones. 

You didn’t even notice all of the missed messages and the chaos online until Harry left to go to the bathroom an hour or two later. You were still foggy-headed and naked when you finally picked up your phone, quickly propping yourself up on an elbow when you realized that while you’d been busy apparently the entire world had turned upside down. 

You sprang out of bed, nearly slipping as you hauled yourself down the hallway and into the bathroom where Harry had just finished washing his hands and was getting ready to brush his teeth. 

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” You were spitting out, scaring the ever loving fuck out of Harry. He jumped almost out of his skin, smearing toothpaste on cheek. 

“What is it?” He questioned, free hand pressed to his chest in shock. “Is everything okay?”

You just shook your head, scrolling through the 40 messages Logan had sent so far that morning. (Or, really, that night for Logan). 

“Everyone knows about Logan and Rachel.” You finally said, setting your phone down on the counter and tangling your fingers into your hair as you shoved it out of your face. Harry froze mid-brush, his face flashing with panic before settling into a determined, problem-solving stare.

(Harry had been in the habit of doing that lately. Something about him just seemed so much more at ease, more sensible, more calm. He was so much slower to boil. He had a tranquility about him that you hadn’t noticed before.)

“Someone outted them?” He asked, setting his toothbrush down on the counter. He cringed for a second, shaking his head. “Do you know who it was? I can talk to my team about having my lawyers reach out to them, not that Rachel doesn’t have her own lawyers…”

You stared back at him, confused. “Oh, no…” You started, letting out a small chuckle. “They didn’t-”

“I’ll talk to Logan myself if she already said no, but I can’t just let that happen to them.” Harry grimaced again, leaning his elbows on the counter. “Is she okay? Is Rachel okay? That’s so fucked up that someone would do that.”

“Rachel did it.” You stopped him, cutting him off before he completely spiraled. “She posted on Instagram. Apparently she’s moving into the house with Logan. Her, uh, her parents…”

“Right.” Harry said, letting out a huff. He paused for a second, acting like he was about to speak again before stopping. It only took him a second for him to change his mind, turning his body to face you and resting a hand on the counter. “It’s really fucking convenient of these parents to just kick their kids to the curb like this, innit? And for no fucking reason. It’s so fucked up.”

You closed the gap between your bodies, wrapping your arms around Harry’s waist as he put his attention back towards brushing his teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, Logan says Rachel’s okay. She never liked living with her parent’s anyway, so she says they both just feel relieved.”

Harry hummed along, bending forward slightly to spit into the sink. “Are people being nice to them? Online and allat?”

You pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades, meeting his eyes in the mirror ahead of you. You nodded. 

“They’re being very nice.” You told him. “They’re trending on Twitter.”

///

Harry left a few minutes later, making you promise not to shower without him. You agreed, sending him off with a kiss and a promise that you’d join him on his next run. You didn’t mean it, but Harry still seemed satisfied as he headed out. 

You’d been so distracted by the whole Logan/Rachel situation that you almost forgot Anders had called you until you were snuggled up back in bed. You figured since Harry would be back soon to take a shower that you would wait to get dressed and have a few extra minutes in the swaddle of covers on Harry’s bed. So, back in your snug little cocoon, you decided to give Anders a call back. 

“HEY FUCKER.” Anders yelled into the receiver almost the second you’d pressed the call button. You giggled to yourself, pressing the phone between your ear and the pillow.

“Hey sweet pea. What’s up?” You asked, letting your eyes flutter closed. You could hear some kind of… banging on the other end, though it didn’t particularly surprise you considering who you were talking to. “What are you building a fucking rocking chair or something?”

“Its a shelf, actually.” He corrected, swinging what you assumed to be a hammer a few times before continuing. “I’ve almost got it all finished, I just need to add some final touches.”

“Oh…” You started, deciding whether or not you should even ask. “That sounds… fun?”

“It’s keeping me busy, at least. I got in a fight with my mom again so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” He swung the hammer again before letting out a sigh. “She wanted to act like a bitch and not let me eat dinner so I thought, y’know, okay. I’ll go buy some fuckin’ groceries and a shelf and I’ll feed my fucking self. I got a mini fridge and everything.”

You paused, unsure what to say next. As close as you and Anders were, Harry was normally the person that he went to to talk about his family stuff, and you weren’t sure exactly how to navigate it. 

“Why wouldn’t she let you eat?”

“Because she hates me.”

“She doesn’t-”

“No, she does.” Anders stopped you, chuckling to himself. “But I’m okay with it. Kinda come to terms with it, you know?”

It got quiet for a second, both of you unsure what to say next. 

“She called me a junkie.” Anders added, instantly making your skin itch all over. You tried not to but let out an audible gasp, your hand not quick enough to stop it before it came out. “She said all kinds of stuff, actually. But it’s cool.”

What were you even supposed to say to make this any better? “You aren’t a junkie, Anders.”

“No, I am.” He brushed you off. “It’s all good though, seriously. You don’t have to make me feel better or anything. I just wanted to talk to you is all.”

“Okay.. Well, if you were wanting to talk to Harry he should be home in a little bit…”

“Harry? No, no..” Anders responded. “I just want to talk to you for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, totally.” You rushed out, realizing too late how desperate you must sound. “I mean, for sure. I can talk.”

///

Anders filled you in on the rest of his night, telling you all about how he had spent half the night in a Taco Bell parking lot before coming home and watching a movie with his dad. He said his dad waited up for him just like he’d promised he would, only to pass out less than 15 minutes into the movie.  You felt your chest swell slightly at the news but you didn’t make a big deal out of it. You’d always hoped Anders could work it out with his parents, and even if his mom still wasn’t on board, at least he had someone on his side now. 

(Anders made a point not to tell you that he’d purposefully fallen asleep on the couch, too, his head ‘just so happening’ to fall on his fathers shoulder next to him. He’d imagined they’d both wake up the next morning and laugh about how they’d dozed off. Andy woke up only an hour or so after he’d drifted, though, neck stiff. He was never, ever able to get a full night's rest, even now. Once he woke he hobbled up the steps and got into bed like nothing had ever happened. He'd already decided he’d never utter a word of it to anyone.)

When Harry got home you were still on the phone, and instead of listening in he decided to clean up the kitchen. (You’d decided to make homemade pizzas the night before, and to put it lightly the kitchen looked like a murder scene). You felt kind of guilty leaving him to deal with the mess, but you felt special being the one to have Anders’ attention for once and you didn’t want to let it go just yet. 

“And so I built the little guy a house and everything, right? I made him a little couch and a bed and all that…” Anders was going on, telling you some story about a lady bug he’d found in his bedroom. “He was dead when I woke up, though. I googled it and I don’t think it’s bad luck to find a dead lady bug but I still think it’s, like, a sign or something. Like a bad omen.”

“You sound like you’ve been cooped up too long, buddy.” You laughed, imagining the comical frown on Anders’ face when he found the bug. “You’re thinking about it too much.”

“That’s all I have to fucking do these days, man! I’ve been cooped up way too long.” He spit out, exasperated. “You never wanna fucking talk to me anymore so I have to resort to desperate measures.”

You furrowed your brow. “What do you mean I never talk to you?” You asked with a soft laugh, though you really weren’t joking. “You’re the one who never calls me.”

That wasn’t entirely true and you knew it, but it came out anyway. What you meant was that he didn’t call you as much as Harry.

“I never call you? What the fuck do you mean I never call you?” He pushed back, his awkward laugh mimicking yours a moment ago but his tone a little bit harsh. “I would call you more if you actually wanted to talk to me.”

“What are you even saying right now?” You sighed, sitting up in bed so the comforter hung off of your chest. “I always want to talk to you. You just call Harry instead.”

“You want to talk to me now but you didn’t before I left LA.” He said matter of factly. “You’ve barely wanted to talk to me for months now.”

“That is not true, Anders.” You spoke, offended. You realized once you’d said it that you had no reason to be offended; he was actually right. But that realization only annoyed you further, so you doubled down. “We hung out all the time before you left LA.”

“Well, first of all, we definitely did not. Not alone at least.” He spoke again. He didn’t sound angry, only a little bit miffed. “And second of all, you’re my best friend. You seriously think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been around me? It’s just like… if I did something, I’d rather you tell me what I did so we can talk about it.”

For some reason your blood ran cold. If I did something, he said. You could almost laugh. 

“I’m not your best friend, though. Don’t say that.”

He barked out a laugh. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious, Anders. I love you but I am not your best friend.”

He didn’t say anything right away. “Okay then? Fucking ouch.”

“I’m just saying…”

You could hear him breathing unevenly. “So could you, like, tell me why? Or?”

“Why what?”

“Why you don’t want to be my best friend anymore?”

It was you who laughed this time, trying to lighten the mood and make your words a bit softer. You spoke like you were kidding but you meant every word. “It’s not that I don’t, it’s just that you’ve clearly replaced me. Like I just mean don’t call me your best friend when it’s obvious I’m not.”

“Replace you? What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“What is not clicking here, man?” You tried to tease him.  “We’re still friends I’m just saying that you and Harry are closer than us now, and that’s okay, but don’t-“

“Harry? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“Fuck Harry! What the fuck? You’re-“

“You can’t tell me it isn’t true!”

“It’s not!“

“It’s is!”

Anders let out a long sigh. “Y/N you are my best friend… I couldn’t ever replace you even if I lived a thousand life times. Don’t be crazy.”

You hated it when he called you crazy, even when he didn’t really mean it. 

“I’m not your best friend and you know that.” You let out, words coming faster than you could even comprehend them. “I can admit that I might have been distant but you’ve been doing the exact same thing as me. You think I haven’t noticed how much you talk to Harry? You call him every day and tell him all about your life and what’s going on and when we talk you tell me everything’s fine. It’s like… It’s like you replaced me the second you got back from…”

“From where, Y/N? Say it.” He prompted you. “Where’d I come back from? Hm? Could you just fucking say it for once instead of acting like it didn’t happen?” 

You frowned hard, biting your lip. “Did you even hear what I said?”

“I did, I was just letting you finish before I tell you how ridiculous you sound.”

Your eyes rolled so hard they almost fell out of your head. “Fuck you, Andy.”

He let out a sigh. “No, I didn’t- I just meant that you’re wrong about that. About Harry, I mean.”

“Oh, am I Anders?” You questioned, free hand balling into the comforter. He tried backpedaling but you had already departed the station, the damn already split open. You were upset now and couldn’t hide it even though you wished you could. “You tell him everything. I’ve heard how you guys talk to each other. And, yeah, I needed some space from you after everything but… But I’m just saying it didn’t take you very long to find someone else. You act like I just fucked off and left you out to dry but you did the exact same thing to me.”

He was quiet for a while, thinking. “I wasn’t trying to say that at all, dude. I think maybe we’re misunderstanding each other-“

“Oh, and speaking of rehab,” You cut him off, words already caught in the avalanche. “Who did you have come visit you twice a fucking week? Not me, Andy. If I was your best friend… fuck. I didn’t get to see you once, Andy, and I’m the one who fucking found-“

You stopped suddenly, chest heaving. It was the first time either of you had come even remotely close to talking about that night. You decided to do what Anders tried and back pedal, but it was already too late. You kept going.

“Whatever. I’m just saying that, to me, it seems like you've already got a best friend. I’m sorry for not being around more but-“

“Hey! Hey! I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, okay? I just wanted to know if I did something…”

Here he went with that shit again. If I did something. He could get bent. 

“I’m not either.”

“Kind of seems like you are.”

“I’m just saying! Geez!” You yelled, knowing you were just making it worse. You didn’t know why you couldn’t just stop yourself. “It’s okay if Harry’s your best friend. It’s fine. I just don’t think we need to lie to each other to make me feel better.”

“He is not my best fucking friend, Y/N. I could give a motherfuck about Harry.” Anders spoke. He wasn’t often serious with you like this, so his tone made the words you wanted to throw at him disappear instantly on your tongue. “Not really, but you know what I mean. And I… I never even invited Harry to come see me at rehab, he just showed up.”

“Yeah, and you never even told me!” You snipped. 

“You told me not to talk about Harry! What was I supposed to-“

“No. You kept that from me purposefully, Anders. That’s different and you know it is. I fucking… I fucking drove you there and you didn’t even let me see you.” You caught your breath, panting. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being mean right now it’s just…”

“It’s been on your mind, I get it.” He excused you. He was so kind, even now, letting you off the hook easily as always. “It’s been on my mind, too. I’m glad it’s out in the open at least.”

“I guess.” You grumbled. But he was right, and he was right to bring it up. You sighed, admitting defeat. “You’re right, I just… Its hard for me to talk about. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He waved off. “What else do you need to say?”

You chuckled, wracking your brain. What could you say? There were a million things you’d thought to yourself over the last few months, and the last few weeks in particular, and yet nothing came to mind. 

“That’s it, I think.” You answered honestly. “I’m sorry I talked to you like that, but… I don’t know. It hurt my feelings when you said I don’t like talking to you because it isn’t true. I still care about you and I still love you as much as I always did…”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like that, Y/N?” He asked, voice wavering. “I’m sorry for spending so much time with Harry, but I couldn’t be alone, man. I… I felt like you fucking disappeared. I’m not blaming you I’m just saying I wasn’t trying to replace you, ever. I- I genuinely didn’t know what else to do. I needed someone.”

“So did I!”

“I know you did! I know! And I would’ve been there if you’d fucking let me.”

“Maybe I would’ve let you if you weren’t with your fucking boy  all the time!”

He let out a small gasping sound. “That’s totally fucking unfair. I only spent so much time with him because you weren’t around.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But it’s not just that you were hanging out with him, anyway. It’s the way you talk to him… You know when I got here he knew things about your life that I didn’t even know? It was embarrassing, dude. You call him to talk about your feelings and you tell him what’s bothering you and when I call you just say it’s fine.” You let out. “You don’t talk to me like that, and you never have. You didn’t before you went to rehab and you don’t now… And you know what, now that I think of it, it kind of did bother me how much time you spent with Harry. You could’ve befriended anyone in the world, Anders, and you chose him? I mean, part the reason we stopped seeing each other as much is because you were constantly with my ex boyfriend. It wasn’t the main reason, but it still fucking sucked for me.”

“I was trying to get you guys back together the entire time!” He defended weakly. “I wasn’t picking a side, man, I was trying to fucking help. I don’t fucking know. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I spent so much time with him and I can totally understand why that would upset you. I should’ve thought about that and I’m sorry.”  He paused, sheets ruffling as he must have been laying down. “But we both know that’s not the reason you didn’t want to hang out with me. And, you know, I understand that and I’m not trying to act fucking stupid by pretending I don’t get it, but… I mean, I want to know how I can fix it. Like how long is that going to last before you want to be around me again? I know I fucked up and if there’s nothing I can do I get it but I would like to at least try before I let this fucking ruin our friendship.”

You weren’t sure what to say. He spoke again while you tried to figure it out. 

“Sorry I didn’t fucking open with that.” He giggled, letting out an exhausted huff. “I didn’t mean to come at you like that I just didn’t know how else to bring it up. I should’ve just asked you how you were feeling.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine, I just don’t…” The words you searched for still eluded you. “Why didn’t you let me visit you, Anders? When I found that out, I… That hurt super fucking bad, man. I mean, I asked you every single day… And, I mean, the whole Harry thing aside, I feel like I should’ve been the one to get to be there. I think I earned that.”

“Earned it?” He whispered incredulously. “Y/N, I didn’t want you there because I was a fucking mess. I- I- I was a fucking disaster! I had already done enough to you at that point it felt unfair to drag you into that. And I was embarrassed, man. I didn’t want anyone to see me, and the only reason I was okay with Harry being there was because I didn’t know him and I honestly didn’t give a shit what he thought. I care what you think, a lot. I always have. I couldn’t let you see me like that.”

It made sense, but it didn’t make you feel much better. You didn’t even realize how badly you’d been hurt by the news of Harry going to visit him until you’d spoken it out loud, and it was hitting you like a truck. 

“I still wanted to be there.” You replied, words like glass ready to shatter. “I wanted to be there for you the entire time, after rehab, but…”

“But you were mad at me. I know.”

“Mad at you?” You snapped, shaking your head for no audience. “I wasn’t… No, Andy. I couldn’t be around you because…” You had to stop, inhaling a shaky breath. You didn’t want to think about it. “Because every time I was around you, all I could think of… I still saw it every time I looked at you. I could see how purple your lips were, and you were so pale…”

You couldn’t continue, throat closed tight. You shook your head again but didn’t know why. Maybe to shake the sight out of your brain. 

“I’m so sorry I did that to you, Y/N. I am so, so fucking sorry.” He whispered again. You could tell he was crying. “I spend every second of every day wishing I didn’t do that. And, you know, sometimes I think that… I don’t know, if I’d only done it an hour earlier, or locked my door, you never would’ve-“

“Anders! Stop it!” You broke, cutting him off before he could rip your heart out entirely. You were crying now, too. “You can’t say stuff like that. It’s a good thing I was there. I was supposed to be there.”

“You were never supposed to be there.” He argued. “That wasn’t supposed to happen like that. And if- If I thought for a second that you’d come there and see that then I wouldn’t have… Or I would’ve done it differently, or something. And then you wouldn’t have had to see anything and you wouldn’t have had to drive me to rehab and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. And you wouldn’t have even known me that well back then to even really miss me for that long.”

“It would have ruined my life, Anders.” You clarified. He couldn’t have been more wrong, about any of it. “I never would’ve fucking forgiven myself for that shit. I still can’t forgive myself now! You can’t- You don’t get to say you wish you’d done it better, or that I’d be better off or whatever dumb shit you’re gonna say. I was there for a reason and I am grateful every day that you weren’t alone.”

“I know. I know.” Anders repeated over and over while you finished, voice hushed and tired. “I know, I didn’t mean all of that… I just feel so guilty about everything, and the only way I can think to fix it is if I would’ve-“

“You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You do not.”

“You just fucking said you can’t forgive yourself for what happened! You just said that! I fucking ruined your life as it is! I didn’t need to die to do that, it’s already fucking done!” He went off suddenly, nearly making you jump out of your skin. “I know what I did to you. And I’m sorry. But that is exactly fucking why I call Harry to bitch about my life, or talk about my fucking mom, or whatever. I can’t talk to you about that shit.”

“Why not, Anders? Why not?” You croaked. “That’s what friends do. I want you to know how you're doing, I want to help…”

“I can’t fucking talk to you about it! I can’t! I have burdened you since I fucking met you, I’ve scarred you for fucking life. I’m not calling you to complain about how shit my life is.” He huffed for a second, bordering more on angry now than he did upset. “As far as I’m concerned, for the rest of my fucking life I’m going to be perfectly fine every time you ask me how I’m doing. I have to be okay for you. I don’t get to complain to you, ever again.”

“I don’t want you to always be okay. I want you to be honest with me.”

“Because you’ve been honest with me, right? Like you ever tell me what’s going on with you. You hardly even talked about the breakup with Harry with me. You don’t tell me shit.” He spilled out. “Every time I ask, you lie to me just like I lie to you. You’re telling me you’ve been perfectly fine this whole time? There hasn’t been one thing that’s bothered you? Not one bad day?”

You didn’t realize just how clueless Anders was on what you’d been through while he was off dealing with his own stuff. You’d kept just as much from him as he had from you, from the breakup to the nightmares to the way you were constantly haunted by that pale, purple version of your best friend. 

“You’re right. I haven’t been honest with you, either.” You admitted. You wiped your face, frustrated tears threatening to make their way down your neck. “Can we just agree not to lie to each other anymore? I’ll tell you what’s going on with me but only if you agree to do the same. I want to be there for you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

It was quiet, both of you catching your breath and slowing your brains. Everything was coming at you so fast it was like you couldn’t keep up. You thought about everything, about how angry you had been and how hurt and how confused… You thought about everything that had pinched at the back of your brain for months now that you always steadfastly ignored. 

“You should’ve told me what was going on, before all of this.” You said without meaning to. “It never should’ve gotten so bad if you just told me.”

“It’s not that simple, Y/N.”

“It is, though. I… I fucking asked you if you were on drugs, and you lied to me. I asked you all the time if you were okay. I tried calling you every single day after you broke your nose.” It was all bubbling over now, nothing stopping it. You were angry again, about everything. All at once. “I know I should’ve tried harder and I will always carry that with me, but you should’ve talked to me, man. You should’ve told me.”

“What was I supposed to do, huh? What do you want from me?” He snapped, a chord obviously struck. “You wanted me to tell the girl I hardly knew that I was fucking su*cidal? That would’ve gone over super well, I’m sure.”

“That’s not what I mean-“

“I can tell you how that conversation would’ve gone, actually. Hey girl I just met, do you want to hear about how fucked up I am?” He stopped to laugh. “You wanted me to tell you that I was on drugs, again? Should I have told you how many fucking times I’d already done the exact same thing since I was, like, 17? That would’ve been really comforting to you, I’m sure. It wouldn’t have totally made you lose faith in me or anything, like everybody else.” He stopped for a second to laugh, again, the idea of this imaginary conversation obviously tickling him. “Or, better yet, I could’ve told you at the hospital that that wasn’t even the first time I’d tried to fucking k*ll myself! Or the second! Or the fucking third! I’m sure that would’ve helped soooo much had you known that.”

Instead of saying anything you just cried quietly into your bent elbow, head resting on your knees. When you didn’t say anything Anders sighed sadly, speaking again. 

“I shouldn’t have said that. I know that’s not what you meant, and I’m sorry. But you have to see where I’m coming from, right? If I…” He choked on his words for a second, clearing his throat. “Y/N, if I knew how to ask for help you would’ve been the first one I went to. If I knew how to ask I would have. You have to believe me.”

You did believe him. It was unfair of you to blame him for not coming to you, but you still couldn’t help how angry you were at him. It was fucked up but you just felt so… fucked over by him. It was so wrong and you knew it but you couldn't help being mad that he didn’t think more about your feelings. You knew it wasn’t about you and it never was, and yet it still hurt you. Maybe you were just selfish, you weren’t sure. 

“You didn’t even leave me a note, Andy.” Was what you decided on saying. You’d never brought that fact up to anyone, deciding it was too morbid for your mom or Logan or even Harry. But it had always been there, in the back of your mind, gnawing away at the space you used to use for your fond memories of Anders. It’s like with every second you didn’t say anything about it it just continued eating at the image of him you had in your head. Each day that passed just eroded at the soil more and more. “I called and I texted and I showed up to your house… I was the only one who didn’t think I was being irrational. I was worried fucking sick about you for weeks and weeks after the Halloween party, and you couldn’t even write me a fucking su*cide note?”

Saying it out loud like that made your stomach lurch. You were nearly hysterical but you kept talking anyway. 

“I deserved a fucking note, Anders. If you were going to leave me all on my own the least you could’ve done was write me a fucking note. And I know there wasn’t one hidden because I cleaned every square inch of that apartment after I dropped you off at rehab.” You choked back a sob, so upset the phone in your hand shook fiercely against your ear. “There was nothing there, Anders. Nothing. I know I sound selfish and I’m being a brat, but honestly Anders when you… when you took those pills I felt so abandoned by you. How do you think I felt? I know it’s not about me and I’m fucked for feeling that way but I felt like you never even cared about me at all when you did that shit. And I tried ignoring that part, I chalked it up to being bigger than me, but… but I didn’t even get a note? I wasn’t even important enough to you for a note?”

He didn’t say anything, for a long, long time. You both just cried and cried and cried and you wished more than anything you could’ve had this conversation face to face. You wanted to hold him like you did at the hospital. You wanted to play with his hair. You wanted to put a hand on him, just to prove he really was okay.

“There was a note. On my phone.” He whispered after that long, long time had passed. His voice was so quiet you could hardly hear it over your own ragged breath. “There was one for you, and for Rachel. And there was one for my mom. I thought that you guys would, like, go through my phone or whatever, after…”

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You hated the way your shoulders relaxed, like something had been proven to you by that fact. You hated how relieved you felt. It made you sick.

“You are important to me and you always have been. And I don’t think you’re fucked for feeling that way. I knew you must feel that way and I thought… I thought if I just went back to normal I could make up for it. I thought I’d make it go away.” His breath rattled his chest for a second. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this sooner. If I could go back, even to February, I’d do it all differently. I swear on my life I would.”

“I’m so sorry…” Was what you said, unsure what else could fill in the silence. “I shouldn’t have even brought the note thing up, it’s just been.. on my mind, I guess.”

“No, I get it.” He spoke sweetly, voice still soft by the tears mostly gone. “I actually thought about telling you I wrote it a few times, but I didn’t know if you’d even realized and I thought it’d be weird to just randomly tell you…”

He started laughing at that, a real, genuine laugh. You started laughing too, unable to ignore how silly the whole thing was. You wished softly that you’d talked about all of this sooner, but you did your best not to think too much about it. 

“It would’ve been weird, yeah.” You snickered, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. “Imagine we just went out for lunch and you drop that on me over a salad. Like a casual, hey by the way…”

Anders laughed harder, the sound healing some part of you that had snapped during the conversation. “Right like we go out to fucking Bella Vino and I just slide my notes app across the table to you.” He had to stop, cackling with laughter. “Like, I wrote this for you, just so you know.”

“Not the notes app.” You shrieked, wiping at your eyes. 

“You know what they say, right? The only thing better than a notes app apology…”

You both giggled a while longer, eventually sighing exhausted and overwhelmed but somehow peaceful. 

“You know you’re important to me, right?” Anders asked once your stomach was sore. “I mean that. You saved my life, Y/N, and I could never, ever…. I could never replace you, or stop caring, or any of that. You saved my fucking life. And I never even said thank you! I never… I’m fucked for that, I know I am. I just didn’t know how I could possibly-“

“You don’t have to thank me.” You assured him. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you my life, man. I owe you everything.” He choked up again, blowing out a deep breath. “Because, you know, I bitch a lot to Harry, and this has been the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done, but.. but I’m really happy I’m alive. I’m so happy I’m alive.“ He stopped again, giggling. He sounded like a little kid. “I got to watch a movie with my dad because I’m alive. I owe you for that, big time.”

///

The rest of the conversation went easily after that, or at least easier. You talked more about everything, both of you letting out everything you’d been meaning to. For as scared as you were of this inevitable conversation, it really wasn’t as hard as you expected once the first bit was over. 

The topics floated around elsewhere, too. Anders caught you up on how life with his parents had been and even told you a bit more about his relationship with his mom in particular. He told you stories from his childhood about being locked out of the house for a day and a half because his mom was mad at him or not being able to go on a feild trip in eighth grade because “she thought he liked his friends at school more than her”. He told you about Jena, too, more than he ever had before. He told you how she used to force him to have sex or literally push his head down to snort pills off the coffee table even when he said no. He told you how he still had panic attacks every single time he took a shower. He couldn’t wear wet clothes, either, like if it was raining or his sleeve got damp in the sink. “It makes me feel like I’m dying.” He told you. “One time I got caught in the rain and I was so upset I threw up in a parking lot.”

Harry walked in as Anders finished a story about his sixth grade band recital, a plate of scrambled eggs and a bagel set on your lap. You asked Anders if he wanted to say hello, but he politely declined.

“I just want to talk to you for a while.” He’d said. “I’ll call Harry later today.”

And so you told him everything, too. You told him about what happened with Christian and the nightmares (which he did not take well, by the way). You told him that you also hated taking showers at home because it reminded you of what happened. You both shared song recommendations that you used on your shower playlists that made it a little bit easier. 

///

By the time you made your way downstairs, Harry had already cleaned up from breakfast, folded your clothes in the dryer, and was neck deep in your old guest bedroom. 

He turned to look over his shoulder as you walked in behind him, smiling broadly. He had your suitcases dumped out onto the floor, though most of their contents was already scattered around the room. 

“There you are!” He beamed, setting a tube of mascara in a pile he’d set aside for makeup. “I was starting to miss you.”

“I got distracted talking to Andy.” You brushed off, sitting down next to him where you could find the smallest amount of clear floor. “We got into a fight.”

Harry furrowed his brow, setting a pair of socks into the sock pile. “A fight? What about?”

“About you.” You teased. Harry snapped his head to look at you, mouth falling open.

“Did I do something?” He asked, abandoning the t-shirt in his hands. You only smiled, shaking your head.

“No, no.. I’m just kidding.” You laughed, “I kind of told him off for calling you all the time instead of me.”

He didn’t laugh with you. “Baby, you should’ve told me it bothered you.” He began, putting a hand on your cheek. “I didn’t know…”

“It’s okay!” You insisted. “I was feeling kind of bitter but we talked about it and it’s okay. I was just jealous, I guess.”

“You were jealous?”

You paused. “Yeah, kind of.” You admitted, taking Harry’s hand in yours and pulling it off your cheek and into your lap. “I felt like you guys were closer than me and him, and… I don’t know. He called and told me I was his best friend and I kind of lost it on him.”

“But you are his best friend?” Harry responded, confused and looking guilty. “I could’ve told you that. He tells me every day he doesn’t like me as much as you.”

You smiled, maybe a little bit too satisfied. “I am his best friend.” You agreed.

Harry smiled, confused. “Okay?”

“We’re good now, though. Like, actually.” You said, picking up a pair of leggings out of the mess and throwing it in the clothes pile. “We finally talked about everything.”

Harry followed your lead and grabbed your lap top off of the floor and set it on the bed. “You did?” He beamed, nudging your shoulder with his own. “That’s awesome, sunflower. I’m really happy you guys did that.”

“Me too. He said he’s call you later today.”

Harry picked up a bottle of lotion out of the pile, revealing how it had leaked out onto everything below it. He closed his eyes, sighing. 

“You know you don’t have to live like this, right?” He nagged. “You’re lucky that didn’t get all over your laptop. Which shouldn’t have been on the floor anyway.”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah, well if you’re going to be living with me you need to start living like a real person.” He rasped, rubbing his brow. He stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d said. “Not that you live here now, or anything. I just mean since you’re gonna stay here for a while. You don’t have to live out of suitcases.”

You shrugged, brushing off the exchange about the living situation. “I like living out of suitcases. I’m used to it.”

“Well you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“It’s not a big deal…”

It was quiet for a second, you still helping Harry clean your disaster of a bedroom despite you saying it wasn’t an issue. Harry stopped after a minute or two. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want to move your stuff into our room?” He questioned, looking you in the eyes. You frowned, stunned. 

“I just haven’t gotten around to it.” You said honestly. Harry knew that, the two of your spending nearly every second of every day together. “You know how I am about cleaning.”

Harry didn’t laugh at your joke, just nodding along. “Feels like you have one foot out the door.” He mumbled, chucking a pair of shoes into the shoe pile with a bit of extra frustrated force. 

You looked at him, but he just kept organizing. You thought about what he’d said, realizing how it must look from his perspective. Your suitcases were literally still packed.

You thought about his conversation with Anders the other night, how Harry had told him how afraid he was that you would change your mind or leave. You picked up a pair of jeans. 

“Do you think you have room in your dresser for my stuff to go in there?” You asked, folding the pants carefully. “We could probably move everything to our room before lunch, if you think we can make space.”

Harry whipped his head around, ignoring your question. “Really?”

You furrowed your brows. “Yes?”

“You want to put it all in our room?”

“Yeah, I do.” You answered honestly. It would be nice to not have to go down the hall every time you needed socks, anyway. “Do you think it will all fit?”

Harry leaped up, a ridiculous kind of look on his face as he cheesed down at you. 

“Yes!” He squeaked. “Yeah, I can make room! I can go move some stuff right now!”

“Okay. Awesome.” You commented, just looking up at him. You couldn’t help smiling just as goofily as he was. “Do you want help?”

He looked back and forth for a second, running his fingers through his hair. “No, no, I’m good. I’ll just move some shit and you stay here and get your stuff ready, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t leave, though, just staring at you. His legs were wiggling with nervous excitement.

“This is great.” He said, letting out a giggle. He covered his mouth, trying to force the smile off of his face and failing. “This makes me really happy, Y/N. Thank you.”

You crinkled your nose at him. “You don’t need to thank me, you pest.”

He continued staring at you for a second, his smile now a permanent fixture on his face. He knelt beside you, pulling your face to his with a hand on either cheek. 

“I love you so much.” He gushed into the kiss, hands clammy. “I love you. Thank you.”

“I love you more.” You promised, pulling away from the kiss with a smile of your own. “Now go get ready for all my junk, okay?”

He stood again, his entire body tense and excited and giddy. “Okay! Yeah, okay.. I’m gonna go do that.” He turned to leave, looking back at you every step or two to give you another grin. “I’ll be in our room if you need me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And then he left the room, his giggling following him down the hall. “Let’s fucking go!” He said to himself, his footsteps in the pattern of a little happy skip. “Let’s fucking go!”.

///

You weren’t done by lunch time, the entire ordeal becoming much more of  a thing than you’d expected. You sorted through all of Harry’s shit, him deciding what items he wanted to move out of the closet to make room for your own. He threw sweaters you’d seen him wear in paparazzi photos onto the bed, discarded as if you hadn’t memorized the patterns staring at those pictures of him while you were broken up. “I never fucking wear this.” He said, throwing another jacket onto the bed. “Or this. Or this.”

You watched him take nearly all of his clothes across the hall to another empty bedroom, leaving them on the bed in there to be put away later. He took out things you’d seen him wear within the week, insisting he hadn’t worn them in years and didn’t mind them being in the other room. You didn’t argue with him on any of it, his mood so bubbly and excited and just about over the moon. You hadn’t seen him this excited, even the night you first got back together. He talked the entire time, going on and on about how happy he was and all of his plans for your new room you’d be sharing. 

“We can paint the walls yellow, too, since that’s your favorite.” He was saying, taking the last load of  clothes out of his dresser. “I’ve been meaning to paint the walls in here anyway.”

“You definitely don’t have to do that.” You’d laughed, thinking he was kidding. He just looked at you like you were crazy. 

“You don’t like yellow anymore?”

“I do, I just don’t want you to have to-”

“It’s fine.” He cut you off. “I want it to feel like your room, too.”

You didn’t say anything for a second, just looking at him. He looked so in love. You smiled, nodding. “We can paint it together, then.”

He grinned back at you, shoulders relaxing. “Yes! Wouldn’t that be fun?” He gushed, back to his rambling now. “We could buy a new duvet, too. We could hang up some of the paintings Andy’s done for you, too! And all your awards can go over here if we add a shelf.”

You didn’t say anything about the fact that Harry most certainly wouldn’t hang any of his own awards in his bedroom and that you didn’t want to do that, either, just letting him continue. You just listened to him talk, believing everything he said and every promise he made. You wanted to kiss him, so you did, over and over and over. Before you knew it, you had moved everything onto his room and the two of you were picking out a new silk duvet cover online. It had tiny flowers on it. 

///

You didn’t get around to lunch until after 3, the two of you close to starvation by the time you’d finished up everything upstairs. You sat on some stools at the kitchen island, scarfing down the Thai food you’d had ordered in. You were almost done with your entire plate when Bethany called you. 

“Hey Beth!” You chirped, Harry’s good mood infecting you and making everything seem a little more sparkly. “What’s up?”

She sighed. Bad sign.

“Have you been on the internet at all today?” She asked, not bothering with niceties. 

You paused, looking over at Harry who was just as confused as you. You set your phone down on the counter, turning it on speaker. 

“I haven’t really been on since early this morning.” You explained. “Why, what’s up?”

“Well, its officially happened. Cats out of the bag.”

You relaxed, realizing what she meant. “Oh, yeah. I saw everything with Logan and Rachel already.” You explained. “Logan texted me this morning to talk about it.”

Bethany let out a short laugh. “Nope, not that Peach. Try again.”

Your breathing stopped for a second, your head whipping to look at Harry the same moment his turned to face you. You had matching expressions on your faces, eyes wide and eyebrows bunched together. Harry leaned towards the phone, speaking.

“What do you mean, Bethany?” He asked, his plate pushed away with the back of his hand. 

“Harry, great. I’m glad you’re here.” Bethany went on. She had that tone to her voice right now that she always had when she was really, really pissed. Not at you, but at everything else. It was the way she talked after meetings with Tom, or when someone posted something about you online that was particularly searing. “You should be here for this so you can reiterate all of this to Jeff.”

Oh, fuck. You looked back at him, mouth opening and closing over and over again but no words actually coming out. Harry looked just as dumb and confused as you felt. Finally he spoke. 

“What happened?”

His expression changed into the kind he always got when he talked about work. (You selfishly hated that version of him, the one who was all serious and analytical. It didn’t feel like him.)

“Well, Harry, your girlfriend wore your pants on Jimmy Fucking Fallon.” She snipped, sighing. You knew she wasn’t mad at you two, but you still felt like a child being chastised. “And you have a scuff on your wall.”

“What the fuck are you taking about?” You asked, put opened on your stomach. 

“Well,” (You could envision her pulling glasses off the top of her head, sliding them down her nose.) “Aubrey on Twitter says, ‘Y/N was literally wearing Harry’s pants on Fallon tonight I’m gonna kms.’ And attached is a picture of you, my dear, wearing some black sweats and another picture of Harry last week on BBC wearing the same ones.”

You looked at each other, mouths agape. 

“How do they know we don’t have the same pants?” You asked. You were trying not to panic yet, remembering how Beth had always been the one to brush off incidents like this. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah, except there’s a stain on the back.” She explained. “A big white splotch on the butt. Paint, or something.”

Harry groaned, leaning his head onto the counter and banging his fist once in defeat. He stayed like that for a second before sitting back up, his head in his hands. 

“Andy and I got into a paint fight.” He started, voice small.

“A paint fight?” You asked incredulously. “What even is that?”

“Well, babe, it’s a lot like a fight but with paint involved.” He snipped back at you. “I should’ve remembered. I was so pissed he ruined those pants…”

You just shook your head, mimicking Harry and throwing your head into your hands. 

“What about the scuff on the wall?” You asked, remembering that other detail. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well it’s in the same spot in every single interview the two of you have done the last month.”

Of fucking course it was. You grumbled, laying your head down completely. You’d spent so much time picking an inconspicuous place to set up your camera, and this was still happening. 

“So everyone has put it together, then?” Harry asked. 

“Yup.” Bethany answered. “And there’s no denying it. I mean, we can say you aren’t a couple… We can say whatever you want, but there’s no denying that you’re living together. Everyone knows it. And, now that they have that, they’re putting everything else together, too.”

Harry shook his head, eyes closing. “But is it like, a couple people saying this? Or is it, like, everyone?”

“Well you're trending on Twitter. Right under Rachel.” 

It was quiet for a second, the three of you all waiting for someone else to pipe up. It gave you enough time, in the three or so seconds it was silent, to make up your mind. 

Harry needed to know you meant it. He needed to know you weren’t going anywhere. You’d already moved your clothes out of their suitcases and you promised to meet his mom, and there was only one more thing to do. There was only one more thing you could do to prove you meant it. 

“I’m happy this is happening.” You said out loud, unsure if Harry would feel the same considering but taking a chance. You watched his face out of the corner of your eye. “I… I don’t want it to be a secret anymore. I want everyone to know.”

Harry snapped around to look at you, expression unreadable. 

“As long as Harry is okay with that.” You added, adding some cushioning in case this went sour. “I’m okay with it, though. I’m excited, actually.”

It was true. You’d spent so much time forced to keep it a secret that you’d forgotten that wasn’t ever what you wanted at all. Bethany still sounded just as stressed when she spoke. 

“You guys can talk about it. And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to talk to Jeff. Once you guys talk let me know and we’ll go from there.”

He agreed, both of you saying your goodbyes to Beth before hanging up. You pressed the big red button, waiting a beat before looking up at Harry. 

“So…” You started, not able to get much further before Harry cut you off.

“Did you mean that?” He asked, eyes cautious. “About wanting everyone to know? You meant that?”

You nodded weakly. “We’re only supposed to say the stuff we mean, right?”

He looked at you a beat before realization set in and his face broke out into a smile, a giggle ripping through the tension around you. 

“Really?”

“Really.”

He sprang foreword, kissing you firmly in the mouth. He held your face the way he always did lately, a hand on either cheek. He mumbled into your mouth, too, the way he’d been keen to do lately. 

“I fucking love you. I love you.” He rushed out, biting your lip. “I’m so happy. I’m so fucking happy.”

You kissed him back, telling him you were too. You were too. You were too. 

“We can go on a date now.” He went on. “I can take you to get that spaghetti I was telling you about, after everything opens again. You’ll love it, it’s the best spaghetti I’ve ever had I swear to God. We won’t have to lie to anyone anymore.”

You, out of nowhere, felt your eyes grow hot with tears. You didn’t say anything else, just continuing to kiss him. You hoped if you kissed him enough times he would just know everything you wanted to say this whole time. Your dirty dishes still sat on the counter, forgotten. 

///

A few days later, Anders woke up on a Sunday in the best mood he’d been in for days. 

Since his conversation with Y/N he’d felt a weight lifted off of his shoulders, but rehashing everything that way adding an entirely different kind of pressure. But today was Sunday, and Sunday’s were good.

On Sunday’s, his parents left the house to go to church. His parents, even in the pandemic, still went and sat with everyone else who was too stupid to stay out of large crowds, and even though that should’ve annoyed him Anders loved it. He didn’t care if his parents brought the virus home. The possibility of dying was worth the 180 minutes he got to spend without them in the house. (His mom no longer asked him to go with them. She actually still hadn’t said a single word to him since he’d gone to Matt’s house).

Anders threw open his door once he heard the car roll out of the driveway, feeling as if he had the entire world at his fingertips. He was wearing a pair of sweats, the same ones he’d had on for 6 days, not bothering to put on a shirt before bouncing down to the kitchen. 

His plans for breakfast were foiled as soon as he turned the corner. 

“Hey son!” His dad smiled brightly, standing over the stove. He was just pulling out a pan, a carton of eggs out on the counter. “I thought I was gonna have to wake you up.”

“Why are you here?”

He knew he should’ve said something else, but it’s all he could think. In the last 24 years he’d never once seen his dad skip church. Ever.

“I wanted to have breakfast with you.” He said simply. “Are you hungry at all?”

Anders just shook his head. “But it’s Sunday.”

“We can’t have breakfast on a Sunday?”

Anders laughed, deciding to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. He realized that he wasn’t actually upset his dad was here. 

“I figured you’d be at church is all.” He explained. “Im starving though.”

His dad just smiled. “Fantastic. Do you want bacon, too?”

Anders, suddenly, was bombarded by memories of Christmas morning when his dad would always make bacon after the gifts were opened. He stopped doing that when Anders was in middle school, but he could still smell it when he really tried. Back before everything was bad all the time. 

“Fuck yeah.” Anders said, knowing his dad would chastise him for that but not able to resist pissing his parents off even when he didn’t want to. It was a defect of his he couldn’t help.

His dad turned to look at him, mouth pinched to hide a grin. “Fuck yeah.” His dad agreed, the word sounding bizarre coming out in his voice. Anders threw his head back in a howl of laughter, tears accumulating.

“Did you just say fuck? My father, the Saint?”

His dad was giggling now, the sound almost identical to Anders' own laugh. He’d never noticed that before. “Fuck yeah I did.” He said, only causing them both to giggle harder. 

“Fuck yeah, dad! Let it out!”

“Fuck yeah!”

“You can do better than that”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck yeah!!!”

Anders was in fucking stitches, his sides literally pinching his ribs as he died laughing. 

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He asked. His dad nodded enthusiastically. 

“It feels good.” He agreed, pulling a pack of bacon out of the fridge. “Feels fucking good.”

“I'm surprised you chose a Sunday to say your first curse with me, dad.” Anders joked. “I'm surprised you’re here at all.”

“Well I am, aren’t I?”

“Just figured you’d be, like, praising the son of god right now. Or whatever.”

His dad was quiet for a second, using the same scissor he always used when Anders was baby Anderson to open the bacon. 

“I have my own son to worry about.” He said quietly, looking over his shoulder. He smiled shyly. “You ever make bacon before?”

Of course he had. Everyone had. But for some reason Anders shook his head. 

“Can you show me?”

His dad smiled even bigger now. “Yeah! Of course I can! Grab the tongs out of the drawer over there and I’ll get us started.”

“Okay.”

Anders did what he said and grabbed the tongs. He stood next to his dad, feeling awkward but also strangely good. He was almost as tall as his dad. The last time he’d watched his dad cook he had to stand on a chair. Part of him wanted to stand on a chair anyway, just for old times sake. Or maybe he just wanted to feel like baby Anderson again. Baby Anderson never had a care in the world. Baby Anderson’s parents were always crazy about him. 

“Moms gonna be pissed at you, huh?” Anders asked, laughing lightly but meaning it. His dad shrugged, turning on one of the burners. 

“She can be mad at both of us, then.” He as all he said. “So now we have to wait for the pan to get hot…”

///

“How much shit do you own?” Logan asked, a hand over her eyes to block out the sun above her. Rachel was grabbing another box out of her Range Rover, hobbling up the steps to the door. 

“You could help me.” Rachel squeaked, barely managing to make it inside before the box slipped from her fingers. Logan shut the door behind them both, coming up to take Rachel by the waist. 

“Why don’t you just stop for a while?” She whispered, pressing a kiss to her girlfriends hair. “Let’s relax. I miss you.”

Rachel only blushed, as always, pushing her hair behind her ears. “I have a lot to unpack.”

“You can unpack tomorrow.”

Rachel looked around the living room, full of boxes and suitcases and all sorts of junk. It was a fucking disaster in here. Rachel’s house, or her parents house, technically, was never dirty. Ever. 

Rachel thought maybe she liked it being dirty. She threw the bag off of her shoulder she’d grabbed from the car, letting it land right in middle of the floor. Her heart beat funny at the thought that she’d just leave it there, right in middle of the walkway. 

“Tomorrow.” She agreed, leaning into Logan. Logan chirped triumphantly, immediately pulling Rachel to the couch. They both laughed together, happy. 

The house was a nightmare, Rachel’s parents wouldn’t talk to her, and she didn’t know what the fuck she was going to do when the pandemic ended and she had to go back to work. She didn’t feel like taking pictures anymore, or doing her hair every time she left the house. She didn’t want to hang out with Margot or Kira, ever again. She had a millions things running through her head, all of them spiraling and twisting and bumping into each other until she couldn’t make sense of a single second of it. For some reason she didn’t mind though. 

“You know I was never allowed to have short hair.” She said without knowing why. Logan hummed. “I’ve always wanted to cut it.”

Logan sprang off the couch. “Babe! I used to go to beauty school! I’m, like, so good at cutting hair!”

“You did?”

Logan frowned, her nose scrunching up in the way that always made Rachel feel especially soft. “Well, I went for like a week before I quit. But I am really good at cutting hair! I swear!”

This wasn’t entirely true. Logan had enrolled in beauty school, but never actually went. And she was only decent at cutting hair, at best.

But Rachel couldn’t give a fuck if she was any good at it. “Okay.” She agreed, standing. “Do you think it’ll look good?”

Logan nodded frantically. “Of course! You know what, I’ll cut mine first so you can make sure you like it. Then you can decide.”

Rachel was objecting the best she could but Logan was already in the kitchen, scissors in hand. 

(The scissors, funnily enough, we’re the exact same pair Andy’s dad always used for the bacon on Christmas morning.)

Before Rachel could even catch up Logan grabbed a fist full of hair, lobbing it all of just under her chin. Her eyes widened as the blonde strands scattered on the floor. Then, she started laughing. And so did Rachel. 

They both laughed until they were crying, making their way to the bathroom with Logan’s hair half to her waist and half to her chin. It only took an hour or so for both of them to be made over, making eye contact through the mirror. Both with matching hair cuts, both equally as drastic. They looked fine, but not great. 

“I love it.” Rachel beamed, eyes teary again for a whole new reason. “I love it.”

She shook her head around, watching the bob swing around her face. She looked like a completely different person, someone she’d never met before. She loved it. 

“It looks amazing!!” Logan screeched, excitedly bouncing around. “This is amazing!!!”

///

“I didn’t know you had so many tattoos.” Anders’ dad said through a mouthful. 

Anders shrugged. “I did that on purpose.” He said honestly, referring to his mostly blank arms and covered chest. (Not covered, but he had a few.)

“They’re cool.” His dad said, making Anders furrow his brow in surprise. “I always wanted to get a tattoo.”

He couldn’t help snorting. This was the best day he’d had in as long as he could remember. Maybe his whole life. “I can’t imagine you with a tattoo.”

“I’ve still got time.” His dad grinned, taking another bite. “Maybe I’ll get one.”

“I’ll take you to get one.” Anders offered, saying it like a joke but not at all kidding. “You could get a face tat, dad. You’d look so fucking sick.”

His dad just shook his head. “What’s that one?” He questioned, pointing to the mysterious blob on his torso. It was on his ribs, just under his heart. 

“It was supposed to be a frog.” Anders laughed. “My friend Y/N did it.”

“With a tattoo gun?”

“With a needle.”

His dad didn’t tell him off like he was expecting. “What’s she like?”

His parents never asked about his friends. They’d always hated his friends growing up. 

“She’s fuckin sick.” Anders answered, realizing they’d both finished their plates but weren’t getting up. “She’s my best friend.”

“Maybe I can go see her show one day.” His dad said casually. “Or am I too old for that?”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? You could totally go!” Anders gushed. He imagined it, his dad bobbing awkwardly along like dads do. “You could come see Harry, too.”

“Could I come see you?” His dad asked, making Anders’ heart skip a beat. He’d never invited his parents to a show, figuring they wouldn’t want to go. His mom definitely wouldn’t. 

“Of course you could.” Anders said. He felt his face get hot. “It would actually mean a lot to me, dad. If you came, I mean.”

His dad smiled to himself, shaking his head. “I can’t believe my kids a rockstar. That’s pretty cool, huh?” His dad chuckled for a second. “Sorry. That’s pretty fucking cool, isn’t it?”

The praise made him embarrassed. “It’s alright.”

“I always wanted to be a rockstar.” His dad mused. He almost didn’t even look like his dad right now. He looked younger somehow. More like a person. “Like Jimi Hendrix, you know? I used to be pretty good at the guitar. Not that good, but I think you’d be impressed if you heard it. I was never as good as you, though.”

For some reason Anders wanted to cry. For every reason and no reason. His dad wanted to be a rockstar. His dad used to be young. He used to want things. He used to have dreams. He felt overwhelmed by the realization that he’d lived an entire life before Anders was born, and part of himself hated the other for ruining his dad's plans. Maybe that was why neither of them liked him for so long. 

“I love you, Dad.” Anders said, immediately feeling the need to cry multiply at the embarrassment of saying that out loud. “Thank you for making me breakfast.”

His dad smiled, speechless for a second. “I love you so much, son.” He spoke, his face growing warm in a similar pattern to Anders’. “I always did, even before I met you.”

Anders started crying. His dad stood up, pulling Anders to stand with him. He wrapped him up in his arms and baby Anderson was crying, too. 

“I’m gonna fix this. The best I can.” His dad spoke, voice sounding strained through all the sincerity. “We can have breakfast again next week, okay? It can be our thing.” 

Anders wiped his eyes. “Won’t mom start to get upset if you don’t go to church?” 

His dad wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He shook his head, staying quiet for a long time but not letting his son out of his grip. “I have done this entire thing wrong, for a long time.” He said finally. He gestured between father and son, nearly identical copies of each other. He stopped, shrugging his shoulders. They slanted at the same angle as Anders’. “If your mother wants to be mad at me for fixing my mistakes, she can be. I’m done making her mistakes with her.” He cleared his throat again. “One day she’ll come around. I know she will.”

Anders just nodded, understanding. He didn’t believe what his dad said about his mom, but he believed the rest. He was still sniffling like a child. The front door opened, signaling the end of the moment. Anders quickly rubbed his face clean. 

“I’m gonna go.” Anders told him, hating his mom extra for ruining the only good thing that had ever happened to him. His dad nodded knowingly, looking just as upset as Anders did. “I’ve got, like, four guitars in my room if you ever want to borrow one.”

“Okay, son.” His dad smiled, staying put while Anders tip toed out. Just when he was about to reach the living room his dad called his name, making him pause. “I think we should go get those tattoos. If you want another one.”

Anders laughed, resisting the urge to look to his left where his mother was setting down her purse and kicking off her heels. She didn’t look at him either. 

“That sounds fucking sick, Dad. You just say the word.”

///

On Sunday, after Anders had made his breakfast with his dad and Logan had cut her hair and Rachel had moved everything she’d ever owned into her new home, Harry was having an equally as exciting day. 

He walked down the stairs, having slept in way later than he ever did. He’d been a little miffed when he’d checked his phone, realizing you’d let him spend half his day sleeping. He’d grunted, sitting up. The windows were open, and it smelled like spring today. It felt like spring all over, really, in a way he couldn’t even explain. 

By the time he’d made his way to the stairs his bad mood had vanished. He couldn’t be in a bad mood these days if he’d wanted to. How could he be mad at Y/N for letting him sleep in when she was here? How could he be mad at anything when she was here?

Even when he’d heard the voices coming from the lower level of the house as he descended the stairs, he still wasn’t mad. Worried, obviously. But still in a good mood. 

“What is happening?” He grumbled, rubbing the sleep from the corners of his eyes. The entire house looked like it had been ransacked, things missing and random men wearing masks walking around. It was more like the opposite of a robbery, Harry noticed, seeing the boxes and random pieces of furniture scattered around. He came to his senses, slowly but surely, taking it all in. 

“Baby!!” Y/N shouted, rushing over to him. Before Harry could speak at all she’d covered his eyes with one of her tiny hands, using her other to grip his t-shirt firmly. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet!”

Harry pushed her hand away softly, looking around the room. He took in her subtle disappointment, her lower lip sticking out ever so slightly. (Upon seeing that he actually had to hop off his train of thought to take it between his own lips for a moment). He cleared his sleepy throat. 

“What is going on?” He asked again, trying to force both of his eyes to open as he squinted at his girlfriend. She sighed, frowning. 

“It was a surprise.” She huffed, crossing her arms. She shook her head, disappointed. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t sleep long enough.”

Harry couldn’t help leaning down and kissing her again, longer this time. He kissed her until she let out that breath she was always holding, her feet relaxing off their tippy toes so she could give all of her attention to him. Harry loved the way she always did that, he thought. He should tell her how nice it is. 

Harry forgot about the commotion around them, stopping the conversation entirely for a second to tell Y/N that he loved her so, so, so much. It was true, more so today than ever before. As he continued to kiss her he whispered all the things he’d missed out on saying by staying asleep for so long. He’d wasted so much time, he thought. He could’ve had, like, four more hours with her than he did if he’d woken up earlier. He brushed her hair away from her face, deciding that he wouldn’t tell her about that little breath-holding thing she did when he kissed her just in case she thought too much about it and stopped doing it. He’d die if she stopped doing it, he thought. He knew he would. 

“It’s already 10:30.” He said finally when Y/N pulled away from him all too soon to continue pouting. “How late was I supposed to sleep?”

“At least until 12.” She answered seriously, making Harry’s eyes pinched shut with laughter. He didn’t expect her to actually have had a time in mind. “I purposefully kept you up until, like, 3 just so you would sleep in.”

She never ceased to amaze him. “You fuckin’ what?” He giggled, overwhelmed in that moment by how much he loved her. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude towards the universe that he almost felt choked up. 

“I had a whole thing planned….” She sighed, shaking her head. “Anders said it wouldn’t work but I just thought….”

Holy shit. “Did you ask Anders to call me last night and keep me up?”

“Yeah. He said he kept you as long as he could…”

Harry couldn’t fucking believe his ears. It was all too perfect. Maybe he was just so delirious with affection that he was missing something, but to him this seemed like the funniest thing in the world. Men still wandered about, moving shit here or there and yelling across the room to each other. Harry didn’t even hear them. 

“What was the master plan, huh?” Harry asked, completely oblivious but not even minding it. 

“The plan was to keep you up as long as I could before having Anders call you and keep you up longer so I could sleep and wake up early and you’d be extra sleepy.”

(Harry had spoken to Andy for three and a half hours last night. About literally nothing. Harry figured Anders was in one of those moods where he just didn’t want to be alone and he’d forced himself to stay up as long as he could so he could be there for him. Turns out it was just a silly little trick and not a mental breakdown at all, which was nice.)

“And why am I supposed to be so sleepy?” Harry asked, pulling Y/N into his chest. He looked around again, realizing it wasn’t just new furniture being delivered here but Y/N’s furniture from home. Y/N’s makeup table. Her bean bag chair she never let anyone else but him use. A box with Logan’s handwriting on the side labeled ‘winter clothes’. He looked closer, realizing all at once what was going on. “What’s happening?” He asked again before Y/N could answer his first question. He pushed her back so he could see her face, heart beating erratically. “What is all of this?”

Y/N just huffed. “It’s my stuff from home. Or some of it, at least.” 

Harry heard himself gasp, Y/N confirming what he already knew. He looked around again, and it was true. It was her stuff from home. 

“I was going to ask if it was okay, but then I just decided to go for it. It was supposed to be a surprise once everything was, like, unpacked and everything…” She grimaced, eyeing Harry nervously. “You’re mad, aren’t you? I know I should’ve asked, I just got carried away-“

“Mad?” Harry laughed, both hands coming to cover his mouth as he looked around. He let his head fall forward, his eyes closing. He recovered, looking up again. “This is all your stuff?”

“Most of it.” She nodded, looking uneasy. “Is that okay? I just thought since we’re moved in together…”

“Moved in together?”

“No, I mean- I just meant-“ Her cheeks flushed bright red, her eyes widening. Harry also loved it when she did that, when she got super embarrassed and made that face she always made. He didn’t tell her how much he loved that, either, just so she would always do it. “Like, living together.”

He couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. She’d had all of this shit brought to fucking London from LA, she’d gone through the trouble of getting her own movers and even conspired against Harry so he’d be surprised when it was all done. She brought winter clothes. For winter. He couldn’t help it when his eyes started to sting and he teared up. His throat was tight suddenly. 

“This is amazing, baby.” He choked out, smiling the best he could at her. Her shoulders relaxed, her own smile replacing the worry on her face. “I… I can’t believe you did all of this.”

“I was so worried you’d be mad.” She gasped, taking a deep breath as she deflated. She giggled, relieved. “I was up all night getting ready and I almost called the whole thing off….”

“How early were you awake?” Harry asked incredulously. It was all too good to be true. 

“I told Anders to call me thirty minutes after you guys got off the phone and you were out like a light.” She admitted, looking embarrassed though Harry couldn’t for the life of him understand why. “So like, 3:45 I think. Somewhere around there.”

Harry choked on his next breath, having to turn away for a second to compose himself. He was still a mess when he turned around to face the amazing, chaotic, beautiful girl before him. He pulled her back to him, hugging her tightly. He felt like a little kid on Christmas. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, burrying his face in his hair. She did the thing she always did where she tells him not to thank her, but he did the thing he always did and ignored her. “This means so much to me, baby. This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done.”

She didn’t say anything else, just taking his face and pulling his mouth to hers. He loved the way she kissed him, he thought. Like she was trying to tell him something. 

“Now you’re stuck with me.” She snickered into his lips, thinking she was being cheeky. But as she said it all Harry could think was that this meant she really was going to stay. She wasn’t going anywhere, at least until winter. He choked back the emotion that threatened to bring him to his knees, pushing his hands into Y/N’s hair as he kissed her. He kissed her the way she always did, like she was telling him something. And with every kiss Harry was saying to her, in his own silent way, everything he’d ever wanted to. 

Thank you for not leaving me, he told her. Thank you for being the person who stuck around. Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you for letting me grow when I needed to. Thank you for loving me even when you hated me. Thank you for being here. Thank you for bringing winter clothes. Thank you for making me feel like Harry, without the rest. Thank you for staying. Thank you for staying. Thank you for staying. I love you, I love you, I love you. 

And then Y/N did that thing she always did where she gasped for breath between kisses, thinking Harry didn’t hear the way she had to gulp for air. He thought about slowing down, about letting her catch her breath, but he selfishly liked the way she gasped like that. He liked everything about her. He liked the way she gasped and the way she said his name and the way she would say “pleeeease” when he had her really wound up. He liked the way her hands felt on his stomach. He liked the way her legs felt over his, the way her stomach moved when she breathed really hard. He liked the way her cheeks started to turn pink all the way up to her ears and down her neck. 

“Come here.” He mumbled to her, trying to maintain the kiss as he pulled her through the mess towards the stairs. They both stumbled their way across, tripping over a box they hadn’t noticed. It only took them a second to be wound together again, tumbling up the stairs like they were drunk or high or dizzy. 

“You know I love you, right?” Y/N panted, reaching for the doorknob behind her. Harry had his hands around her waist, keeping her against him. He moved his kisses to her neck, mumbling an mhmm. 

“Tell me again so I don’t forget.” He pleaded, throwing the door closed behind them once they’d made their way into the room. “Tell me again.”

“I love you.” She whispered. They bumped into the edge of the bed, tumbling onto their new bedspread that had just arrived a few days earlier. 

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Harry pushed her body down so she was laying, situating himself between her legs. His heart was pounding out of his chest, with excitement and an indescribable fondness. He was overwhelmed again by how much he liked her. She smelled like strawberries today, just like the lotion she’d gotten in the mail from her mom. Harry breathed her in, overwhelmed. Forever overwhelmed. 

“I love you, too.” He rasped to her, “You know that, yeah? You know how much I love you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“No you don’t.” He giggled. “You have no idea. No idea.”

He remembered saying something like that to her at the house party a lifetime ago. It was still true. 

Harry realized suddenly why he must have taken her up here. He must have known the entire time what he was about to do. His stomach flipped, considering it. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes extra tight as if to hide himself, though Y/N wouldn’t have noticed. 

“Baby…” He managed to force out, “Sunflower….”

“What baby?” 

He wanted to say it so bad. It was just there, behind his front teeth. His heart stuttered for a second. 

“Can I show you have much I love you, sunflower?” He whispered, not able to say it any louder. “I want to show you how much I love you. I need to show you.”

The sound Y/N made was enough to put Harry in the dirt. She chirped like a little bird, a short giggle following. Everything felt lighthearted and easy. She hummed into the kiss, letting the sound turn into a soft moan. 

“I want you to show me.” She whispered back. “I love you so much, baby. I want you to show me.”

She mumbled it all, broken up between kisses. She told him again that she loved him, saying it over and over again as the curtain next to the bed whipped around in the breeze. Harry believed her entirely, and he was scared and excited and awestruck and giddy all at once. 

He was finally going to do it, he thought to himself. It was finally happening. He thought about backing out again, but Y/N did that thing again where she slides her hand under his shirt and touches his belly. The butterflies under her fingers flapped harder and Harry folded immediately. He was so nervous he almost felt blinded by it. He took a hand and placed it over hers where she touched him, just under the tattoo. 

“I’m nervous.” He said out loud even though he didn’t want to. She tried to remove her hand but he pressed it down harder so it wouldn’t leave. 

“Sorry-“

“I want it there.” He whispered. “I always wanted to tell you I like it when you touch me like that.”

He wanted to keep that to himself, like all the other secret little things she did and had no idea about, but it just came out. He supposed she could know about one of her little things, at least. He could keep everything else for himself, which was more than enough. 

///

It was while you and Harry were whispering all these sweet little things to each other that the world, already turned upside down, flipped even further. Sunday wasn’t over yet, after all, and that same outside force that pushed Rachel to leave her home and cut her hair, the same propulsion that pushed Anders to tell his dad he loved him, the same hand that guided Harry and yourself up the stairs…. It was moving someone else, too. Right to your doorstep. The one in LA, at least. 

That outside force came in the form of a hard knock on the front door of the house you’d paid for but hadn’t been to in weeks. Logan and Rachel were already knee deep in an episode of New Girl, making it a particularly bad time for visitors, even more so than the pandemic. 

Logan shuffled to the door, annoyed. She’d been alone and totally fucking bored out of her mind with nothing to do for weeks but now that Rachel was here she suddenly had a million things that needed her attention. As minor as it was, she was still pissed. 

But when she opened the door, she didn’t know what to feel. Immediately she was hit with the smell of beer and cigarette smoke. She felt everything at once.

“What in the ever living fuck are you doing here?” She asked. The visitor nearly tipped over, eyes glazed. He shrugged. 

“I came to- fucking shit-“ The guest spoke, steadying himself on the wall with an outstretched arm. His hair had grown out since the VMAs, and it looked like shit. “I came to talk to Y/N. Is she here?”

[beefromanoff]

Project Mockingbird Ch. 22

summary: another night stuck at the safe house...some repercussions from their arrival.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: at this point every chapter is another day in their life, I don't want to jump ahead at alllllll and miss the good stuff! speaking of - MILD SPICE WARNING, minors DNI. let me know what you think :)

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

Who knew thunder could be so soothing? Charlotte mused, pulling a fistful of the plush comforter closer to her chin. The bed was warm, largely thanks to the super soldier sleeping in it behind her. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers shortly after slipping his boxers back on. She’d initially passed out with him, but when she woke up in the middle of the night, freezing and naked, Charlotte had found a slightly musty smelling crewneck in the bedroom closet and a pair of sweatpants in a drawer. Only a moment after pulling them on and crawling under the covers, she was right back to sleep. Storms never bothered her, but this one felt especially soothing. Something about an exhilarating escape from a mission, a long night, and the peace of a safe house…it was the best nights’ sleep she’d had in months. 

That was –– until the calm of the early morning was shattered by a sudden clamor downstairs—a violent crash that jerked them from sleep to high alert in mere seconds.

“Did you hear that?” Charlotte whispered, her voice tight with tension as she slipped out of the bed and into a crouch on the floor.

“Yeah,” Bucky responded, his hand feeling under the bed frame for what she assumed was a stashed weapon. Sure enough, he pulled out a handgun, checking to make sure it was loaded. “Stay behind me.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes as she stepped softly around the bed. “I’m not exactly the stay-behind type, Barnes,” she whispered sharply, returning to the closet where she’d found the sweats that –– while perfect for sleeping, were too baggy for comfortable stealth. Sure enough, in a chest on the ground was a stash of miscellaneous weapons. These looked like they’d been haphazardly put here for storage rather than convenient protection like the gun beneath the bed. Not wanting to waste time as she heard Bucky step into the hallway, Charlotte grabbed the first thing she saw: a bow and quiver of arrows. She slid the strap over her shoulder, gritting her teeth as the loose arrows clacked against each other. Catching up to Bucky as he crept to the staircase, she loaded an arrow and pulled it taut, ready to fire over his shoulder if anything should make a sudden move.

They moved stealthily down the stairs, their trained eyes scanning for threats. The living room was a mess, shrapnel from the splintered wooden door sprayed across the room, water from the ongoing storm beginning to puddle at the entryway. Charlotte tried to ignore the fact that her discarded clothes from the day before were right in the midst of the fray. At least she fared better than Bucky, clad in only his boxers as he held the gun out and turned the corner fully. At the center of the chaos stood a figure from Stark’s lineup—an Iron Legion bot, the lights through the eye holes flashing red.

Bucky frowned, his gun lowering slightly. “Iron Legion? What’s the emergency?”

The drone’s mechanical voice responded, “Safety check protocol initiated due to non-response from agents. Please confirm status.”

With a sigh, Bucky lowered the gun fully. “Tell the cavalry we’re fine. They can call off the search party.”

“Agent dismissal protocol not met.” 

“Sergeant Barnes confirming safe perimeter and no imminent threat. Agent Rossi present and unharmed.”

The drone paused, the lights turning from red to white, then turned and exited, leaving the mild destruction in its wake.

Bucky glanced at Charlotte, eyes less than amused as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Well, that’s one way to start the day.”

Stepping carefully across the debris to get to her abandoned bag, Charlotte fished out her phone, wincing at the flood of missed messages and calls. “Looks like we’ve got some explaining to do.” She tossed his phone and the secure comms device to Bucky, both laden with concern at their lack of communication for ten hours. She shot him a sheepish grin. “What’s the play here, Sarge?”

“Probably better to keep it to the basics,” Bucky suggested, arching an eyebrow. “They know the storm forced us down, communications got spotty.”

“So you don’t think saying we were too busy hooking up to answer our phones would fly with Hill? Charlotte asked with a smirk, her heart still racing from the rude awakening.

Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, let’s stick to the storm story.”

As they started picking up the broken door, laying down towels to soak up the rainwater, and straightening the furniture, the room was full of a quiet tension. They’d cleared the security check with the Iron Legion, which would surely report back to the Compound, but they’d still have to return the calls, texts, and mission brief requests –– and they knew the team would press them a little harder than the robot did. 

“So,” Charlotte began, breaking the silence, “are we okay here? I mean, with... this?” She gestured vaguely between them.

Bucky stopped, his gaze meeting hers seriously. “We’re good, Char. If you’re good, I’m good.” 

She nodded, relief evident in her features. “I’m good.”

His eyes lingered on hers for a second before he thought better of whatever the words were on his lips, turning his attention back to gathering their soaking wet clothes from the ground.

“Buck?” Charlotte stepped across the puddle on the floor towards him, reaching out for the clothes in his hands. 

“Hm?” His breath seemed to hitch as he met her eyes.

“I’d hate for our first... whatever this was, to be our last.”

Something darker flickered in his eyes. “When have I ever stopped at one lesson?” Bucky’s voice was low. His words hung between them, the air so thick it was almost suffocating. As much as she wanted to lean into the moment, to drop the clothes and keep the world at bay, Charlotte knew they shouldn’t keep the rest of the team waiting, concerned.

“Guess it’s time to face the music,” she said, taking the pile of wet clothes and turning for the laundry room. “I’ll get these clean so you have something to wear. You can handle the communication.”

“Gee, thanks.” He scoffed. 

“You’re the one always reminding me you outrank me, Sarge.” 

“I’ve never said that.”

“You don’t have to say it, the constant barking of orders does a good enough job for you.” She winked as she turned the corner. 

As she disappeared, Bucky looked down at his phone. The screen lit up with multiple missed calls from Steve. He hesitated a moment before hitting the call back button, preparing himself for the inevitable ribbing.

“Hey, man,” Steve answered on the first ring, his voice a mix of relief and curiosity. “Everything okay over there?”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face despite the seriousness of the situation. “Yeah, we’re fine. Sorry about the scare. We... uh, didn’t hear the phones.”

Steve paused, the silence on the other end almost palpable. “Didn’t hear the phone? For hours? You missed the check in protocol too, you know you have twenty minutes to clear the house and report back before you’re marked safe.”

“Well, we were a bit... distracted,” Bucky admitted, scratching his cheek.

There was a chuckle from Steve. “Distracted, huh? I guess the storm really picked up then.”

“You could say that,” Bucky replied, his voice wry. “It was quite the... storm.”

Steve’s laughter came through the phone. “Wow, Buck. Just glad you two are safe. But you might want to adjust your comm settings if you’re planning on getting ‘distracted’ again. Could save us all a heart attack.”

“Noted,” Bucky said, a genuine smile on his face. “And, uh, thanks, pal.”

“Anytime,” Steve said. “Oh, hang on, Nat has something to say.”

“Uh, okay,” His brow furrowed.

“Bucky?” Natasha’s voice rang through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Next time you’re trying to be subtle, consider not sleeping with the girl wearing a heart rate monitor.”

Bucky’s stomach flipped as he closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” He could hear the shit-eating grin in her voice. “So picture this, Barnes. You have an all-too exciting escape from what’s supposed to be a non-combat mission, have to land in the middle of a storm at a safe house, miss your check in point to clear the house, and we get notified from the agents monitoring the two of you on the mission that Charlotte’s heart rate monitor is going berserk. Then, you two neglect to answer any of your calls or comm requests for hours, and since we’re unable to fly a manned aircraft in this storm, we’re forced to dispatch the Iron Legion to obtain proof of life.” 

Bucky closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, but fighting a grin. “That sounds like it’s going to be a hell of a mission brief when we get back.” 

“You could say that.” She snorted. “We’ll cover you with Hill. She’s pissed, but we’ll tell her you were dealing with structural complications at the safe house or something. Storm won’t fully pass until tomorrow anyways, so she’ll find someone else to be mad at by then.” 

“Structural complications aren’t too far fetched,” Bucky raised an eyebrow at the open doorway, water still blowing in. 

“Hey, I’m just thrilled you two remembered to take your earpieces out. We don’t need to be paying for therapy for the poor agents monitoring your asses.” 

“Silver lining.” Bucky groaned, hearing Nat pass the phone back to Steve. 

“Hey, just be safe the rest of the day. We’ll cover for you here, but I’m not sure we can explain a second missed check in.” 

“We won’t make things worse. Thanks, Stevie.” 

“No problem. I’m just glad you’re getting along so well. The team had a pool going that one of you would try to kill the other before you got out of the safe house.” 

“Hey, there’s still twenty four hours left!” He heard Nat’s voice call from across the room. 

“Alright, I’m gonna figure out how to board up this wide open doorway, I guess.” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, surveying the damage again. “Sorry for the scare.” 

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll see you tomorrow, Buck.”

As he ended the call, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of their situation.

Charlotte descended the stairs then, holding a second set of sweats that she extended to him. “Everything okay?” she asked, noticing the residual smile on Bucky’s face.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he assured her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Steve sends his best.”

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Does he now?”

“He does.” Bucky nodded. “And Nat so lovingly reminded me about this.” He reached down and grabbed her left wrist, holding it up so her bracelet glinted in the light. Charlotte’s eyes flicked from the bracelet to him, widening. 

“Oh, fuck.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So I take it they didn’t buy the storm story…?”

“Not so much.” 

Charlotte giggled, covering her face with her hand as she gave Bucky the clothes. “So much for a seamless first mission.” 

“Hey, it wasn’t so bad.” Bucky stepped into the sweatpants and tugged the sweatshirt over his head. “We just took a little…educational detour.” 

She peeked through her fingers at him. “A training exercise.”

“We’ve been doing them for months.” 

“This was no different.” 

“Wasn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow at her. For a moment, Charlotte looked him over and really saw him. How handsome he was, how the stubble decorated his jawline, how his soft lips and blue eyes were the perfect contrast to his rough exterior. 

“I need coffee.” She brushed past him and into the kitchen. “Want some?”

“Make it strong.”

Hours later, Charlotte knelt in front of the old TV set, her brow furrowed in concentration as she fiddled with the back wires. The storm outside howled, sending gusts that rattled the windows, occasionally messing with the static-filled screen. The spare wood Bucky had used to patch up the door kept the majority of the rain out, but not the chill from the wind.

"Come on, you ancient piece of shit," she muttered under her breath, giving the side of the TV a light thump. "In a place designed by Tony Stark himself, you'd think someone would've thought to install a decent entertainment system. Or at least Netflix."

“Isn’t it ironic that you’d call anything ancient?” Bucky walked in, a can of beans in one hand and a box of pasta in the other. He raised an eyebrow at her ongoing battle with the television. Charlotte extended her middle finger towards him without looking back.

"Having fun?" he asked, a half-smile playing on his lips.

Charlotte stood up, brushing her hands on her sweats. "Oh, loads. It's like time traveling back to the 90s. Except even then, I think they had better TV reception. Not that I would know."

Bucky chuckled, setting the food on the coffee table. "Well, if you're done tinkering, I found our gourmet dinner options." He gestured towards the modest assortment of canned and boxed goods he'd gathered. "What are you in the mood for? We've got spaghetti with a choice of three expired sauces or two-year-old beans that promise a 'home-cooked' taste."

"Hmm, tough choice," Charlotte teased, walking over to inspect the labels. "Do you trust the sauces? Because honestly, the beans might be safer, but the spaghetti sounds more like a meal."

"Hey, we’ve survived worse," Bucky decided with a grin. "If we get taken out by pasta, it was probably our time."

"Deal," she replied, smiling. "But if I get food poisoning, there will be hell to pay."

Bucky strode to the kitchen and started setting up a pot on the small stove. "I'll take full responsibility. I'll even nurse you back to health with our vast medical supplies of... well, I think there's some expired aspirin in the bathroom."

"That’s very reassuring, thanks," she laughed, finding a can opener in one of the drawers. "This feels like one of those cooking shows where they give you the weirdest ingredients and ask you to make something edible."

"They have shows like that?" Bucky raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah, they have shows for everything.” Charlotte poured the sauce into a pan, stirring it slowly. "Cooking shows, shows where people have to make things out of cake, shows where people get yelled at in kitchens, everything. You’ve really never seen them?”

“I don’t watch much TV.” 

“I probably watch too much,” Charlotte admitted. “It’s how I learned…everything. English, even. I think that’s how I feel more like I’m a part of this world. Watching people live life and be normal…sometimes I can just get lost in it and feel like I’m normal too.”

Bucky was quiet for a moment before speaking softly. “I feel the opposite. Sometimes watching people live their lives makes me feel like I’m too far gone. It’s just a reminder of everything I missed out on.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Charlotte’s voice held a pang of sadness that made Bucky wish he’d kept his depressing bullshit to himself. “I guess I’d rather watch it and daydream about it than not know about it at all. At least some people are out there having normal lives and happy families, you know?” 

Charlotte hesitated, then spoke softly. “Bucky, do you ever think about it? About having a... normal life?”

Bucky turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “A quiet life, a family, all that. It’s hard not to think about it.”

Charlotte nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she stirred absently. “Yeah, me too. But then I think about what that would actually mean—I just don’t know if it would be right. Even before all of this, before Hydra…I didn’t have a good life. It’s not like I had an idyllic childhood to reminisce about or have some desire to recreate.” She paused. “These past few months, with the team…this is the best it’s ever been for me. I don’t think I would ever want to leave this behind.”

“I had a lot of good before the war. A good life. But that’s long gone now.” Bucky looked at her. “The team, the compound…this is a good life too.”

Charlotte gave a small smile, trying not to scare away the genuine emotion in his words.

“Even if we did leave,” Bucky continued. “It’s about whether we’d ever really fit into that kind of life. After everything we’ve been through, everything we are... could we really live like that? Working a normal job, trying to be normal?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte sighed, folding her arms. “Maybe we’re too fucked up for normal. Maybe we’re just better suited for the chaos and the fights. That’s what we’re built for, after all.”

Bucky moved closer, his eyes searching hers. “Does that scare you?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” she confessed. “It’s one thing to choose this life because it’s exciting and we’re good at it. It’s another to think maybe we don’t have much of a choice, because the other life, the normal one, was taken from us.”

He nodded. “I get that. I used to think about what would have happened if I’d never fallen off that train, if I’d just lived a normal life after the war. But after all these years, after all Hydra did, it’s hard to imagine being anything but what I am now.”

Charlotte looked up at him, her expression softening. “And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s enough to find some semblance of happiness wherever we can, even if it’s not the picture-perfect version we’re supposed to want.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

Charlotte leaned closer, bumping her shoulder against his, a small smile playing at her lips. “Hey, who you are is kind of growing on me.”

Bucky shot her a look. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Maybe it’s the isolation making me crazy…but I’m finding you shockingly less insufferable these past twenty four hours.” 

“I wonder what made the change.” Arrogance was written all across his face. 

“There’s no real way to tell.” Charlotte chuckled as she took the sauce off the burner and poured it over the noodles he’d strained.

After dinner, the night seemed to stretch endlessly in front of them, time ticking slower than usual. They sat in the living room, a restless silence between them. Bucky was leaning back against the couch, with Charlotte lying on her back, her head beside his thighs and her feet on the opposite armrest. Bucky idly re-scrambled a Rubik’s cube, handing it over to Charlotte who solved it in seconds. 

“Again?” she asked, eyebrows raised as she handed the solved puzzle back to him.

Bucky grunted, tossing it onto the coffee table. “It’s too easy for you.”

Charlotte chuckled as she plucked it back up, dropping her head back onto the cushions as she fiddled with it. “What did you expect?”

Bucky gave a hollow grin, his eyes betraying his frustration. The air between them crackled. Last night’s encounter loomed large in their minds, the solitude and the utter lack of distractions making it impossible to avoid.

“So,” Bucky began, his voice low as he watched her hands on the cube rather than meet her eyes, “are we going to talk about...last night?”

Charlotte shifted, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch. “What about it?”

“Do you…” Bucky paused, choosing his words carefully, “...was it just a one-time thing? Because of the storm, because we were stuck here?”

Charlotte’s gaze didn’t waver from his eyes, her heart thumping louder against her ribs. “Do you want it to be just a one-time thing?”

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted. “But I know I don’t want to pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

Charlotte’s breath hitched slightly. “It meant something to me too, Bucky.” She hesitated, then added softly, “And I wouldn’t mind...if it happened again.”

The admission hung between them, charged and heavy. Bucky’s gaze intensified, his body leaning slightly towards her.

“Charlotte,” he began, his voice a husky whisper, “I—”

But she didn’t let him finish. Closing the distance, she leaned forward, her hand reaching up to cradle his cheek, pulling him towards her. Their lips met in a kiss that was both a confirmation and a promise, charged with the pent-up tension of the day.

Bucky responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her onto his lap. The Rubik’s cube fell to the floor, forgotten as the kiss deepened, filled with the urgency and passion of their bottled-up emotions. The storm outside once again faded to the background, their mingling heartbeats putting the thunder to shame.

They broke apart, brief and breathless, Charlotte whispered against his lips, “I think I’m ready for another lesson.”

Bucky grinned, his forehead resting against hers. “What do you want to learn?”

“I think I need to go over the basics again,” She gently bit his lower lip, making him tilt his head back. “Just to make sure last night’s…training really sunk in.”

Bucky’s chuckle was low. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited to train with me,” His hands roamed to her back, slipping under her sweatshirt and pulling her even closer.

“It must be your new teaching style,” Charlotte quipped, her breath quickening as she felt his heartbeat through his shirt.

Slowly, deliberately, Bucky leaned her back, lowering down until they were lying on the couch, her body perfectly aligned underneath his. “Let’s start with the fundamentals then,” he murmured, his lips tracing a path along her jawline towards her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. Charlotte’s fingers tangled in his hair. Every touch, every kiss made the world fade further from her mind. All she could feel was him. All she knew was him. 

Bucky, Bucky Bucky.

As the storm continued to rage outside, the safe house became their secluded world, filled with the sounds of their synchronized breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as clothing was stripped and discarded on the floor. The urgency of their first encounter gave way to a more profound exploration this time. Slower hands, more deliberate movements, absolutely no desire for this to ever end.

“Bucky,” Charlotte breathed out as his hands found the hem of her pants, fingers dancing across her skin with a tenderness that belied his rough exterior.

“Yes?” His voice was a husky whisper that sent shivers down her spine.

“Don’t stop teaching,” Charlotte managed to say, her voice laced with laughter and desire.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, his eyes locked with hers, a smirk on his lips.

[shivroyisbisexual]

one of those things that I find pathetic are those succession fans who make videos and comments on videos where they GENUINELY root for the man with the most “top dog” vibes and have a whole running hierarchy in their minds about it.

It’s one thing to analyze the show for that — I definitely do, and the characters within the show definitely are keeping score within their different information-limited perspectives. It’s important, a key part of the culture and what makes the characters tic as people.

It’s another thing to really buy in and huff top dog farts about it.

Here’s my list of red flags for boring dude bro succ commenter (woman inclusive term though it’s usually men)

In honor of it being a show about rich fucks I’m using the little golf red flag emoji

⛳️ promotes and defends Logan’s politics and behavior as great and true right down to repeating his lines on being totally self made, knowing how people “really are”, how everyone is out to get him for no reason, he’s a strong family man, he should be in charge because he’s strong enough to tell it like it is blah blah

⛳️ that fucking “hard times make hard men who make good times that make soft men that leads to hard times” crap or however it goes — they really believe in this shit

⛳️ Logan’s word is gospel, to the point of quoting his views line for line as THE literal truth summary of a situation or character

⛳️ The above is taken as true especially about himself and his kids, but this goes triple for anything he says about Shiv. If he says Roman has no fucking acumen that’s taken to be probably mostly true, but Roman is seen as able to rise up and prove him wrong. If he says Kendall is not a killer, that’s probably mostly true, but Ken is seen as able to “rise up” and prove him wrong. If he says Shiv has no real experience and isn’t as smart as she thinks she is, not only is that unquestionably true but she can never rise above it AND she’s not just not as smart as she thinks she is she’s downright stupid. The worst. Definitely married Tom 100% because she’s a coward and that’s alllllll there is to it because notorious family man Logan is an oracle. Perfect font of wisdom. Interestingly this is also how the wrapped around Logan’s finger grown up abused kids act when stressed — they throw Logan’s take downs of each other in each other’s faces as unquestionable truths

⛳️ has little or nothing to say about Connor other than memeing him or calling him likable because he’s not in the fight for succession really and he’s too on the nose a parody of “anarcho capitalists”/“libertarian” crank leaders whose 1%er (in more than 1 sense) runs for high office these boring dude bros have likely donated to and hyped before

⛳️ succeeding Logan is consistently viewed as an unqualified “win”, as is becoming “a killer” like Logan even if a few flourishes toward how evil he is are made, or how they would be better off cashing out. Commenter still reverts to succession = winning. Adopting Logan’s personality = winning. Except for Shiv mostly, she’s just a cold two faced b*tch especially if she acts more like Logan to Tom.

⛳️ former game of thrones viewer who’s main interest was Who Would Win (tm) mostly adjudicated based on who was confident and powerful with snappy lines or bold moves that day and probably was a dude or could be said to owe her shit to a dude or they predicted she’d win but would be horrible as a ruler and wouldn’t “deserve it”

⛳️ even if they hide it you can tell the vibe is they do think any sign a character is gay or bi is a mark against them like they’re definitely laughing at it in a “haha eww” (mentally deducts points) kinda way

⛳️ super basic conventional dude bro views on the wives, girlfriends and escorts being gold diggers, with 0 introspection on the dynamics of that when true being the fault of the rich man leveraging being rich and choosing it also, not being some poor baby getting taken for a ride by a master manipulator, and 0 interest in the complicated cases where yes the money is the main part of it but also there’s real relationships there in some cases too, or the heartfelt delusions of them at least

⛳️ tends to not remember the names of characters like Sophie, Iverson, Rava, Jess and just call them Kendall’s kids, Kendall’s ex wife, Kendall’s assistant lady

⛳️ hard to quantify or prove but they say the SAME thing like at first you think it’s the same dude but no it’s like 100+ different yt commenters saying the same thing word for word on different succession clip vids. Part of this is for sure yt commenter culture where people get into saying whatever broadly appealing thing gets likes or upvotes or whatever they’re calling it there, similar to reddit

⛳️ switches their views on the likelihood of a character to “win” on a dime with the whole dude bro commenter crowd moving as one, and not really seeming to take time to analyze why they were mislead (if they were) before. Like if they now think something else, they were wrong before, and that raises how and why. Here I’m thinking of the group that was totally all up in arms about Machiavellian Greg now hyping Kendall the Killer After-all. With no introspection on why they were SO easily convinced this other guy was going to get it (more or less because it would be a funny narrative if he did and they saw themselves in him and his “perchance” shit). They just really have a gut reaction to narrative beats that Feel Snappy and either clever or dominant, and therefore significant. But they have to rationalize and act like it’s more than it is.

🪂 Special shout out to a different set of succession commenters who annoy me: those think piece writers who claimed Greg and Tom had more “humanity” for sounding like stilted try hards and brought in academics to try and push that.

[stardewsnail]

hello! do you have any hc for shane x farmer x harvey poly relationship? sfw or nsfw hc are fine thank you so much :) loved your last request post hehe

I’m so glad you liked it! Since you said HC this is more of a list, but if anyone wants to request a specific moment written out in prose let me know!

I admit, I am just starting to appreciate Harvey in my game so forgive me if there’s a little more of my brain than game canon :) NSFW is alllllll the way at the end

MINORS DNI

I HC Shane was 28/29 having a crisis about turning 30 and then Harvey being about 32-35 (barely recovering from the imposter syndrome of taking over the clinic pretty young)

So I think, first of all, Marnie and Maru were key to getting the three of them to figure it out. Like the two of them were in cahoots arranging for those three to be in the same place at the same time

Harvey had a crush on the farmer pretty quickly, having plenty of interactions due to how often they ended up needing medical care

He always had a soft spot for Shane because even when he was struggling and on his worst most hung over days he still went to every shift at Joja so he could provide for Jas

Shane has had a crush on the farmer for a while—but it didn’t cement until after the cliffs when they didn’t just drop him entirely. Up until he was actually working on improving himself he had ZERO plans in ever engaging in a romantic relationship with anyone (he wasn’t going to doom anyone to dealing with him—sad self deprecating boy)

After Harvey treated him so gently and was such a surprising pillar of support in Shane’s journey to recovery he developed a crush on the good Dr as well

 Harvey was a little freaked out because he considered Shane a patient first at some point the farmer brought him coffee and they ended up sitting together for an hour chatting (gushing) about Shane. That was the farmer and Harvey looked at each other like “Oh…you like him?” And both decided to let their crush go like idiots. Farmer was like “ah Shane and Harvey have known each other for longer it’s not fair for me to get in the way” and Harvey was like “Oh I won’t get in the way of two people I care about”

 Maru started leaving books about polyamory laying around the clinic and Marnie tried to (awkwardly and not fully understanding the concept but trying to stay hip with the youth) bring it up to Shane which both backfired and succeeded bc Shane went to the farmer/Harvey to complain about it (he went to the Farmer first and the farmer didn’t react as expected. They pretty much were like “Yeah that's a thing seems like it might be nice as a concept”

And so when Shane went to Harvey after because at this point they're friends (even if Shane thinks it's more about Harvey being his doctor) Not only was Harvey sweating talking about relationships with Shane he about choked on his coffee when our fav chicken man brought up the farmer being into polyamory.

Harvey figures out what all of this had been leading to--why Marnie of all people had brought it up to Shane, why Maru kept teasing (and I feel like in this scenario Maru and the farmer are friends). Harvey has his Jimmy Neutron style brain blast and is like wait...i have TWO hands...I can HOLD TWO HANDs.

When I tell you this man studies the theory, history, and modern practice of polyamory like there's going to be a test--he's on it. He didn't graduate medical school by doing things half assed

While this is happening (Harvey preparing to make a move) Shane (post cliffs) just assumes he has a crush on Harvey and the farmer because the two of them helped him get better—he’s not going to be the one getting this whole thing started. So he just keeps going doing his best for Jas but also because he really likes the way Harvey lights up at every check up.

I feel like Harvey (likely assured by Maru who is tired of listening to both farmer and Harvey pine for each other AND Shane) asks the farmer out first, and the two have a big long discussion about their dynamics and how they want to approach Shane. Harvey is a little clinical about it but the farmer does their best to reassure him

Unfortunately, while Harvey and the farmer are both independently smart they lose all but one (1) brain cell that they have to share between them like a ping pong ball

It works out still, and they both present a bouquet to Shane at the same time. Shane just does NOT get it, poor thing he is red as a tomato and his whole brain just blue screens. Like face hiding in his hood/hands low key trying not to cry not believing that there are TWO people who like him and they’re the people he’s been pining over for AGES and that he gets to be with BOTH of them????

Shane stops having to work at Joja mart between his spouse’s income. Instead he works full time on the farm with the chickens, engineering a variety of colored chickens (Shane studied Bio/ag in college along with his gridball scholarship, then the accident that wiped out Jas’s parents also wiped out his potential gridball career AND forced him to drop out in his last semester—I think I’ve seen this bit before but idk if it’s cannon or somebody’s head cannon)

Shane does better mentally getting to work outside with animals and even when he has bad days he’s got much healthier coping strategies

So I think he would start getting back into fitness and bond with Harvey over eating healthy and staying fit—that plus the farmer being THE source of fresh produce in town

And also they are constantly trying to make sure the farmer doesn’t starve and drop dead in the mines

Other:

They constantly cycle through whose sleeping where mostly because they don’t often go to bed at the same time so the last person there just kinda worms their way in wherever

Shane really likes being babied but he would never say it

Unrelated but when Harvey moves to the farm he rents his apartment to Maru who is ecstatic to have her own place away from her overbearing dad (who’s not super jazzed about the situation) but her being out of the house improves her relationship with Sebastian and they get much closer as siblings

NSFW

Shane never thought of himself as being more dominant to anyone BUT after being with Harvey (who takes care of people constantly and wants the opposite in the bedroom) I see him approaching the territory of service dom

Harvey for his part wants to be in the middle, both penetrating and being penetrated at the same time. He was waiting for a “good time” to bring this up but the farmer suggested it first and he was ecstatic.

Both the farmer and Shane think Harvey's thing is going to be sexy nurse but no, it's definitely a pilot/flight attendant thing--something they make the most of

[secretlytranced]

love the blog! just wondering, do you have a favorite movie that portrays hypnosis? like sometimes i find myself watching shows or movies where a character gets hypnotized and i go "whoo boy! when did i get so wet?"

oh wow...that's a toughy... I honestly don't think i could pick any one thing.

Classic Vampire mind control is so... top of the list for me... even the cheesy fingers reaching for me... digging into my mind...

omg The Manchurian Candidate- freaks me out AND turns me on. That's like... epic government control there. Oh! Disturbing Behavior... The Stepford Wives (well, obviously) um...

so many tv show episodes/scenes... Eyes glowing... bodies stiffening... whispers controlling...

I can't get enough. I love them all. I want them ALLLLLLL

[actual-sleeping-beauty]

sorry this ask has nothing to do with Taylor Swift but it is relevant to your other interests (I hope).

okay so you're take a flight cross country (who knows which airports lets just pretend) and at some point the plane has to make an emergency landing. it lands (safely) in the middle of nowhere and now the airline is putting you up in a pretty shitty motel with nothing around for ages with 100 other passengers. you have to stay in this motel for 12 hours with 2 other people and you have basically nothing else to do. rank your preferred room-mates from 'okay, fine' to 'over my sleep-deprived body':

1. Roland Schitt.

2. Moira Rose.

3. Sebastien Raine.

4. Billy Tyson.

5. Owen Strand.

6. Pearce Risher.

7. Hunter (Huntington III).

8. Senator Richards.

9. Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.

10. Queen Mary.

11. Sadie.

12. Me.

okay so first of all, i definitely read this last night because i remembered you were on the list, but i must have stopped processing after pearce, and whoo boy does the end of that list get worse until it gets to you.

you. - listen, i know you tell everyone all the time how chaotic you are, but i actually think our particular brands of chaos would gel pretty well together. this is not an okay, fine, and is more of an ooh, my friend!

billy tyson. - i actually think billy would probably be a pretty fine roommate. his antagonistic and terrible tendencies seem pretty focused on owen, and i am not owen.

owen strand. - this is contingent on the fact that if he and billy are my roommates TOGETHER they drop alllllll the way to the bottom. i do not have time for their shit. but anyway, i think owen would be slightly more annoying than billy, and would probably tell me all about the last time he had plane trouble, but would otherwise be fine.

pearce risher. - again, he'd probably be mildly annoying, but nothing terrible. and i bet he'd go to sleep quickly.

hunter (huntington iii). - again, probably annoying, but i bet i could get him to shut up by just talking about taylor swift until he put his headphones on.

sebastien raine. - horrifically annoying, and talking about taylor swift would not shut him up. perhaps i could instead go through every single softball chant i remember until he also puts on his headphones and leaves me alone. i will say though, that turns me into a terrible roommate also.

philip fox-mountchristen-windsor. - philip would try to be annoyingly controlling about the whole thing, but i'm an eldest sister and in this universe where he's real i already know he's stupid, so i would win in a battle of wills. he'd probably be a fine roommate otherwise.

moira rose. - at this point i would have to put on my headphones and ignore what's happening in the room. i think she'd cry herself out after about two and a half hours, which is entirely too long but i have dealt with a melodramatic crying woman in an unfamiliar hotel room before, so at least i have some experience.

roland schitt. - roland ranks right above the literal murderers, because good lord is that man annoying. hopefully he would also go to sleep quickly?

queen mary. - god, she's awful. i probably wouldn't refuse, simply because i think i would get a perverse joy out of watching her try to share a room with a random girl from kentucky. and also she's old. in my experience at the retirement home, old people go to sleep SO EARLY.

sadie. - i cannot. she would scare me too much. also isn't she in prison? how did she get out early? perhaps what i should be more scared of is the justice system in this country.

senator richards. - lola, i come in contact with one of the kentucky senators offices fairly regularly, and having to resist the urge to egg them is a terrible ordeal. and no one is more real life richards than mitch mcconnell and rand paul. in short, i couldn't, because i would end up spitting in his face in his sleep.

this was fun thank you! and also i believe thanks are due to @rmd-writes and @celeritas2997 for helping come up with this literal who's who of hellish fictional roommates.

[duskcecropia]

!!!BUG INFESTATION WARNING!!! WELCOME TO MY BLOG. 🪲🦋🐜🐛🐝🐞

BASIC INTRO

My name is Temperance (temp for short), I'm 18, and my pronouns are He/She.

…and this is my blog! I post things like my brain thoughts, sometimes doodles, and lot of reblogs. Sometimes I get a bit down in the dumps and post how I’m feeling, so warning ahead of time for that. (I will always put a 'keep reading' with a warning on these specific posts.) Not much to say other than that, though. ^^

INTERESTS

Bugs, Insects, and Arachnids of ALLLLLLL kinds. I don’t discriminate. 🦂

Animals of all kinds. Basically I am a fan of anything that isn’t human.

GARDENING!!!!!!! Love plants and love taking care of them. I have a small plant nook on my windowsill. ^w^

Madoka Magica. Do I even have to explain?

I have a ton of video games I like that I don’t feel like separating so I’m going to list them all here: Pokémon, Identity V, Animal Crossing, Undertale (+ Undertale yellow and Deltarune), Poppy Playtime (my friend introduced it to me via ranting and I took an interest in it. I literally get all of my information on it through halo it’s INSANE!!!!), Stardew Valley, Regretevator, Object shows, and probably a shit ton more that I forgot. Because I’m forgetful alllll the time (until I’m not!)

I have a lot of other niche interests I could list but this post would be a mile long if I did. So I won’t. 💥

DNI CRITERIA

BASIC DNI (Racists, TERFs, Homophobes, Transphobes, Ableists, etc.)

thats it. Just don’t be an ass. Please. ‼️

TRIGGERS

I cannot handle Gore to ANY extent. blood is kind of ok, Like a pool of blood or a blood splatter won’t kill me.

any mentions of sexual assault in detail. I can handle hearing about it happening, just can’t handle the detail.

Human cannibalism in detail. The word or mention itself doesn’t bother me, just explaining it does. Because that involves gore. And I will explode. Sorry !

and that’s it honestly. Feel free to interact with my content as you wish. You could even send an ask if you wanted! Don’t know what you’d ask, but it is definitely an option. Enjoy my blog :)

[dancingisdangerouss]

@willshipanythingblog

This is…the saddest argument I’ve ever seen in my fucking life.

The it wasn’t a question but a statement thing? No shit Sherlock, that’s a commonly known phrase not unique to me or anyone else. I’m astonished that you think you can actually argue a line you copied straight from mine by pointing out that part of the phrase is used in other works.

Because guess what? I’ll show you an example to make this easier: Another common phrase is “you never know till you know.” This might pop up in an Avengers fanfic and a Harry Potter fanfic. Heck, maybe even in the same fandom, or even the same pairing.

But if you saw a Loki x Reader fanfic where it’s the exact same situation and exact same scenario and the exact same scene in the exact same place in another Loki x Reader that begins with the exact same plot that uses that exact same line?

It’s the context and you damn well know it.

Also I hate to tell you this, but some of your followers have spoken with me privately and, while they are still following you, they agreed with me that it’s plagiarism. Even some of your own damn fans know it.

Quit reaching.

You know it’s obvious. You keep picking pieces from the evidence I provided to use instead of looking at it as a whole. The words list? Not weird if I saw them all in a Hannibal fic. The writing style without all the words, same fandom, same pairing, same beginning plot, and same phrases in a Sherlock fic? Not weird either. All of those things combined? Highly suspicious.

I wouldn’t argue it if it was a line from the movie, but Finney never says that. Of alllllll the phrases you could use and alllll the things your Reader could have said, it was the exact same thing?

Gimme a break, man.

Oh and I know at least one of those anons was you btw. It even had the same emoji you use on your posts. That’s why anyone who still believes you should not get to read my stuff. They’re also welcome to block me back, I don’t care.

I tried, I really did. I know you can’t backtrack now because you dug yourself too deep, but I’ve told your followers who messaged me that I’m happy to forgive if you would just stop lying to me.

On a final note: If anyone thinks it’s okay to sit idly by on the sidelines while someone is getting robbed, or bullied, or assaulted, etc.? Then they don’t deserve to enjoy that person’s content. @ my 500+ followers, I’m looking at y’all. Very disappointed. Thanks to those who have actually given a shit, I appreciate you immensely.

And of course you’ve “not been upset over all this until now.” You’re not the one being plagiarized.

[wild-houseplant]

Hello Plant, lovely friend ^^ I am a-coming with questions. Oh would I have loved just putting the whole post into your asks but that would be unfair to everybody else who wants to ask questions and maybe also be a tad bit overwhelming. So I've made a selection. Feel free to pick the ones that tickle your fancy the most and ignore the rest ^^

3. What architectural or design aesthetic would best suit them?

7. If your OC could meet any historical or past figure, whether in the real world or in their own canon lore, who would it be and why?

13. Is your character bilingual or multilingual? Yes she is Which language are they most comfortable in or prefer using? How did they come to learn them? (Also if I may make an add-on which language are reserved for which occasions? What's the socializing language? The academic language? The work language? Does she learn Antivan?)

23. What sort of routines, rituals or rules do they have or set for themselves? (What is her procedure to make herself comfortable after a long day of work? Bold question, may be a tad bit personal, if so please ignore)

I hope you're having an amazing day!!!!

Henlo my excellent friend :3 Thank you for sending the lush asks! I will answer them ALLLLLLL 8D

Under the cut, because like Aurelio and Revka, I am incapable of keeping it concise.

Okay, so 3 (what architectural or design aesthetic would best suit them?). I'll be the first to admit I'm not au fait with the industry terms. What I can say, though, with regard to general preferences:

Most important thing for Rhodri is that stuff is clean and in reasonably good repair. With the exception of hairline cracks in the buildings, which any Tevinter will assure you adds character, broken tiles and the like should be replaced. Also important is to make the place look both imposing to outsiders, but welcoming to familiar people.

Some clutter indoors, especially books, is encouraged, but only on table surfaces (never on the floor, as Tevinters consider it dirty, no matter how many times you mop it).

I've always seen Tevinter as a place that has a lot of sandstone and marble, so I figure plenty of the buildings are made out of those two things. Especially the upper-crust villas like what Rhodri grew up in.

In terms of decorations, better with trees and gardens rather than fancy statues. The symbol of Tevinter can either be carved into the sandstone, or in a banner hanging at the front of the villa.

High ceilings, please, and an atrium indoors, as it's hot as buggery year round in Minrathous. Make it nice and light, too. It's a beautiful, sunny city.

A couple of pictures below if that helps (links embedded in the pics):

close to ideal house. God help me for using minecraft. Make the land flat and stick a gazebo out the back for watching the afternoon thunderstorm, and that's a wrap.

Someone made a Tevinter-inspired courtyard, though I would just make this their atrium. MeggieRock took a whole bunch more pictures; I just chose the one I liked best. They're all amazing, though. I'm not quite sure if that's what the question was asking or not. Was I close? haha :D lmk if not!!

Number 7 (If your OC could meet any historical or past figure, whether in the real world or in their own canon lore, who would it be and why?)

Oh, easy choice. Zevran's mother, hands down. Naturally, if she could plan it out, she'd take Zevran so he could meet her, but if that wasn't allowed, she'd take a list of questions and information to pass on to her mother-in-law on Zevran's behalf.

One thing I never really thought of until now is that it would have been quite a thing at the wedding to see the Imperial Chantry packed to the rafters with Rhod's family and friends and friends of the family and and and... But then not a soul from Zevran's side. People would've been astonished. Northerners have huge networks, and Zevran comes empty-handed to his own nuptials? It's sad, honestly. Especially because even though Tevinters don't marry for love as a rule, the marriage does signify two households becoming much more linked. Really, you don't just marry one person, you marry the whole family.

On the plus side, Zevran has a whole new gaggle of people who love him to bits, so it's very much a net win. Even so, Rhodri was looking forward to the whole +1 family add-on with whomever her father was going to set her up with. So the chance to say g’day to her mother-in-law would be something she’d be absolutely jonesing for.

Assuming Zevran isn't allowed to join in on this, meeting Zevran's mother would be a very emotional event, I think, for Rhodri and her mother-in-law both. Not least because this poor Dalish woman realises her only child has gone and gotten hitched with a Tevinter Magister, oh my GOD. I dunno, though, I think Rhodri's candour and very plain affection for her son (she practically sings odes about him as it is) would reassure her. She'd probably be heartbroken to hear Zevran went through what he did with the Crows. I’m sure she’d be very proud of him too, though, especially as Rhodri waxes lyrical about his heroism and kind heart during the Blight (and every other point in time, honestly) .

And yanno, marrying into fabulous wealth with a spouse who's willing to do anything for him, well. It's a turn-up for the books after Crow living. This lady would probably be content enough to let Rhodri go (only after ALL her questions are answered) with some ominous warning about haunting the shit out of her if she breaks Zevran's heart. Fair enough, honestly. What loving mother could do more?

13. Is your character bilingual or multilingual? Yes she is Which language are they most comfortable in or prefer using? How did they come to learn them? (Also if I may make an add-on which language are reserved for which occasions? What's the socializing language? The academic language? The work language? Does she learn Antivan?)

Ooh. Ooh ok. Let's see. I can't say Rhodri dislikes Common, because it's her mother's native language (though Revka does speak Tevene) and her mother is a SAINT, damn it! BUT Rhod's far more Tevinter than Kirkwaller, culturally speaking, and does have a heavy preference for Tevene.

The trouble with Common, as any proud Northerner will tell you, is that it's not so much a cultural language these days, but rather a trade tongue. A lingua franca, at most. Those poor bloody Fereldans and Marchers, Maker help them, lost their cultural language and can only speak Common now. Where are the culturally-specific words for certain moods, circumstances, weather phenomena, celebrations? Where's the language made by the first of their people to live there, that ties them to their homes and families?

She uses Common when she needs to. Everyone does. If anyone with her doesn't speak Tevene, or doesn't feel proficient enough, she'll speak Common, as basic courtesy dictates. With Kirkwaller family, though, she uses it more joyfully. Especially when she gets a chance to whip out the dreadful sandblaster Kirkwaller accent and horrify everyone but her mother, who was the one to teach it to her.

(HC if needed: I have assigned various accents and dialects of the English-speaking diaspora to the Marcher nations and beyond, as I'm sick of RP everywhere. Kirkwallers speak Australian English; Starkhaveners have the most gorgeous Glaswegian (feel free to picture Sebastian Vael screaming "Whae fuckin widnae! Eh? Think ah fuckin widnae? Ya fuckin radge!" when challenged to a fight). And those splendid people in Tantervale delight us all with the linguistic beauty of Belfast!)

For all other matters, she speaks Tevene. I'd say she's evenly bilingual having grown up speaking both, but Tevene, which is much more expressive and emotional, communicates her and her inner workings best. Lots of Tevene doesn't translate well into Common, and she forever bemoans that, because it makes it much harder to get her message across. The pain of having to explain 'te amo plenissime' while Zevran's still learning, oh god. She thinks and dreams in Tevene. Any poetry or important, heartfelt things she writes-- Tevene (except to her mother, of course). Magical research is more easily written in Tevene- Circle mages across Thedas use a lot of Tevene loanwords for magical things because of course, magic was suppressed outside of the Imperium.

She does learn Antivan though! Luckily, the two countries have very similar linguistic roots-- in fact, my HC here is that Antivan developed from Tevene, and they haven't diverged too much yet. I'd say it'd be like being a German speaker learning Dutch. The trick is keeping your own first language out of your target language's turn of phrase. Zevran and Rhodri both pick up each other's language without too much trouble once they're living under the same roof again after Awakening.

23 What sort of routines, rituals or rules do they have or set for themselves? (What is her procedure to make herself comfortable after a long day of work? Bold question, may be a tad bit personal, if so please ignore)

Rhodri, who has been watching me type all this for her, has asked me to pass on that, 'iucundis can ask me anything at all, and we will not be ignoring this question,' so there you have it!

I don't think there's anything very specific to the busier days that would feature, to be honest. Her schedule is embedded with the things needed to keep her comfortable. When she was a little sprout and had come home from a long day, she was often fairly tense, especially if she'd gotten dirty. Her folks found that the best solution was to drop her in the bath and read to her, and then give her dinner. Most problems can be fixed by getting clean and having a good meal, really.

Even now, bath and food works wonders. Bathing with company or without, she doesn't mind. (Ironically enough, given its fussiness about modesty, Tevinter has a big bathhouse culture, and friends and family love a day out together at the spa/baths.)

That aside, if she's tired or stressed, it's more painful as a rule to deviate from the schedule, so if she has things that need to be done, she's found that it's better to half-arse them to get to bath/food/bed quicker. Dealing with the fallout is Tomorrow Rhodri's problem. My little rebel. <3

[castlebyersafterdark]

would you say parks and rec counts as the mockumentary style that cringes you out? i wonder if you like more absurd humour and darker stuff sort of, like always sunny in philadelphia, the mighty boosh, black books? these are my favs. oh and green wing! maybe too british for your tastes though? i find mine crosses over sometimes, i find some american stuff great if its silly and absurd enough. there are some SNL sketches i really like (like santa baby with ryan gosling, and the papyrus skit gets me because as an artist i was legit as angry with the avatar films as the skit portays hahaha), but mostly i don't get the humour or i find it to be a bit hit and miss. but then again sometimes Friends really hits? like, despite all the things dated about it, some of it is just timeless classic comedy with that cosy undertone that really hits home. comedy is always best for me when its capable of being sincere and heartfelt too sometimes, rather than just super ironic or detached, which feels very self-defensive and therefore weak to me? maybe that's why the marvel films just did nothing for me after a while (sorry to bring up your divorce hun)

I would say the mockumentary style shows in general aren't really my taste. Good and bad parts, but I don't really turn to those shows. I think Parks and Rec is one of the more tolerable ones, though certain characters on there I couldn't stand. I couldn't get into the Office at alllllll (though it's great for a reaction gif haha). Always Sunny in Philadelphia didn't do it for me either. I could only take shows like that in small doses. Never heard of those others you've listed!

Sporadic SNL watcher but I do have a fondness - an ex of mine was suuuuper into SNL so I've seen a ton of random episodes from all over the eras. And my man likes it too, just not as avid a watcher (he hates hates hates modern SNL so I also haven't seen it in years other than random sketches online tbh). I think there's decent episodes from every era, early days are bizarre but as a history nerd I think those are really really interesting. I liked a lot of the 90s and 2000s stuff most. It's definitely a show I wouldn't consider a huge favorite, but there's something for everyone I think, it's easy to throw on for background noise honestly because you can look up and pay attention for 5 minutes and then not pay attention as well and you're not missing a plot.

I do really like the classic sitcoms like Friends and Seinfeld, Cheers, Golden Girls, older stuff etc. I KNOW they are pretty dated and have their own issues, but they were always on growing up and I thought they were funny. Comfort shows for sure! Something almost neutral on TV as my huge messy family wove throughout our chaotic life. I also like the look of them and the camera work? The line delivery? Older syndication shows just have a vibe missing today.

I've seen so many TV shows that I never watched the full series of - byproduct of my scatterbrain. So when I find stuff and get invested, that's why it sticks, because everything else I'm distracted and jumping around haha.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

S I gotta tell u this. So I was in therapy earlier this week, and I’m a pretty anxious and indecisive person at times, so I was telling my therapist that. And he was like “I think you really like to be held accountable to people, and sometimes it’s good to let others make decisions for you about certain things because you trust them to help you. It’s not that you can’t make these decisions, it’s just that you worry if you’re making the wrong one and having someone you know well and trust can be very helpful!”

And I’ve been thinking about it alllllll week because all I could think of when he said that was. You’re telling me. That a way to improve my mental health and be less anxious. Is to get a dom. THATS WHAT YOURE TELLING ME

And then I told my friends who know I’m subby, but I’ve never actually been a sub for anyone, and they both immediately were like “yeah that checks out” and then one of them started listing tv characters I love saying “yeah you like x, y, z, etc. cause they all have dom energy”

🥴🥴🥴

- shy 💝 anon

Oh my god, sweetheart, that's really fucking funny. Like, your therapist really was just like ~professional *pat* *pat* on the shoulder while leaning forward~ [name], listen, I think it would be beneficial for you to seek out a dom. For your own continued mental healing.

And then your friends too lmao! Like-

gif credit @/baseballbatbucky because... we can't ever help oursevles lmao

Good to know that you were your heart on your sleeve, baby. And, I mean it's not a bad thing that they all noticed what you need, I mean, just look at Sebastian. Baby is a 👏 sub 👏 clear as day and he's successful as hell, well liked, and happy as hell with his dom 😏😘

[sems-diarie]

hi sem!! i saw your post about some college things you might want, so here’s a little list i compiled for a friend of mine not too long ago with a few links for some of the items i had included. some of this is personal preference and you’ll ofc find what works and what doesn’t for you, but i hope that this helps!! :)

would definitely have:

- [ ] 10 ft charger

- [ ] paper towels/ clorox wipes

- [ ] coat hangers

- [ ] shoe mat

https://www.walmart.com/ip/Mainstays-All-Purpose-Easy-Clean-Boot-Tray-Black-15-x29/15734493

- [ ] command strips

- [ ] hanging bedside pocket

https://www.amazon.com/Dewsshine-Organized-Organizer-Nightstand-Accessories/dp/B07HFCPJBZ

- [ ] a little first aid/ medicine kit

you don’t need to go overboard here, just pack the things that you would most likely need. for example, i fly through band aids, ibuprofen, lactaid, tums, and sometimes cough drops when i’m sick, so those were the things i brought

- [ ] tide pods/laundry detergent pods

these were so much more practical to use than a big container of laundry detergent, especially when you’re already lugging around a big bag or basket of laundry

- [ ] laundry basket/ bag

- [ ] scissors

- [ ] a mini, very basic tool kit

i say this because it sounds like you’re gonna be getting a lot of your stuff after you’ve moved in and a lot of things require assembly from basic screwdrivers and such

- [ ] shower caddy

i got the mesh one in comparison to the hard plastic because it could stretch to hold more if i needed and my roommate that had the plastic one ended up getting a little bit of mold on the inside of hers and i never had that problem. but it’s all about preference!

- [ ] extension cords, but the kind with as many additional outlets as possible

- [ ] a water bottle or two

- [ ] if your dorm doesn’t have built in a/c, a fan

- [ ] trash can

- [ ] if your dorm allows it, a microwave, i used mine alllllll the time

- [ ] if your bed is lofted, a step stool

- [ ] britta water filter

not a necessity but i would recommend:

- [ ] a mini vacuum

https://www.walmart.com/ip/BISSELL-3-in-1-Lightweight-Corded-Stick-Vacuum/55566580

- [ ] portable charger

- [ ] husband pillow

https://www.walmart.com/ip/Mainstays-Micro-Mink-Plush-Backrest-Lounger-Pillow-Rich-Black-Poly-Micro-Mink/20692204

- [ ] a throw blanket

- [ ] a clip on mini fan

this little personal fan that i could clip on to my bed and point directly at me while i was on my bed/ sleeping absolutely saved me during the hotter months i was living at school

https://www.walmart.com/ip/SkyGenius-Battery-Operated-Clip-on-Mini-Desk-Fan-Black/198874537

- [ ] a speaker

if you and your roommate find you like a lot of the same music, turning on some tunes to listen aloud to is very nice

- [ ] if you have a lot of shoes, a shoe rack

https://www.walmart.com/ip/Seville-Classics-2-Tier-Iron-Mesh-Utility-Shoe-Rack-Chrome/45980151

- [ ] one of the back of the phone stick on card holders

helped me to never forget my student id so i almost never got locked out of buildings or lost it. a lot of colleges sell them in the school stores!

things i found i didn’t really need:

- [ ] more than two water bottles/cups

as long as you’re good about washing the couple that you have, any more than that just creates unnecessary clutter. if you’re planning on having a keurig to make coffe or tea for the dorm, then i’d throw a mug or thermos type of cup in there as well!

- [ ] decorative pillows

i had two and they honestly just took up space and got in the way. if you like throw pillows having one is still nice in case people ever need to use one to crash on your floor or something, but otherwise my regular pillow and my husband pillow was all i really needed and any others became a hassle)

- [ ] reusable plates and cutlery

so much of what i ate at college was either snacky type stuff already in a bag, takeout from a restaurant in its own container, or from the dining hall. i hardly ever used the plates and such that i brought, so having a pack of paper plates for occasional time you may need one shoulf more than suffice

💌! what might i need for my college dorm?

thank you so much!!!

[infernwetrust]

The Devil In Me [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader] Part 1

Plot: What if we took the Antichrist, Michael Langdon and turned him into founder and leader of one of the largest cartel’s in California? And what’s even better, is that you’re by his side through it all.

Summary: Michael has some business handled at his California home.

Warnings: violence, swearing, fluff, a lil smut, MURDER, some graphic descriptions

WC: 3.1k

A/N: I thought long and hard about starting this, but I’m gonna go ahead and give it a shot. Outpost Michael fits this perfectly of course, but he’ll cut his hair every now and then lol. This will have it’s own bracket on my master list. Thank you for reading! -Juno

The air was cool. The evening was just right. Your husband Michael had decided to throw a small party that consisted of only close friends, family members, and some staff from your residency and Michael's line of work. Party music played moderately in the background as the backyard of the Santa Monica Villa you and Michael purchased this same year was filled with laughter, dancing, and casual conversation. Servers carried around platters of the most delectable finger foods. Drinks were also being served. Cars were lined up in the driveway, late arrivals having to park on the side of the road. Luckily, Michael always sent one of his guards on a golf cart to pick up his guests that had to park far away.

Michael laid in his hammock, across his rather large pool so that he was away from everyone else. Michael dressed comfortably. He wore a beautiful salmon pink floral shirt and white slacks, with a white belt. No need for shoes. Around Michael's neck was a platinum rope chain that glistened when the light shined on it just right. Around his wrist was a platinum iced out Rolex watch, his name engraved on the inside, one of his favorite gifts from you. The only ring he decided that he wanted to wear today was his wedding band, which shocked you. Michael always wore all of his rings.

Curled up against Michael's chest yours and his beautiful 1 year old boy, Malcolm. He was blessed with a full head of hair, just as blonde as his father's. He took after your eye color, but his resemblance to his father was unmatched. No worries because in his twin brother's arm was your handsome 3 year old son, Michael,who captured most of your features. All really, but your eye color. Michael won that fight again. Junior, is what everyone calls him. On the opposite side of Michael, still in his hammock was you, dressed in that sundress Michael loved to show you off in. Your wedding ring glistened on your finger, no matter what time of day it was or where you were. Michael made sure of that. Around your neck, your favorite Pearl necklace.

You lay head your head on Michael's chest, rubbing your hand gently against the back of your one year old. Michael raises his arm slowly as to not alert the sleeping child and takes a sip of his whiskey. He's glaring at someone, hard. And you know why and who, but you rather choose to not address it. All you were waiting for were the words.

"You know, brother." Jim said to Michael, using his free hand that wasn't holding Junior, to also take a sip of his drink. "I don't see how you do it."

"And what is it that I do, Jim?" Michael questioned, turning his head slightly to meet his brothers gaze. Junior nestled his head back into Jim's chest, mouth full of goldfish out of the bowl he was holding. Jim sat in a chair, adjacent to Michael's hammock.

"How you stay so calm and collected about things."

"Dirty work is not something I'm a fan of."

"But I am."

"I know, so that's why I gave this task to you."

"You know I'll do anything for my family."

"I just don't see why we can't just kick them out." you mumbled, watching as Malcolm grabbed your finger in his sleep as you tried to put your hand back down from his back.

"Because in this life, lessons have to be taught." Michael answered you, putting his glass down to wrap his arm fully around you. Michael made eye contact with his other twin, Duncan, who sat amongst a group of women, one of them in his lap, stroking his hair. He nodded, giving Michael the cue. "Will you go ahead and take the kids inside?" You sighed, sitting up, looking Michael in his soft blue eyes.

"Baby, you don't have to-,"

"One day you'll understand, Y/N." Michael said, cutting you off, grabbing one of your hands and giving it a few small kisses. Getting up, you gently picked up Malcolm, holding him close to you.

"Come on, Junior."

"Nooooooo." Junior whined, not wanting to leave his Uncle's side. "Don't wanna."

"Hey." Jim said, playfully grabbing Junior's tummy, causing him to giggle. "What was that phrase I taught you?"

"The first time." Junior responded happily.

"The first time what?"

"Listen!" he clapped, letting go of his bowl which Jim quickly caught before it fell to the floor.

"Smart boy. Now go with inside with your mommy. We'll play later, yeah?" Junior quickly nodded, scurrying off of Jim's lap and to your side, grabbing your hand. He turned around momentarily to look back at Jim, who shot him a quick wink before you took both boys inside. You also managed to scurry up the other children as well, promising treats and a good show on TV. You had them at treats.

"He loves you so damn much." Michael said, sitting up, hanging his feet of his hammock to come face to face with his brother. "Sometimes I swear he thinks you're his father."

"I mean. I could be. We're twins."

"Watch it, playboy."

Jim chuckled, reaching for his drink to take another sip. He dressed in a dark blue polo shirt, black slacks, and a pair of dark blue dress shoes. A black Louis Vuitton belt, midnight silver buckle, lined his waist. He sighed, reaching for his pistol that was tucked neatly behind him is waistband. He quickly removed the clip, checking it, and popping it back in before setting it down on the table next to Michael.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Jim questioned. "He's been with us for a few years, Mike."

"All the more reason to get rid of him. I've taken care of you for years and you betray me like that?" Michael answered. "He knows too much and has seen too much."

"That's true." Jim mumbled, rubbing his hand underneath his chin. "What are they doing with his body?"

"Burning it." Michael said quickly, squinting his eyes at Jim. "Like we do 90% of the time. Do you not want to, Jim?" Michael's question caused Jim to laugh as he got up, returning his shirt back into his slacks. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the table, taking one out, placing it between his lips and giving it a light, tossing the box back on the table. He inhaled sharply, before exhaling lengthy.

"You and I both know, Michael." Jim began as he took another hit of his cigarette. "That I shy away from nothing. Especially not an, how do I put this, opportunity." Jim tucked his gun back into his waistband.

"And speaking of opportunity." Jim continued, looking out into the body of people before hitting his cigarette one last time and then handing it to Michael. "Here's mine."

Jim made his way, at a decent pace, back to the other side of the pool, where all the party goers stood. He took his time, waving and smiling at familiar faces. Spotting his target, he moved with just a little bit more urgency. It's such a shame that Bryce had to go. Michael watched Jim as he moved, continuing to sip his drink. Part of him wanted to look away because this hurt him as much as it was going to kill Bryce. Bryce was one of his favorites.

He remembered when he stumbled across Bryce who limped out of an alleyway, screaming for help as Michael closed up his bar. When Michael laid eyes on him, his clothes were completely ruined by blood. He held onto his stomach, collapsing onto the sidewalk, coughing up more blood as he spoke. Michael made his way over to the boy, kneeling down by his side, removing his hand from his wound, watching as the he poured out.

"How bad do you want to live?" Michael asked, cocking his head at the boy.

"What the fuck is up with you man?!" he questioned. "Help me!"

"I asked you a question." Michael spoke again. "You want to live right? I could just let you die, here."

"Um, kinda, yeah!"

"Then tell me how bad you want to live."

"Bad man! Bad! I want to fucking live bad! Please don't let me die!" Michael grinned. How fragile life was, he thought. How it could just be taken from you at any moment. Moments like these.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Br-Br-Bryce." he responded before blacking out from the pain.

"We're going to get you alllllll fixed up, Bryce."

Michael took Bryce, not to a hospital, but instead back to his property, where his own private doctor could deal with Bryce. They managed to take care of what they discovered was a gunshot wound instead of a stab wound like Michael originally thought when he found Bryce.

"How's he doing?" Michael asked Dr. Joseph as he stepped into the rather large, renovated, shed he had given to his doctor for his medical practices. He even was nice enough to give him a little office space as well.

"Well. He's very lucky considering how much he was bleeding." he answered. "Those two bullets I removed barely missed his vital organs, but he'll make a full recovery."

"Which room do you have him in? Is he awake now?"

"Room 3. It has the most room. The last time I checked on him, yes."

Michael nodded at his words, making his way over to the room. He entered quietly, not wanting to startle, Bryce. Bryce sat up in the bed, sipping on an ice cold water, scrolling through the movies on the flatscreen TV Michael had gotten installed in every room. Jim's idea, of course. There was an awkward silence in the room as Bryce didn't know whether to thank him first or say fuck him for waiting until he passed out and asking him all those stupid questions.

Michael didn't say anything as he walked around to the side of Bryce's bed, pulling up a near by chair to sit closer to him. Michael leaned back in his chair, throwing a leg halfway over his knee as he clasped his hands together. Bryce never took his eyes off of him, not sure what his next move would be.

"You're welcome by the way." Michael said. "Isn't it nice having someone take care of you without all the pesky need for insurance information or just a bill in general?"

"Why are you doing this?" Bryce questioned.

"Answer me this, Bryce." Michael leaned forward in his seat. "What if I offered you a chance to start over? A new chance at life. Somewhere, where you could be safe, your meals paid for. And all you have to do is stay by my side, loyal to me."

"I'm not gay, man."

"Who said anything about being gay?" Michael questioned, raising his eyebrow. "And what if I was?"

"Listen." Bryce breathed out. "I didn't mean to offend you. Look. Thank you. For bringing me, to, well wherever we are, and helping me. And once I'm all healed up, I'll be all out of your hair."

"Do you have any family, Bryce?" Bryce's whole attitude changed. He looked softer.

"No..." he answered silently.

"Well you do now."

Jim was just a few feet away from Bryce now when the two made eye contact. And when Jim reached, rather quickly, behind his back, Bryce knew. Of course he knew what he had done. Bryce turned around to start running, when Jim quickly cocked his gun and fired two shots, both at the back of his legs. Everyone stopped what they were doing, in shock, but not enough shock to runaway. It was Jim and who dares question one of Michael's brothers. Everyone watched as Bryce fell to the floor, screaming bloody murder in pain. Jim continued to walk at his leisurely pace to him, standing in front of him.

"Now." Jim said aloud, over the groans and screams of Bryce. "I know you all looked at Bryce as family, right? 4 years ago my brother found this piece of scum bleeding to death, begging for help. And of course Michael helped him."

"I'm sorry!" Bryce yelled, hands reaching out to grab Jim's ankle and it took everything in him not to kill Bryce right then and there, but he wanted to get his point across.

"And with the help of our wonderful Dr. Joseph, he was taken care of, free of charge, can you believe that?" Jim continued. "And all we asked for in return was just his unwavering loyalty." Jim snatched his ankle away from Bryce's hand, stepping on it, instead, causing him to scream out again as his fingers were crushed.

"But when you lie to AND you steal from the hand that feeds you." Jim looked around at everyone as he said this. "There are consequences." Jim kneeled down in front of Bryce who looked up at him, his eyes filled with tears, pleading with Jim.

"Please..." Bryce whispered to Jim, grabbing ahold of him again. "Please Jim, I'm sorry. I was desperate."

Jim grabbed him by his face, snapping his head up to look all the way at him. He looked at the gun in his opposite hand, before looking back at Bryce. The small breeze that was in the air had come completely still, everyone virtually silent as they watched the events unfold. When things first went missing around the house when Michael would hold meetings, they didn't even think to look at Bryce. Not until Michael had trusted him enough to appoint him as Duncan's right hand man. Duncan handled all of the cartel's finances and when he kept coming up short on the days just him and Bryce would do the counting, he caught on rather quickly.

"I liked you Bryce." Jim said, jaw clenched. "I really did. We all did. We loved you almost, but you know the rules, don't you?"

"Jim please..." Bryce whined, starting to cry his eyes out, but only enough for Jim to see and hear. "Please man. I'll do anything. Anything please!"

"What did I tell you happened to those who betrayed the cartel? What is your own way out once you're in? I mean I could just let you go, yeah? But once you walk out those doors you become a liability to me, my brothers, and my family. And I just can't have that."

"Death..." Bryce mumbled. "But we can work something out, please!"  Jim chuckled as he let go of Bryce's face, quickly cocking his gun again, before holding Bryce's face up again. He put the gun inside of Bryce's mouth, looking him dead in his eyes.

"Maybe in another life." And with those words said, Jim pulled the trigger, the sounds of bloods and mush splattering across the ground. A few turned their heads, not wanting to see the sight. Jim looked up and back across the pool at his brother who downed the rest of his drink, nodding at Jim.

"Clean it up." Jim said to the disposal crew who stood near by, rising to his feet, and tucking his gun back away. "Everyone else can carry on."

///

The warm water danced on your skin as you stood in the shower, washing away all events from today. You put your face underneath the water for a few seconds before running both of your hands through your hair. When you turned around you were startled by the presence of your husband, Michael, who stood behind you, a little soaked from the backlash of you being underneath the water. His vibrant blue eyes were now several shades darker as he was out of the sun light. He simply just stared at you.

You offered to trade him positions under the water so he could get completely wet too and of course he didn't object. You were now staring at him as he stepped underneath the water, sighing as it hit his skin. He ran his hands over his face as he turned around to face you, getting off as much water as he could before he opened his eyes again to look at you. Water dripped off his skin and your eyes couldn't help but trail all over him. He was so beautiful. His long blonde hair, over shoulder length, completely wet now as the water continued to pour down on him. You almost smiled, remember when Michael told you that he was going to start growing his hair out. He cut it every now and then, but nothing compared to long haired beauty.

"I'm sorry." he spoke, running his hands over his face again. "I know you don't like when.. you know." You walked over to your husband, pressing your forehead against his, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. His large hands found their way to small of your back, pulling you even closer.

"I know..." you mumbled, using your thumbs to rub the back of his neck. "I'm not mad at you, Michael. I just don't want you to become... emotionless."

"Everything I do is to protect you and our boys. Without my family, I am nothing. This empire? We built it, Y/N. Not just me. I'm still here emotionally, but you know it works. He was too much of a liability to just let go. And when the right information gets into the wrong hands, I'm only sure you can imagine what happens."

"Do you ever get afraid, Michael?"

"Only if it deals with you and my sons." he said, looking down at you, smiling. Cheeky bastard.

"I'm being serious. What if one day you go out and don't come back home? What if we get attacked here? What will I do? What will I tell our children?"

"Don't you ever worry about that, my love." Michael reassured you. "As long as my brothers and I are alive and breathing, no one will be in any kind of danger. I promise." Michael brushed his lips across yours as he finished his sentence. You pulled him in for a kiss. A hungry one, it was, as your tongues wasted no time entering each other's mouths, Michael's dominance showing as you basically let him devour you, melting away at his touch. He backed you up against the shower wall and you gasped against him as it was cold. He picked you up and you immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him like your life depended on it. 

"Let me help you forget..." he said against your lips, brushing his nose across yours and you remembered, just how in love you are with Michael.

Taglist: @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake  @xavierplympton @jimmason @theneverendinghunger

[hockeyboysiguess]

dear winter | c. parakyo

a/n: this one was entirely inspired by and written to dear winter by ajr. highly recommend listening to this while you read. this is your reminder that vince dunn isn’t the only player on the blues. enjoy!

warnings: a little swearing. otherwise, alllllll fluff. 

word count: 6K

You sighed as you felt a firm kick to your bladder. You had to give it to her, your baby had great aim, something she’s definitely inherited from her dad since you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a baseball even if you were being coached through each movement. You rubbed your growing bump softly, a vain attempt to get her to relax, before you grabbed the full file box. Colton would be upset if he knew you were moving boxes without him. You loved Colton, god, did you ever love your husband, but he was treating you like you were going to break any second. He had as soon as you’d told him you were pregnant. You tried to fight him on it, but if Colton wanted something to go a specific way, there was pretty much nothing you could physically do about it. He was a physical immovable force. You settled for doing things when he wasn’t home.

You huffed out a loud breath as you sat down on the couch with what would be your fourth box of the day. You had been trying to go through everything in the room that was going to become “Little P’s” nursery, as Colton called her. You were also using it as an excuse to actually clean out your catch-all spare bedroom instead of just moving the problem of having too much stuff from the bedroom to the attic.

You sucked in a deep breath before blowing off the layer of dust from the top of the box. You lifted the lid and sighed. It was absolutely packed with papers and notebooks, Colton’s notebooks. He religiously kept notebooks, not a diary, not a journal. He rolled his eyes whenever you called them that, telling you that they weren’t diaries or journals because he wrote anything in them, from grocery lists, to hockey plays he thought of, gift ideas for you, anything. He also refused to get rid of a single one, much to your chagrin, but the least you could do was label them with the dates they contained to organize them. Thank god you’d pulled the label maker out for the last box so you didn’t have to get up. Getting up wasn’t your specialty anymore, thanks to Little P being a little less little since her father was a large human being.

You cracked open the first notebook after shaking off more dust, flipping to the first page to grab the date and the last page for the final one. Colton’s notebooks had never been any of your business. You thought he had every right to his private thoughts, something that had absolutely floored him when you started dating. Every other girl had tried to read over his shoulders, sneak a peak when he wasn’t around, but you trusted Colton, which is what you’d told him then and still told him now every time he picked up another notebook. The next notebook opened with a silly drawing, it made you giggle, but you didn’t pry further, simply adding your label and moving on to the next one.

Your brows furrowed when you came to a notebook toward the bottom. Unlike the rest, which were heavily worn in, the pages wrinkled and fanning out, making them appear thicker, this one was only partially started. The wear stopped about three-quarters of the way through it. You found it odd. Colton always finished everything he started, even if it was virtually impossible for him to do so. He was the least wasteful person you’d ever met. You shook off your thoughts. His notebooks were his business, not yours.

Still, regardless of you trying otherwise, your eyes flitted to the first entry in this notebook. The start of it pulled your eyes in unwillingly. It was a letter, a letter to someone else. Your heart sank and you slammed the notebook shut. No, you thought. Colton would never, but then who was he writing to? Your heart was aching in your chest. You trusted and loved your husband more than you ever thought possible for yourself, but your mind was running through possibilities and you needed to know. When your eyed scanned the first words, the tears started to slip out even though you willed them not to.

Dear Winter, I hope you like your name I hope they don't make fun of you When you grow up and go to school, okay? 'Cause Winter is a badass name

Colton’s words continued and your tears kept flowing.

Sorry if you don’t love it, baby girl, but I do and unfortunately for you, one me and one other person get to vote on it and I’m all in for it. Also, I’m not really sure where I got the idea to start this, but I’m two sentences in and I hope one day you think this is as cool as I do right now.

Anyway, I wanted to start by telling you what made me think of your name. I was walking through Forest Park (I’m playing for the Blues right now, in case that ever changes, so I’m in St. Louis) because I was having a pretty terrible day. I botched something at practice, couldn’t get the play right, and coach got angry at me. You probably know I don’t handle people being angry with me well because I doubt that’s ever going to go away. I found out the woman I was seeing actually cheated on me (I know, weird to read from me, but I hope you stick through this one) and I’m missing my family a lot today. (Side note: please come home more, Winter. I love you.)

So I was having a terrible day and decided to take a walk. It was chilly, but sort of comforting. It smelled like it was about to snow. I really hope you know that smell too, sort of like Christmas Eve, my favorite day of the year, as I also assume you know. Then, it started to snow. It was that beautiful, promising fluffy snow that makes me think of hot chocolate and peppermint and family. That’s when I really thought about you for the first time, Winter. I thought about us outside in our front yard, your mom on the front steps, and you catching snowflakes on your tongue. I thought about how you’d ask me to build a snowman with you, even though the snow wasn’t even sticking to the ground. I thought about you, Win. Winter. Some people hate winter. Some people love it. That’s also why it’s your name, Win. You might not be everyone’s cup of tea, Winnie, but that’s okay. You’re not meant to be for everyone. You’re meant to be exactly who are you as you’re reading this. 

I'm hoping that some day, I can meet you on this Earth But shit, I gotta meet your mom first

Love, Dad :) 

You placed your hand gingerly on your swollen stomach as the tears flowed freely. Colton wrote the first letter in the notebook seven and a half years before today. He’d been writing to her, the little girl still growing in your belly, for years, before you’d even moved to St. Louis let alone met Colton for the first time. Of course Winter would take that moment to kick you in the stomach. Winter. You loved her name too. You’d been racking your brain all day since you’d found out that Little P was a girl, not the boy you were convinced you were having based on your apparently flawed mother’s intuition, so when you found out Little P was a girl, you’d be wracking your brain all day for both a way to tell Colton and what you might name her. Somehow, even though he didn’t know yet, Colton had already taken care of another worry of yours, a man who didn’t know how to love you wrong. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from turning to the next page to read the next entry. Unlike his notebook he used every day, the next entry picked up a few weeks later.

Dear Winter, I hope you talk to girls Or boys or anyone you like

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written to you, but I heard something out a bar that made me come home and immediately grab this notebook. Sorry if this is a little unclear. Dad’s just a little drunk right now, but I want you to know how important this is and I wanted to tell you as soon as possible.

This guy at the bar was being... absolutely awful, Win. This girl was just trying to have a good time with her friends. She was wearing a pin on her jacket with the pride flag on it. This guy started asking her about it. She shrugged, said she was bi, and she moved on. Except he didn’t move on. I heard him talking to his friends, talking terribly about her. He was talking about her sexuality and what it could do for him, how good it would be for him that she was bi. It didn’t sit with me right, so I warned her what he said and she said something that stuck with me so I wanted to tell it to you. She said, “God, thank you for telling me. I’m so fucking tired of guys sexualizing my sexuality for their own sexual gratification. It has nothing to do with them, you know? It’s my sexuality. It’s for me and me alone. I thought it got through all of the bad stuff when my parents kicked me out for it. It just keeps on coming, you know? Fucking sucks.”

Winnie, whoever you like, boys, girls, both, neither, people who don’t identify any particular way, if you know deep down you’re not my little girl, but you’re my son, I’m always, always, always, always going to love you. I will always be in your corner, Win. My love for you will never change. My support for you with never waiver. I will stand with you a pride parades. I will advocate for you. I will do anything I can to make sure you know you are loved and supported and that you can always come to me. I will always protect you, Winter. I will always love you.

If you’re reading this and you haven’t come out yet, the door is open, Win. And I’m standing right there, arms wide open, ready to love the truest version of you, the version of you that makes you feel like your most authentic, happy self. Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.

Love, Dad

You felt your heart pound hard in your chest. Colton had never wavered on loving whoever your baby was going to be, but this, this was something special. You took a deep breath and looked down at your bump again.

“He loves you so much,” you told her softly as you gently rubbed your bump. “You have the best dad in the entire world. I just hope my genes don’t screw you up too much.”

You flipped to the next entry, laughing to yourself at how it was filled with entirely with car buying advice. Apparently, Colton has just bought a car the day he wrote it and he was keen on sharing his newfound wisdom with Winter. He also talked about how he was going to help Winter buy her first car and exactly what that would entail. It was such dad advice, but somehow it was perfect and it was Colton.

You kept reading, an entry an unknown amount of dates deep, caught your eye. You weren’t sure how deep into this you really were. You were flying through entries, Colton’s loving words pulling you through each page at a lightening pace. This one caught you eye though.

It really doesn't seem like there's anyone for me But dear Winter, I hope you like your name You know I cannot wait to teach you how to curse But shit, I gotta meet your mom first

You think your mom is going to like that I’m cursing in these letters? Probably not. But hopefully she’ll deal. I mean, I play hockey. Cursing is part of the game basically. I hope I teach you well. :)

You know, Win, I saw a couple out at a restaurant today and they were so in love. I, on the other hand, got stood up on a date today. Super fun, right? And super weird to hear from your dad, but it’s the truth. As smooth as I’ve tried to make myself look your whole life, Dad’s not really all that fucking smooth, Winnie.

But anyway, I wanted to tell you that it doesn’t matter if you ever find someone, Win. I wanted to tell you this because I need to hear it right now and even if when you first read this, you don’t need to hear it, I’m betting at some point in your life you will need it. You can achieve every single dream you have without a partner. You can have the life you want. You can have a family. You can make a beautiful life for yourself all on your own. Because you aren’t looking for your other half. You’re a goddamn full, beautiful, powerful person all by yourself. You are complete just as you are and that’s fucking amazing, Winnie.

Am I writing this for you in the future or me now? That’s debatable, but someday you’re going to need a reminder that you are a galaxy of beautiful, stunning possibilities. You are the sun, moon, stars, planets, and everything in between. A galaxy doesn’t need anyone or anything else. Always remember that anyone you let into your life should be in wonder at the galaxy that is you.

Sorry, Dad’s going to get off his weird soapbox now and go to bed. I’ll write you soon. Pinky promise :)

Love always, Dad

You gripped the notebook tightly in your hands, careful not to wrinkle the pages. You briefly thought about how you’d never read one of his notebooks before so maybe pregnancy hormones weren’t the best time to start, but this notebook was for someone. It was for the baby in your belly, so you kept reading. 

Dear Winter, 

I met someone today. I don’t want to say too much, in case it doesn’t work out. It never really works out for me, does it, Winnie? I hope a) that your mom has much better luck with men than I do with women and b) that you inherit her luck. At least I got her phone number, right? Maybe I can figure out how to sounds less like a guy that really like writing in notebooks and puzzles and more like a guy who is all about parties and adventure?

Actually, no, Win. No. Don’t listen to that. Be whoever you want to be, whatever that looks like. If some guy doesn’t like you because you’re a homebody, reject him and toss him out in the street. He’s clearly no good. Be whoever you want to be, Win. A homebody, a busy body, whoever that is, I’ve got your back for the rest of my life. 

(Side note: this girl is super, super pretty and she’s wicked smart with an incredible sense of humor. Kind of hoping this one works out? If not, then I guess on to the next one, right? If not, I’ve got to meet your mom one day, Win. We’ll see when it happens, I guess.)

Love, Dad

Your eyes scanned back up the page to the date. You breath hitched it your throat when you saw it and your hand came over your mouth as your eyes started to fill with tears again. It was about you. That was the day you met Colton for the first time. That memory was burned into your brain forever because it was honestly one of the worst days of your life, until Colton walked in.

You were about to give up. Four cups of coffee at varying degrees of strength had done nothing to stimulate an idea in your brain. Well, it would have been five cups of coffee if you hadn’t spilled the third cup down yourself and stained your favorite sweatshirt that was now a crumpled mess in your backpack. Despite that, you were still face to face with a blank Word document that needed to be six pages long by midnight tonight, which was less than twelve hours away. Procrastination always got the better of you. Today was no exception.

You had opened your day with a trip to the dentist and of course, you had a cavity. You didn’t realize until you got back to your car that your house key wasn’t on your key ring, so you couldn’t go home and your roommate was going to be out all day, so you’d had to post up in your fourth favorite local coffee shop as shops one through three were completely packed. You’d had to park six blocks over because you couldn’t find a spot. All of this chaos had wasted almost two hours you were supposed to be working. Then there was the spilled coffee, which you spilled because your terrible ex-boyfriend had shown up and tried to talk to you. In an effect to escape, the coffee had gotten spilled. To boot, after actually drank coffee number three, your mom had called you and told you your childhood dog had cancer. It was just one of those days. She was fifteen, so you couldn’t say she didn’t live a good, long life. Still, it was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

Your music was blaring in your eyes. You were rapidly flipping through Spotify trying to find something that might provide some inspiration. You sighed and rested against the back of the chair as your head fell back. You let out a long sigh and carded your fingers through your hair. Ideas or not, you needed to get started. That went out the window when you saw a large man standing next to your table when you lifted your head. He gave you a sweet smile and a small wave. Your eyes rolled up and down him quickly. He was massive, broader and taller than most people you knew. His size could make him intimidating, but there was something cautious and nervous about the way he moved. One of his large hands was shifting around his iced coffee. The other was fidgeting in his pocket. His smile was kind and inviting. His shoulder were low, hunkering down as if to try and look smaller than he was. It was his eyes that took your breath away for a second, a pair of beautiful baby blues framed by dark glasses.

You yanked one of your headphones out of your ears and raised your eyebrows at him.

“Hi,” he said softly. “Um, all the other tables are full. Do you mind if it sit? I’ve got an appointment in half an hour, so I won’t be in your hair for too long.”

You almost stuttered, but pulled yourself together in time to say, “Oh, yeah, sure.”

He thanked you with a sweeter, wider smile as he dropped down into the chair opposite you. He dwarfed it, and the small table you had stationed yourself at. He was just slightly too big for everything around him, but he didn’t seem to mind much. 

“I’m Colton, by the way,” he told you as he opened up a book you hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. 

You told him your name softly before you tried to get back to work. Every minute you had was precious at this point to meeting your deadline. Beautiful man or not, you had to get this done. Except he seemed to have other ideas. 

“What are you working on?” he asked you after a few minutes. You’d caught him eyeing you as you finally got some sort of an idea, so your fingers were blazing across your keyboard.

“Oh, just this project for work,” you answered flatly, not even looking up from your screen or pausing your furious typing to answer. “I got into this fight with my boss about it because I think her premise is wrong, so I’ve been having some issues trying to write this condensed summary of her position considering I disagree with it. But, hey, a job’s a job, right? At least I’m employed enough to keep my cat fed, the hungry bastard, and support my own coffee habits without a sugar daddy.” 

Colton laughed and like your life had sudden become a movie, the sound took your breath away. You couldn’t stop a smile from pulling up the corners of your lips as he laughed. His laugh sort of made you forget how embarrassing what you’d just said was. 

“Is he fat?” Colton asked before quickly adding. “Your hungry cat, is he a fat bastard as well as a hungry one?” 

“The fattest bastard of them all,” you laughed as grabbed your phone from next to your laptop to show him a photo. 

Colton whistled when he saw the photo and nodded softly. 

“Put a ribbon on him and you could enter him as a prized heifer in the county fair,” Colton joked, making you smile widely, your first genuinely thrilled smile all day. 

“I got him fat from the shelter,” you tried to explain. “I’m trying to put him on a diet, but he’s just not having it. Honestly can’t blame him. Diets are dumb. But the fatso won’t exercise. I got him one of those cat wheels, like a giant hamster wheel but for cats. He barely fits on it and even on the days he finds his balance enough to fit on it, he won’t use it. I’ve sort of thrown in the towel.” 

“I think he’s decided how he wants to be in life and you might just have to accept it,” Colton told you. “I’ll stop bugging you, sorry. I said I wouldn’t.” 

With that, he turned his attention to his book and you went back to your paper. You sat across from him for the next thirty minutes, occasionally taking glances over at him. You found out later on that he keep looking up at you over the top edge of his book the whole time. You somehow just never caught each other.  

As Colton got up to leave, he paused for a second with his phone in his hand, spinning it nervously. 

“Um, I know this is probably sort of random and you’re probably not interested, but would you maybe want to get coffee again sometime you don’t have to do work?” Colton asked you, stumbling over practically ever other word on his way to asking you on a date.

You smiled softly as the memory faded out. You placed your hand on your bump again. Thank god the first three coffee shops had been full that day. You gently turned to the next page then the next one and the next one, stopping when the start of another grabbed you. 

Dear Winter, don't move too far away And please don't say I'm hovering When I text you to ask about your day I wanna hear about your day Will we still hang out and talk when I'm no longer in charge?

I’m sorry if you ever think I’m hovering, Win, but I promise you, I just want to hear about your day, every single day. Sorry if you move far away for some incredible opportunity and I don’t handle it super well. You know me, your old man, I just want you to be able to catch up with you whenever I want to. I’m a little selfish that way, I guess. 

Who knows? Maybe by the time you move, teleportation will be real :)

But if you can, Winter, try and stay close to home. I miss my parents a lot, more than I can properly explain. I know you’re going to be so cool and smart and amazing and you won’t need me someday, but I hope you want me around anyway, even though I’m a lot sometimes. 

(Side note: That girl I talked about a while ago, she’s the one who made me think of this letter. I told her I was scared I was hovering too much, that I was smothering her, and she told me she wanted me around even more. I think you’d like her, Win.)

Hold on for someone who cares about you exactly as you are and loves the way you care about people. You shouldn’t have to change the way you care for someone. They should just feel it. 

Love, Dad

(P.S. Whenever you read this, please come home for a visit, even if you were here yesterday. I’ve definitely missed you since then.)

Your mind flashed back to Colton’s first road trip a few months after you started dating. You had a busy day, absolutely packed with meetings and work, so you’d barely had any time to glance at your phone all day. When you finally had a second to glance at it on the way to your car, you groaned. Two missed calls and four texts from Colton. Of course, the day he managed to find some time away from the guys to call you when you were supposed to be done with work, you had been kept late and missed him. 

You were already dialing his number as you dropped into your driver’s seat to begin the traffic-filled journey home. Colton answered on the second ring. 

“Hey.”

Your brows furrowed at his tone. He was trying hard to sound calm, but you could hear the nerves edging at each letter. He swallowed hard, hard enough you could hear it over the phone. 

“What’s up, babe?” you asked him as you slowly backed out of your parking space. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, nothing,” he said too quickly. He knew he’d said it too quickly the second it had left his mouth. He sighed and you heard some rustling on his end of the phone, following by a door being shut. “I’m sorry I bugged you today.”

“What?” you asked, even more confused than you had been previously as you turned on your right blinker. “You didn’t bug me, Colt. I asked you to call if you were free anytime outside my work hours. I just ended up working late today, that’s all.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

You could tell there was still something bothering him. His pitch was too high, responses too short. He was still on edge, something bigger dancing on the tip of his tongue. He knew you knew. You could read him like an open book even through the phone and he knew better than to not tell you when he was upset. “Relationships thrive with windows and doors open,” was what you always told him, and it takes two people to keep them open all the time.

“Am I hovering?” he blurted out. “Am I bothering you? I just, when I called you again, the guys started-”

“Those idiots that couldn’t keep a girl if they had a carefully curated list of instructions from the girl they liked to tell them how to keep her? They don’t know anything,” you jumped in. “You’re not bothering me, Colt. You never bother me. I want as much of you as I can get. If my life was you just and me, having our favorite lazy Saturday where we go to the farmer’s market, play Scrabble, make bad cocktails, and cook unnecessarily complex dinners before we watch some niche movie practically no one else on the planet has ever seen, I’d be so unbelievably happy. I want as much of you as I can have, Colt, and sometimes I feel like I’m asking for too much. You’re not hovering. I want you right here.”

“You’re not asking for too much,” he replied. Of course, Colton would ignore everything you had said to comfort him in favor of comforting you. “You’re sure I’m not too much? I can do less, if that would be better for you. I can, fuck, I don’t know, whatever you need.” 

“Colton, I love you,” you sighed. “That’s the easiest thing in the world to say to you. I love you, Colton. I love loving you. I love being loved by you. At least, god, I hope you love me back because now I’m realizing we’ve never actually said that and I’m sort of freaking out, but I love learning to love you better and I love finding new ways to show you I love you. Today’s way is actually telling you I do, I guess.” 

“Of course I love you too.”

Colton’s words had reminded you of a prayer, a prayer of a grateful man whose longing, desperate words to something out there that he’d whispered ages ago had finally been answered. You didn’t know how long he’d felt it, definitely longer than you, but love wasn’t a competition. There wasn’t a yardstick, a to-do list, or a formula. Love was whatever you made it to be. You loved Colton, and finally told him, and he loved you, and finally told you. That day, that was all either of you needed.

That day was so clear in your mind. It was the day that set your life on the path it was on, the day that really had started the path that ended up with little Winter being more than a figment in Colton’s mind when he wrote these letters. She was real and you were going to meet her in just a few short months. Your mind wandered forward, seeing Winter’s wide baby blue eyes, you imagined she’d look like Colton as well, hoping your genes didn’t taint his too much to ruin her, as Colton had her sitting on his broad shoulders, securing her safely to him with hands around her ankles as you walked through the zoo. She would be pointing at each animal, tugging on his hair, making sure he saw each and every one. He would be patient, kind, and caring, matching Winter’s excitement in kind with each animal. You would catch him on Google the night before, making sure he knew at least one random, uncommon fact about each one for her, just to make her day. That was the kind of thing Colton said he would do for her to you when you’d shown him the positive pregnancy test, and one of an ever-expanding, never finished lists of reason you wanted to have kids with him. 

You sighed as you felt her flip over in your stomach. She was constantly in motion, something that brought you peace because it told you she was healthy, but as much comfort as it brought you, it brought you more discomfort at the very feeling. You shifted on the couch as you turned to the next entry.

Dear Winter, I hope you like your name I hope you let me take a shot with you on your twenty-first But shit, you gotta ask your mom first

I really hope you let me take a shot with you on your birthday. I’m asking because I was at a restaurant early today and saw the dad order two shots of tequila at a five star restaurant for him and his daughter, who had to be about twenty-one when her birthday dessert came out. She thought it was hilarious and you could tell she she did the shot with him that she loved her dad a ton. So naturally I thought of doing it with you. I know you’re definitely not going to think I’m cool by then, and you could be living in Canada instead where the drinking age is lower, but either way, I hope you don’t mind taking a shot with your old man. 

But, even if you don’t think I’m cool, even if we have to do the shot together over Facetime, even if Facetime doesn’t exist and you have to text me to ask me what it means when you read this, I hope we do one together. I promise, your old man could drink once, Win!

So, go ask your mom and I’ll break out the good tequila for you! :)

Love, Dad

You would definitely have to approve of the aforementioned tequila shot now that he’d been planning it for almost twenty-five years based on when this was written and when Winter would be twenty-one base on her estimated birthday. You laughed lightly and shook your head. Colton was already winning parenting debates with you and he didn’t even know it. Actually, maybe he did. It would be Colton to have planned this all out just so. You smiled as you flipped to the next entry. 

Dear Winter, I'm looking for your mom I gotta find a girl that doesn't mind that I'm inside my head a lot Winter, it won't be too long First, I just gotta find your mom

This whole writing to you as I’ve looked for your mom is how this whole notebook started. 

And Winter, boy do I have some good news about your existence for you. 

That girl I mentioned a while back? I asked her to marry me today. And somehow, she said yes. 

I found her, Win. I found your mom. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met in my entire like, that is, until I meet you. And, Winnie, she’s so excited to meet you too someday. 

Here’s hoping she likes your name :) 

Love, Dad

Your eyes were filled with tears again and you were so caught up in the moment, you missed the sound of Colton fusing with the lock on the front door as he entered the house.

“Baby? Why are you crying? Is everything okay? Is Little P okay? How was the appointment?”

Colton’s questions were flying out of his mouth almost faster than you could understand. You heard his gym bag hit the floor and his feet hit heavy on the hardwood as he rushed over to you. Colton rounded the back of the couch and stopped when he saw what was in your hands. You closed the notebook gently in your hands, careful with the soft leather binding, before pulling the elastic over to keep it closed. You turned your head toward your husband. He was white as a sheet, nervousness coating his features. His baby blue eyes were jumping between your puffy eyes, your stomach, and the notebook in your hands impossibly fast. He swallowed hard, waiting for you to say something because his mind was running too fast toward the brick wall of having to ask you what you thought about what was in your hands to actually speak. 

“Colt,” you breathed out softly before placing a hand on your stomach again, “Little P is a girl.” 

“A girl? Really? I’m going to be a girl dad? Really?” 

Colton’s voice cracked with each word and tears began to spill over almost instantly as he sank onto the couch beside you. Hesitantly, as if he didn’t know if he was still allowed to, he reached a hand out toward your stomach. You grabbed his large hand with both of yours and placed it on your swollen belly. 

“Do you want to tell her what her name is?” you asked him softly. 

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. He took his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at with cautious, hesitant joy. 

“You like it?” Colton asked you, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I love her name, Colton, and since you came up with it, I think she should hear her for the first time from her incredible dad who already loves her more than she can possibly understand.” 

You reached a hand out to cup Colton’s face as you spoke. He leaned softly into your hand, his free hand cupping over yours, completely dwarfing it. He smiled at you softly before he placed a gentle kiss onto your palm, a silent way of telling you he loved you. His fingers wrapped around your hand, pulling it down to your belly along with his as his eyes shifted to it. 

“Hey, Winter, it’s me, your dad.”