#verse; one day you will find someone you deserve but for now I'm the only one left (post tybw arc)

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems

so...this is super long, the longest fic i've written in a hot minute. like 18.k words long. i wasn't going to post it until part two was underway, but i'm kind of excited to share it. here is the aftermath of champagne problems...

Part Two

*.*

"Don Perignon, you bought it, no crowd of friends applauded, your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems."

Your fingers moved across the keys of the grand piano as you mumbled softly to yourself, only loud enough that the voice recorder on your phone would pick up on it. This wasn't your typical method of songwriting, you weren't even sure there was a song to actually write; but the melody had been haunting you for days, pressing against your mind until you finally sat down and played it.

It wasn't often you thought of the events that occurred a year and a half ago. You usually did everything in your power not to think about that night, knowing that nothing ever good came out of dwelling on that particular wrinkle of your past. You only looked forward, sometimes hoping that if you didn't think about what happened, your memories of the worst night of your life would eventually disappear from your mind altogether.

But there was something about this melody that brought that night to the forefront of your memory. You'd played it over and over on the piano for a few minutes, waiting for the words to come. Your mind kept circling back to the past, and after trying to avoid it, you finally let emotion win out. No one was in the studio with you anyway, it would be safe to unlock that particular box. Just for a few minutes.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked up in the head," you said to yourself, the last part coming out as an afterthought. You laughed a little to yourself, remembering the disapproving stares and the whispers behind your back that people always thought went unnoticed by you. "But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shed."

Despite knowing that leaving your would-be fiance was the right choice for you, breaking up with him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It still hurt to remember that night, to recall the look of absolute devastation on his face when you stopped him from reaching into his pocket for the little velvet box you knew was in there. He didn't deserve to be wrecked so thoroughly, especially by someone like you. He had been sweet and kind and gentlemanly. He treated you like a princess and defended you to his family when they didn't approve. He was everything a man should've been to you and more.

And all you could do in return was prove his family right.

You stopped murmuring lyrics for a moment, letting that last thought float through the empty room on somber notes. You thought about your ex now, wondering where he was now and hoping he was well. You hoped he was in love and happy, that he'd forgotten all about you. He deserved all the best things that love could grant a person. You wanted that for him. You wanted someone who had the capacity for the kind of love he wanted to give.

Repeating the last few lines again, the next few thoughts came pouring out of you, the words carrying a bittersweet taste to them.

"Your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my Champagne problems."

The song tapered off soon after that, and you realized there was nothing left in you to say. You felt lighter afterwards, as if pushing some of those long-forgotten memories out of you and onto the grand piano eased the weight you'd been carrying around on your shoulders for the last eighteen months. Quickly stopping the recording, you set a reminder on your phone to listen to it tomorrow and write down everything you'd said. The recording itself was lengthy, long pauses stretching between lyrics as you worked through your memories and attempted to vocalize them. Hopefully something was there to actually mold into verses and a chorus, if not, it was a rather odd but surprisingly satisfying therapy session.

Gathering your things into the bag at your feet, you stood up from the piano, stretching your arms above your head. It was easy to get lost in a good melody, but your poor body always paid the price if you spent too much time bent over a guitar or piano.

It was as you stretched that you realized someone was at the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching as you shouldered your bag and slipped your shoes back on your socked feet. He didn't say anything as you walked over to him, just stepped out of the way so you could walk out of the studio. Harry normally wasn't this quiet, in fact, he could be quite the chatterbox if the mood struck him. But his silence told you he'd probably heard more of your session than you would've liked. Because one thing Harry liked to do in all his chattering was pepper you with questions about yourself, which was annoying since you were constantly trying to have him not get to know you.

"Coffee?" was all he said as you walked toward the elevator at the end of the hall. The sleeve of his patterned sweater brushed against your arm, and you resisted the urge to lean into him. He always wore the coziest clothes when in the studio, and it made you want to walk just a little bit closer to his side, for no other reason than the feel of soft material on your arm and not the person wearing them.

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

Harry qucikly pressed the button when you reached the elevator, and you couldn't help but laugh a little. In the time you'd spent not getting to know him, you discovered that he was the kind of person that just had to press the elevator buttons. It didn't matter how many people he was with, it was like he took joy in something as simple as getting to press a button and watch it light up beneath his finger. He'd actually speed-walked to get ahead of you a couple times just so he could press the down button. It was kind of annoying, and perhaps a little childish, but you'd surprisingly grown to find it endearing. A quirk of Harry's that just made him who he was.

The ride down the elevator was quiet, and it wasn't until you were out on the street that he finally spoke. "I'm thinking about getting a pet."

You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable questions about the song you'd been recording, and when they didn't come, your shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, though you were sure Harry noticed. "Really?"

"Yeah. All my friends are disgustingly in love," Harry said with a playful shudder. "I'm feeling like a third wheel most days, so I thought I would seek companionship of the furry variety. Wait, that came out wrong. I didn't mean—"

You chuckled at his stuttering, at the flush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks. "I know what you mean," you said, sparing him any more embarrassment. "So what are you thinking then? Dog? Cat? Hamster?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing," he said, quickly recovering from his chagrin. "I'm not sure I have the time necessary to devote to training a puppy, but I'm also worried about getting a cat and it absolutely hating me, and..."

You listened as Harry explained in great detail the pros and cons of each kind of domestic animal one could have. He spoke animatedly with his hands, looking at you with those big green eyes of his, as if to make sure you were following his train of thought.

You never planned on befriending Harry, and even now you weren't sure that whatever was going on between you was considered a friendship. You'd always been the type to keep to yourself, especially after what happened with your ex. You'd not only lost him after the break up, but friends too, friends who thought that what you did to your ex was despicable and reprehensible and not worth keeping a friendship over, picking sides when you hadn't realized there were any. It hurt to lose so many people in one fell swoop, and you decided soon after that you were better off alone. Except for your brothers of course, but all of you kept so busy that it was hard to keep track of one another on a good day.

Outside of them, you realized it was hard to hurt someone when there was no one around you to hurt.

But Harry was different. You'd seen him around the building where you worked on your songs—in the hallways, waiting for the elevator (after pushing the button, of course), at the vending machine, on your way out of the studio or while he was entering it to start his session. The first thing you noticed was that he was never alone. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The first thing you really noticed was his smile, how it lit up his entire face and showcased the most adorable dimples you'd ever seen. But since you refused to admit that, the first thing you noticed was that he was never alone.

Harry was always coming and going with one or two or sometimes three people around him. He was always engaged in some kind of conversation, his head always turned as he listened aptly to what his friend was saying. It seemed so odd to you that he was hardly ever by himself. It was like a foreign language to you, and you imagined your constant solitude felt the same to him.

"Anytime you want to weigh in here would be great."

"If you want a pet, get one," you said simply.

Harry rolled his eyes as he held open the door to the coffee shop a couple blocks down the street from the building where you both worked, as if he was expecting anything other than your usual direct way of speaking. "If you don't keep this conversation going, then I'm going to have to ask about that incredibly depressing song you were working on, so please, indulge me in the great pet debate of twenty-eighteen."

For the most part, Harry was a pretty easy going guy. He had no problem carrying a conversation, and knew when not to pry. As the months went by, though, he knew how to get you to talk, how to find trap doors in the fortified walls you kept around yourself before you even knew they were there. It would be frustrating if his questions didn't always come with an endearing smile.

So you shrugged, eager to steer clear of any topics regarding your past. "I don't know, I'm a little biased. I've always been a dog person. Buddy's my best friend."

"First of all, I'm offended by the fact that I am not your best friend, and second, since when do you have a dog?"

The conversation paused while you and Harry went up to the counter to order you coffees. Both of you went there enough that the staff knew what you liked—dirty chai for you and an americano for him. It also meant you didn't have to deal with the barista having a mini-freak out at the realization that Harry Styles was in their coffee house. People tended to interrupt your conversations with Harry regularly—on the street, in line for coffee, at the table—but he never seemed bothered by it. He always smiled and indulged in a couple minutes of conversation and the occasional picture before waving goodbye. He always apologized to you afterward, but after the first couple times it happened, you waved him off. None of it was actually his fault, and seeing him interact with his fans became something you actually enjoyed watching. And it was perhaps a very small reminder as to why you preferred to just write songs for other artists, not perform them. You didn't need that kind of attention. For Harry, he seemed to come alive like a flower in bloom.

You? You would probably just wilt.

When you and Harry sat down with your drinks, he raised his brows for you to continue. Wrapping your hands around your cup, you shrugged again. "I've had Buddy for about a year now."

"What kind of dog?"

"Mostly pitbull, I think. I found him in an alley behind a restaurant once, and I know what shelters do to pitbulls, so I adopted him."

You'd come to think of the whole thing as Buddy finding you.

"And you named him Buddy?"

"Yeah, I don't know, after Buddy Holly I guess." You'd grown up listening to classic rock because your brothers did, and the name just kind of made sense to you. And he was just so cute, he was your little buddy. Big buddy now, you supposed. You thought he deserved the cutest name for the cutest boy in your life.

The rest of your time in the coffee house was filled with chatter, mostly from Harry. He talked a little more about the Great Pet Debate, then about the project he and his team was working on. An album, though they were only just getting started seeing as Harry just came back from tour. He tried peppering you with the occasional question, knowing if he asked too many you'd clam up and shut down. It was almost like Harry knew that you were fighting getting to know him, but that it wasn't just him, it was everyone. He was patient with you for some reason, though, seemingly content to chip away at the brick walls around you. Even if all he had was a spoon.

"So...What were you working on at the studio?" Harry finally asked.

You knew it was coming, so answering didn't seem so daunting. "I'm not really sure. The melody had been in my head for days, and I finally decided to play around with it."

"A perfect non-answer from Y/n L/n, everyone," Harry said, though you knew he was joking. His eyes were crinkled with mirth as he hid behind his cup, his brows raising to give you a knowing look.

Nothing about your past was easy to talk about, so you just didn't. After your breakup, you didn't even tell your brothers the finer details, not wanting to relive it or face all their questions. It all brought you an overwhelming sense of shame and despair. But maybe there had been something cathartic about your session today and it left you feeling lighter and open because you found yourself sharing more with Harry.

"It...reminded of me and my ex, so I kind of just let it all out. I'm not even sure what I was doing constituted as songwriting, but," you looked down at your mug. "The melody dredged up some old memories, I guess."

"It sounded painful," Harry said, his voice taking on a soft, sincere tone.

You knew he meant well, but the sympathy made you skittish. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Right, of course," Harry said, catching on to your mood change. "Well, um, my friends and I are having a little get-together of sorts this Saturday. You should come."

"A party?"

"No. A get-together. Very different," Harry corrected.

It made sense, the last time Harry tried to invite you to a party his friend was throwing, you politely declined, claiming they weren't really your thing. They weren't, but it was more that having friends wasn't really your thing.

You wanted to say no again, but when you met Harry's eyes, something in you hesitated. His expression was open, earnest, like he would genuinely be upset if you said you wouldn't come. You didn't quite understand why he wanted to spend time with you so much. Maybe you felt a little bad for always pushing him away, or maybe you were actually warming up to him.

"I, um...that might be fun," you said, not sure if it was nerves or excitement swimming in your belly.

The way Harry's face lit up made saying you would come worth it.

After a few more minutes at the coffee house, you and Harry went your separate ways, but not before he made you promise to join you on one of your morning walks with Buddy Holly. Something must've been in the air today, because you found yourself nodding before heading down the street away from him.

On your way home, you got a phone call from your oldest brother Evan. "Hey, Evan. How's life treating you in the Big Apple?"

"Just fine. It'd be a lot better if I got to see my kid sister more often. Are you still coming for Thanksgiving?"

Of your three brothers, Evan was the one who checked up on you the most. Perhaps that was the nature of being the oldest of four, but he had always been the most responsible, the one to keep you and your other brothers in line. Well, mostly your other brothers. But Evan had always looked out for you. He was the only one you told at length about your breakup. You'd confided in him all your life, and he was coincidentally the only one of your brothers you could count on not to go and beat up on your ex or his family.

"Flight's booked and everything," you told him. "Not sure if I can swing a trip to the lake house, though."

Despite your less than ideal upbringing, you and your brothers had all done pretty well for yourselves. No thanks to your parents, seeing as you all shared a dad who never liked to be with the same woman twice. But you and your brothers all stuck together through thick and thin, supporting and celebrating and sticking together despite the differing parentage between the four of you. And now you were all scattered, your brothers Andrew and Hayden were professional athletes and Evan was a bigshot lawyer. Once you moved out of your hometown, you really only saw your brothers for holidays. And the occasional surprise visit from Andrew, though that hadn't happened in a while.

"That's okay," Evan said. "Next time."

"Next time," you agreed. Then, "How's the family?"

"Good. Sammy's gotten so big. And Laura's already showing."

You grinned as you imagined Evan's family. He deserved a happy ending with a loving family after raising you and the idiots you called brothers. "Another team member for the family football game."

"Speaking of the family football game," Evan said, and you mentally cursed yourself. "Laura's been dying to know if she should set an extra spot at the table."

Immediately, your mind went to Harry, but you quickly whisked that thought away. "Nope. Unless Hayden's got a new girlfriend."

"Really? No one?"

You narrowed your eyes even though Evan couldn't see your expression. "Why are you fishing? Gossip is Andy's thing."

"What? I'm not fishing!" Evan spluttered, but you just scoffed and waited. Evan might've been a shark in the courtroom, but he'd always been terrible at lying to you. "Fine. Laura was reading one of her gossip magazines, and you know I don't pay attention to those, but you know, I might have seen someone who looks an awful lot like you pictured alongside a former boy band member."

Well, shit. You knew that was a reality of being Harry's acquaintance, but you'd always done your best to not pay any attention to it. So far it had done a good job, but now it was coming to bite you in the ass.

"It's nothing, Evan. He's an artist. I'm a songwriter. We work in the same building," you said.

"Fine! Fine," Evan said, and you could just picture him holding his hands up in surrender the way he'd done since you were a teenager. "I just thought I'd ask now and try to soften the blow. I'll just leave you to the wolves."

"Damn you, Evan," you muttered. Evan was the easy brother. It was Andrew and Hayden you had to look out for. They would interrogate you relentlessly, or worse, squeeze the life out of you until you caved. Sighing deeply through your nose, you said, "I will ask if Harry has plans for that weekend. And that is it."

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'll talk to you later."

"You love me!" Evan called just before hanging up.

The call ended just as you pulled up to your apartment. You sat back with a huff, marveling at the strings your brother managed to pull from thousands of miles away. But deep down, you knew Evan was just looking out for you. After everything that happened eighteen months ago, he'd been keeping a close eye. As close an eye as he could all the way from New York. But that was how things worked between you and your brothers. You all looked out for each other, and your older brothers acted as personal security guards to any and everyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. It was both endearing and very annoying.

Very annoying. Now you had to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. Evan was so going to get it.

*.*

On Saturday, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror longer than you normally would've. Harry had used the term "get-together" as a means to ease your nerves, but now that the dreaded day had come, you realized you weren't sure what that meant in terms of dress code. Was this thing laid-back? What if casual still meant dressy to Harry and his friends? Harry usually walked around the studio in jeans and faded t-shirts, but he was still a celebrity. He could see this as an opportunity to dress up.

You looked at all the clothes spread out in your room. You'd changed an embarrassing amount of times now, but nothing seemed fitting for the occasion. I could always text him, you thought, biting your nail as you surveyed the tornado of clothes around you. Harry had given you your number earlier this week so he could text you his address. You hadn't wanted to, as it would open the flood gates for conversation outside the studio, but you eventually gave it up when he stared blankly at you after offering your email as an alternative.

Before you could think too long about it, you picked up your phone and sent a quick text. Before you even had a chance to set it down, Harry sent a reply.

Harry S: We're just chilling at my house. Dress as comfortably as you'd like :))

Well, that wasn't helpful at all, you thought, but didn't say to Harry. You went back to rummaging through your pile of clothes, creating a spot for Buddy when he ambled into your bedroom from the kitchen. In the end, you settled on something simple: jeans, platform shoes, and a colorful fleece jacket over a plain shirt. It felt silly to have wasted so much time on your wardrobe when all you were doing was going to see Harry. And his friends. And that was...intimidating.

The anxiety of meeting Harry's friends, of meeting anyone new, crept through you. You didn't want to go and face the inevitability of disappointing them. Your track record with friends was pretty abysmal. But you found yourself kissing Buddy's head and promising you wouldn't be gone long, and then you were getting in your car and plugging in the address Harry had given you.

The music playing in your car calmed you some. Etta James' voice was both familiar and comfortable, welcome feelings as you pulled up to Harry's house. House was a bit of an understatement, though. Maybe a villa, or an estate. The LA version of those sprawling castles that were all over Europe. Your shoulders were tense as you cruised up the long driveway, though your anxiety eased a bit when you saw that had seen about as much life and mileage parked up front as yours did.

Music was playing inside the house, you could hear the trill of soft guitar and the low hum of a male voice from outside, and you worried if anyone would be able to hear you as you knocked on the door. Thankfully, you only stood on Harry's doorstep for a minute or two, then Harry's familiar grin greeted you.

"You made it!" Harry said, pulling you over the threshold and in for a quick side hug. He looked down at you for a moment, his cheeks flushed and green eyes bright, perhaps from drinking. He shook his head a little before pulling you further into the house. "Come in, come in, everyone is just through here."

Harry led you further into his home, giving you a chance to look around. Despite the grandeur of the outside, Harry's house was actually quite cozy and inviting. Everything was in warm tones, and potted plants and bookshelves piled high with a mix of books and records with titles you couldn't read from this distance. His house looked actually lived in, which couldn't be said for some of the other celebrity homes you'd been in. It didn't happen often as you preferred to work alone, but you occasionally dabbled in writing sessions with other artists. Their homes looked much more modern, and much more cold, than Harry's did.

"My home in London is much smaller," Harry said, noticing your craned neck. Then he shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "But I liked the look of this place. It reminded me of a house I go to in Italy most summers."

"It's beautiful," you said. "I've always wanted to go to Italy."

"You've never been?"

You shook your head, admiring the arch leading into an open kitchen. "I was supposed to go for—"

For my birthday, you couldn't bring yourself to say. Gavin had planned a summer trip to Italy for your birthday, but that never happened. You surprised yourself by revealing that much, and by the way Harry's eyes lit up, you'd taken him by surprise too.

But he didn't press you to finish your thought. He just smiled and led you further into the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

Harry talked while he fixed up your drink. He'd tried to persuade you to take a shot of tequila with him, his eyebrows wiggling up and down, a look on his face that you'd seen one too many times on your brothers when they were trying to stir up trouble. You declined with a laugh, opting for a glass of wine instead. Maybe a boring choice, Harry definitely thought so as he teased by saying, "Booooring!" but you needed to be sharp, and tequila tended to have the opposite effect, so red wine it was.

"Everyone's through here. I hope you like games because Kid brought a new one over and everyone has become quite invested."

Games? Is that what Harry Styles did on his evenings off? Play board games with his friends? Before you could ask, Harry led you into his living room, where everyone was in fact sitting around a rather spacious coffee table, a board game and playing cards spread out around it. It was a small group of about five or six. For some reason you expected more people, even though Harry said otherwise. They were all talking amongst themselves, talking strategy, you presumed, as you recognized the game as one of those territory-winning ones.

All the talking stopped, however, when Harry introduced you to the group.

You felt their eyes on you, judging, picking you apart where you stood. You began to curl in on yourself, wilting at the attention. Involuntarily, you took a step back, but Harry's hand was on your lower back, warm and comforting against you. You should've pulled away, but you didn't, thankful for at least some kind of familiarity among all the new.

It had been so long since you'd had to meet new people in a non-professional setting. You'd met with producers and artists and other industry people all the time, but there was always a wall of professionalism between you and them. You knew how to navigate that space with ease, but here, where people were sitting on pillows and holding playing cards, where you stood as the outlier among what was clearly a tight-knit group, you felt very much like a fish out of water. A fish in space.

"H—Hello," you managed to say, giving everyone a small wave.

One person got up. A young woman with short brown hair, winged eyeliner marking the corners of her eyes. Her smile was surprisingly warm, but what had your eyes widening even more was when she pulled you in for a hug, squeezing tight.

"I'm Sylvia," she said. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?"

You probably shouldn't have said that, but you weren't expecting such a warm welcome.

"Harry talks about you constantly. I swear sometimes he purposely keeps you from us."

"That is not—That is not true," Harry said, speaking to you for a moment. He sounded serious, but his eyes were filled with amusement as if he was used to Sylvia's teasing.

Everyone else introduced themselves, and you tried to keep a smile on your face as you committed their names to memory. They were all part of Harry's "team" except for Sylvia—writers, producers, musicians. "And you?" you asked her as she pulled you down to sit next to her. Sylvia had insisted you be on her team while you learned how to play. She seemed nice, eager to get to know you, but you didn't trust it. Not yet.

"I'm a full-time mom most days, and a part-time life coach to this one," Sylvia joked. She seemed too young to be a mother, but you supposed they came in all shapes and sizes. "But I'm Harry's nutritionist. And friend when he's not being a pain in the ass."

There was a wry grin on the young woman's face that told you she was fond of Harry, and fond of teasing him, if said grin grew when Harry said, "Hey," was anything to go by. It eased your mind a bit, her kindness and obvious fondness for Harry. She spoke animatedly as she caught you up on the rules of the game and gossip from her yoga class. "They're all in love with that one, of course. Can't take him anywhere," she said with a nod in Harry's direction.

When you agreed to join Harry tonight, you figured you would spend your time with him. But Sylvia kept you occupied most of the evening, and he and his friends were rather invested in the game. You were content to watch, enjoying the playful bickering and shouts of surprise and celebration. It was interesting to see how they all interacted with each other. Harry and his friends sat and drank around his coffee table while you nursed your drink, observing with the sweet feeling of nostalgia swimming through your veins.

"Y/n?"

You jumped in your spot on the floor, your wine sloshing around in your glass a little. Thankfully, nothing poured out. You would've been mortified if you'd spilled red wine all over Harry's most likely exorbitantly expensive carpet.

Eyes flicking to a man with short blond hair, you said, "Sorry?"

Kid, you were pretty sure his name was, asked his question again. "Did you first start writing here in LA?"

"Uh...no. Nashville, actually," you said. "I lived in Nashville for a while before moving out here. But I...grew up in a small town just outside."

"You never told me that," Harry said, sounding both intrigued and a little hurt that you'd never shared that with him before.

Emboldened by your near-empty glass, you said, "You never asked."

That earned a few chuckles and a raised brow from Harry as if he'd just accepted a challenge you hadn't meant to create. But you read that look in his eyes with ease. Any look was quite easy to read from Harry. He was expressive, an open book. He was going to take this as an opportunity to ask you all the questions he'd been witholding.

Throwing back the rest of your wine, you avoided his eye and ignored the excited flip in your belly.

*.*

If it wasn't for your dog, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to keep up with Harry Styles and his impossibly long gait.

He'd kept to his word, insisting that he join you on one of your walks with Buddy Holly. It wasn't until a few days after you went to his house for the first time, but one morning before you usually headed into the studio, he texted and asked if he could join you for your morning walk with your dog. It took some convincing, which really only meant a series of uninterrupted texts until you finally relented.

Buddy took to Harry immediately, of course, though that wasn't a surprise, seeing as your dog was friendly with everyone. But it meant a lot to you that he seemed to like Harry so much. Buddy was a rescue, and you couldn't imagine the awful things he'd been through before you'd given him a proper home.

Now he walked on the sidewalk excitedly, pulling you on his leash as his stubby tail waved around wildly. Harry walked beside you, his curly hair pulled back with a little black claw clip, some of it sticking up in a cute tuft. As he walked beside you, you took the opportunity to study him. There was a little scruff on his cheeks and jaw, creeping down the nape of his neck. His jaw was strong and angular, his cheekbones sharp. Harry really was beautiful. You understood why so many people went so crazy for him.

"See anything you like?"

Warmth flushed your cheeks as you quickly looked ahead, even if the damage was already done. Harry rarely, if ever, caught you staring at him, mostly because it didn't happen often. But in the last few weeks, you'd found yourself admiring him more and more. The movements he made with his hand as he told a story, the mischievous glint in his eye when he made you laugh, the way his arms moved beneath his shirt, how his lips curled around a smile. You cataloged each mannerism, each vocal inflection, and after just a few weeks following that night at his house with his friends, you felt like you knew him quite well.

Shrugging, you feigned nonchalance as your eyes darted back to Buddy, who had stopped to sniff a tree.

You could feel Harry's gaze on you, but you tried not to squirm. His gaze pricked your skin, making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't have been feeling. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating, and you didn't like how much you were warming up to him.

Used to your wordless answers, Harry moved on. "You're making me rethink my decision to get a cat."

"You decided, then?"

"I think I'm more of cat person," Harry said. "Well that, and I think I've found the one, but I'm worried about all the traveling."

"It can stay with me," you said, eyes widening when you did. But it was true, you realized. You were close enough to Harry to promise that kind of thing.

"Well, in that case," Harry said, and you finally looked over to him.

His grin was wide as he looked down at you, and though you couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you knew they were more than likely squinted with mirth. You liked that smile, you realized. It was uninhibited, full of warmth and good intentions. You wanted to trust it, to give in to the friendship Harry was offering.

But you couldn't. Harry didn't deserve the abysmal companionship you offered in return, and you felt bad for leading him along when you knew you'd eventually fuck things up. You always did.

Your phone buzzing thankfully pulled you away from your thoughts. Looking at it, you saw a text from your brother, Hayden. You think Laura will be cool with a few football players in her house for Thanksgiving? it said, and you shook your head as you typed a quick reply, a small grin spreading across your face.

Hayden was only going to be in town the day of Thanksgiving, as he had a game the day after. You didn't think he would make it at all, seeing how full his schedule usually was, but he managed to squeeze it in. Apparently his game wasn't too far from Evan's house. As long as he, and his teammates now, didn't drink too much, they would be just fine.

You: I don't think so. Laura might put y'all to work around the house though.

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

Hayden: Because I can sit you next to one of my teammates.

Hayden: I take that back. Forget I said that. No teammate of mine is going near my sister.

Rolling your eyes, you stuffed your phone in your back pocket. Harry was looking at you with a curious gaze, and you scrambled to explain yourself. "My brother," you said. "Apparently he's inviting some of his football buddies to Thanksgiving this year."

"Does he play at university?" Harry asked. You could almost hear the eagerness in his voice at the opportunity to learn more about you, and while sharing in general made you squirm, your brothers were fairly easy to talk about.

"He did. He's in the NFL now."

"Oh nice You must be—Wait what's his name?"

"Hayden?"

Harry stopped walking for a moment. When you tried to stop too, Buddy protested, tugging the leash, and the wrist you had wrapped around it pulled uncomfortably. Murmuring a quick apology, Harry kept walking, keeping pace with your energetic puppy.

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

You nodded. "I'm guessing you've heard of him then?"

A bark of laughter slipped from Harry's lips. You'd never seen him so caught off guard before. It was strange, but also a relief to know that someone as steady as Harry wasn't so unflappable all the time.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he said, "I think everyone has heard of him. Any other famous brothers I should know about?"

"I don't know how you quantify fame, but my other brother is in the NHL. He plays for a team on the east coast."

Andrew was the youngest of your family. Despite that, he still considered himself your older brother, which had always been annoying growing up, especially when you were taller than him for a few years. He was rather sweet for someone so aggressive on the ice. He spent a lot of time with his mom, but was still close to you, Evan, and Hayden. It was hard not to be when you all shared the same deadbeat dad.

Outside of Evan, you probably talked to Andrew the most. You were the closest in age and grew up going to school together, and while his main focus was hockey, whenever he was in town, he'd go with you to concerts to see whatever indie band you were into or treat you to tickets to a show at the arena he played for.

"You have a third, right?" Harry asked, and you weren't even surprised that he remembered even though you were sure you'd only mentioned it once or twice.

"Evan. He's a lawyer in New York, but he lives in Connecticut with his wife and daughter," you said.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. You were looping back around on the trail, heading back to the park entrance where you'd met Harry this morning. Evan would pester you about it until you did, or worse, get Hayden and Andrew involved. You just had to throw it out there, be as casual as possible. Easy. You were all about being casual.

"So, um, he—Evan—he, um, said if I wanted I could invite a friend to Thanksgiving. If I wanted to."

"Oh yeah?" You weren't looking at him, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Swallowing thickly as you willed your cheeks not to flush, you continued to look at Buddy as you spoke. "You probably already have plans, but I just thought I would ask if you wanted to come. Laura, Evan's wife, is a great cook, and it's usually pretty low-key until football gets turned on. But no offensive aunts or uncles or anything like that. Just us."

That was definitely too many words, but the amused look in Harry's eyes didn't feel antagonizing. "I would love to, but um, I already promised my mum I would go home that week."

"Oh." You didn't mean to sound disappointed. It was a good thing that Harry was going home to see his mother. And him meeting your brothers for the first time all at once probably would've scared him out of talking to you in the studio, so really it was for the best. It was for the best. "That's okay. You must be excited to go home. How long has it been?"

"London? Not too long, but I'm headed back to Manchester, and my mum has not been shy in letting me know that it's been too long since..."

You listened to Harry the rest of the walk back, trying to fight off the disappointment gnawing inside you that he'd said no. You didn't want that feeling in you. You wanted to be indifferent. It's for the best. You repeated it over and over until you convinced yourself it was true.

*.*

"You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches. And I couldn't give a reason, Champagne problems."

You scribbled in your notebook, crossing out words from the original recording and replacing them with better ones. You hadn't planned to go back to this song. After recording it on your phone, you figured it wouldn't see the light of day again. But something kept bringing you back to it. So you worked on it between other projects, playing around with the lyrics and melody in small doses so that the past wouldn't overwhelm you.

Guilt seeped into your bones as you recalled what happened eighteen, almost nineteen, months ago. Sometimes you wished you could forget everything you'd done, but other times you decided being forced to remember was part of your penance for causing so much pain. Gavin was a good man. He was so kind and so smart, he didn't have a cruel bone in his body. And you'd taken his goodness, you'd welcomed all his kindness, and crushed it in your hands.

Wiping away a tear, you shut your notebook definitively. Your session in the studio was far from over, but you were done for the day.

On your way out, you kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your watery eyes. You could feel the tears building, and you hoped you could at least make it to your car before you turned into a mess. It was so hard sometimes. Some days you felt great. You would write good songs, take Buddy for a walk and teach him a new trick, you would get coffee with Harry and laugh, and everything would be fine. But then there were days where the mere thought of the past sent you careening off course, leaving you with nothing but the intrusive thoughts you thought you'd learned how to keep at bay.

Today happened to be one of those days, and you hoped you could escape and wallow in self-pity unnoticed. But before you could even make it to the elevator, you bumped into something solid and warm. Arms wrapped around you to hold you steady before you could spring back, and against your better judgment, you looked up, an apology poised on your lips.

"Y/n, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You should've known that you would be unlucky enough to run into Harry on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head and stepped out of his grasp, though that didn't make you feel any better. "I'm fine."

"You can talk to me," Harry insisted. His brows furrowed with concern, but he didn't come any closer. There was a bag slung over his shoulder and a hat covering up his hair, with only a few stray curls sticking out beneath it. He looked like he was just going into the studio for a session.

"I'm fine, I promise," you lied, not wanting to be the reason he was late for studio time. "I'm just leaving for the day."

You tried to step around Harry, but his hands fell down on your shoulders. His gaze burned, but you couldn't make yourself look him in the eye. You knew the moment you saw the sympathy swimming in them you'd burst into tears.

"Please let me go," you said, but it came out as more of a squeak, your voice breaking on the last word.

To your surprise, Harry did, and even though that was what you'd asked for, what you wanted, you somehow felt worse. Shuffling around him, you mumbled a quick goodbye and bypassed the elevator, not wanting to wait awkwardly for it to come up while he was still in the hall. It wasn't until you finally got in your car that you let everything out, all the guilt and loneliness and self-loathing that you kept bottled up regularly.

So often you were able to pretend the past didn't exist. But then there were days where you were almost slapped in the face by the consequences of your actions. Negative thoughts followed you all the way home and into your bed. Not even hiding under the covers kept you from feeling everything all at once. Your mind spun as you thought of Gavin, of his elated grin crumpling into a look of betrayal as you told him you were ending it.

You remembered every detail from that night. The brand of Champagne Gavin bought for the would-be occasion, the woodsy cologne he wore, the looks on his friends' and family's faces as you hurried down the stairs to leave the party, unable to bear their shame and disapproval, or the heart you'd broken on the landing in his family's mansion.

You didn't know he was going to propose until mere moments before it happened. You had only been seeing Gavin for a few months, and things were good. He made you happy, and you liked having someone to go through life with. He liked to shower you with expensive gifts, for no other reason than to show you he cared and because he could. You didn't have the same kind of wealth he or his family did, not even with the substantial amount of money you made as a successful songwriter. But you'd write him poems and leave them places you knew he'd find them and looped your arm through his at company parties. Things were good.

Every year, Gavin's family hosted a Christmas party, and last year was the first time you'd been invited. You hadn't wanted to go, mostly because in the two weeks leading up to the party, you realized you weren't in the same place Gavin was emotionally, and you weren't sure you ever would be. But Gavin insisted, promising it would be fun and he wouldn't abandon you to his family, who had been nothing but cold since the moment he'd introduced them to you. So you went, sipping on Champagne in a glass made of crystal and wondering if the guilty pit at the bottom of your stomach would ever stop growing.

It was a couple hours into the party when you'd stumbled on a conversation between Gavin's mother and sister, one that made your blood run cold with dread.

"Did Gav really ask you for your ring?" his sister asked.

His mother nodded gravely. "He wants to do it tonight."

"What? That's ridiculous! They've barely been together a year!"

"I'm sure she would make a lovely bride, she's beautiful, I'll give her that," his mother conceded, but you could hear the disdain in her voice loud and clear. "It's just a shame that she's—"

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

"What? She is! She's a total basket case, and everyone can see it but him. She'll never make him happy. How could she? Putting a ring on it doesn't change a thing. Gavin would have a psych patient, not a wife. He deserves better."

The rest of the night was a blur, but you knew you couldn't wait. You didn't want to break up with Gavin on the night of his family's Christmas party, but if he was going to propose, you couldn't let him. The hurt would be so much worse if you had to slide the ring off your finger a week or two after the proposal.

Gavin called you for weeks afterward, begging you to help him understand. His family did too, and his friends, people you considered friends as well, but it was clear once there was a line drawn in the sand where everyone stood, and they didn't have any trouble letting you know how horrible you were for doing what you did. Sometimes when you let yourself get angry, you wondered why Gavin's mother and sister, or any of them really, were so aggressive about your break up. They'd never wanted you to be with him in the first place, and even though they'd gotten their wish, they still called you a heartless monster.

But above all that, Gavin's messages made the deepest cut. He sounded so devastated in each voicemail. And at first, all he wanted was to talk, to somehow work it all out as if it was one big misunderstanding. I know my family can be a lot, but I love you so much, he'd said in a text. We can go to Italy like we'd planned. Elope. Buy a little cottage and just start a new life somewhere else. Please, Y/n. Talk to me. I love you.

Messages like those were the toughest pills to swallow. You knew Gavin loved you, you never doubted that for a moment. The problem was you didn't feel the same. You didn't know why. You cared for Gavin a lot, and in the beginning, you had all those giddy, initial relationship feelings, but they never developed beyond that. And when you noticed Gavin's feelings growing more and more each day while yours didn't, you started to panic.

But it was when those messages turned angry, hateful even, that hurt the most. It was what you deserved after what you'd done, but to know that you'd turned one of the gentlest souls you knew into a spiteful one killed you almost as much as stopping him from getting down on one knee had.

In the midst of all your crying and hyperventilating, your phone buzzed. Wiping your eyes and nose, you lifted your phone to your face, squinting at the bright light.

Harry S: I know you probably want space, but I'm here for you xx

You shouldn't be, was your first thought, but all you texted back was, Just a bad day that's all.

Harry's response was almost immediate, as if he was waiting around for your reply.

Harry S: Well, if you ever need a friend, you know where to find me :))

You sighed, feeling another wave of tears overwhelm you. The pressure of friendship weighed heavily on your chest. All you could offer was disappointment, and you couldn't stomach the thought of letting someone like Harry down. He was too good a person to be your friend. All you could offer him was disappointment and pain. You were toxic, and better off left alone.

You: We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend so just leave me alone.

*.*

Weeks went by and you were positively miserable. Thanksgiving came and went, and even your brothers could sense not to pry about your sour mood. Evan tried to get you alone, but you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain how you'd fucked things up so royally. Again. You didn't want his sympathy, or Hayden's promise to fight anyone who hurt you, or Andrew's cheesy jokes to lift your spirits. What you wanted had been all the way in England and had been giving you the cold shoulder. Just like you'd asked.

Harry stopped saying hi to you at the studio, which hurt more than you thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't known him very long, but seeing him in the hallway and watching him purposely avoid you felt awful. You only had yourself to blame, but you thought it was better to let him down early on than further down the line. You couldn't have another Gavin situation on your hands.

But this felt entirely different. Even though you'd only spoken to Harry for a month, his absence from your life was more poignant than you expected it to be. When you ended things with Gavin, you felt guilty for hurting him, but ultimately, there was a sense of relief that you weren't leading him on, that crushing weight of his family's disapproval on your chest lifted. Breaking up with Gavin was hard, but it was the right thing to do for you, there was no doubt in your mind about that.

But this thing with Harry...you'd pushed him away when you were feeling vulnerable. A preemptive measure for the both of you, but there was no relief, no justifiable sense of rightness in your gut in the days following.

Part of you wanted to reach out to him and apologize, but you worried he hated you now and didn't know how to bridge the gap you created between the two of you.

Opportunity struck when you overheard a conversation between Harry and...Mitch. you were pretty sure that was Mitch from that night at Harry's house. It was about a week after you came back from your brother's house, and all three of them were constantly calling or texting despite their busy schedules. You wouldn't have put it past any of them to have set up times to routinely check in on you. It warmed your heart some, but nothing would feel right until you fixed things with Harry. Pushing him away had been a mistake, you saw that now. You'd done it in a moment when you were at your lowest, and that wasn't fair to either of you.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Mitch. "I didn't even think to ask if you were allergic before adopting a cat. I feel like an idiot now."

So he went ahead with his plan to get a pet, then. The thought made you smile, but you held it in. You were pressed into the corner of the elevator up to the studio. Harry was definitely aware of your presence, but he hadn't acknowledged you. Mitch gave you an awkward wave, but that was somehow worse.

"No worries, man," Mitch said now, stepping out of the elevator with Harry. He was in a white t-shirt and a light brown cardigan today, his curly brown hair looking beautifully windswept. You refused to think about the current state of your hair, which was hiding beneath a blue baseball cap. "I'll just have to—"

You never found out what Mitch would have to do because they rounded a corner of the hallway, leaving you alone outside the elevator. Quickly scurrying into your usual studio, you sat down at the grand piano, letting the smooth keys cool your sweaty palms. You felt breathless, but it wasn't the usual anxiety-ridden breathlessness you were used to. This felt different, your heart speeding up at the thought of Harry's broad shoulders beneath his sweater.

"Pull yourself together, Y/n," you told yourself.

The damage was done—once again, at your hands, but you couldn't help that right this second. Right now you had work to do.

The next day, you did something you didn't normally do—venture outside of your studio. Since working in the building, you'd never thought to explore the other rooms, to introduce yourself or make friends the way Harry had with you. As you walked down the long hallway of closed and half-open doors, you wondered who was behind them, what kind of projects were being worked on right now.

Most importantly, you wanted to know which door Harry sat behind.

After a day of writing, of trying to lean into more positive feelings, the small hope you had for a brighter future. You left the studio feeling lighter after another introspective session. There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, both of these things can be true, you'd written, forming your thoughts around a melody that was both somber and hopeful. That moment when you'd pushed Harry away was the lowest you'd felt in a while, but you didn't want to feel that way anymore. All Harry had been asking for was friendship. You could do friendship, in fact, you craved it.

So now you were trying to make things right with Harry, or at least apologize for your rude text. He'd only ever been incredibly kind to you, and you'd treated him like garbage.

You came across a door that was partially open, laughter filtering out and reaching you in the hallway. Harry's voice was mixed among them, and hearing him laugh filled you with butterflies. Going to his studio suddenly felt like a mistake. You didn't want to bring down his mood, especially if it would affect his writing for the day.

But you finally worked up the courage to knock on the open door. You'd already made it this far. The knock immediately sobered up everyone inside the studio, and you waited outside with your gift bag clutched in your hands. One of Harry's friends appeared, eyes widening when he saw you there.

"Y/n," he said. "It's good to see you."

You couldn't tell if he was pleased to see you or not, and nerves slowly began to creep in.

"I—I won't take up too much of your time, I know y'all are probably busy," you said. "I just, um, could you give this to Harry, please?"

You shoved the bag in the man's direction, forcing him to take it. "You can come in. He's just inside—"

"No, it's okay. I should probably get back to it. So, uh, see you."

You turned and fled, heat flooding your cheeks. Honestly, you were surprised you made it that far. You figured your courage would fizzle out before knocking on the studio door.

Settling back in your studio, you pulled out your journal and phone out of your bag, and opened up to a fresh page to work on a new song. On the way into work this morning, your agent pitched you an opportunity to write for an up-and-coming artist. "Something light, Y/n," she'd said, knowing you'd been writing mostly sad, break-up songs recently. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out, but at least try. You've always liked to challenge yourself."

So you were putting away the Champagne problems for now and channeling your happiest thoughts. You even brought your computer to stream romantic comedies while you worked for some additional inspiration.

You were halfway through When Harry met Sally when that inspiration finally struck. Lighter, happier words finally filled your journal, a rare, but not completely uncommon occurrence. You'd written love songs in the past, both before and while you were with Gavin. But surprisingly, Gavin wasn't who came to mind, nor was it the characters in the movie on your computer.

You thought of Harry's smile, his flushed cheeks after he'd had a couple drinks, his green eyes that seemed to sparkle when he laughed. Did you have a crush on him? You weren't entirely sure, maybe you just admired his goodness. And, okay fine, his unfair amount of good looks too. But you tried not to focus too long on who exactly inspired you, just on making sure the words kept flowing onto the page.

Perhaps you should've expected Harry to stop by, but you hadn't. His voice startled you, your eyes having been glued to the screen of your computer as the final scene of Roman Holiday played out in front of you. It had always been one of your favorites, and you decided that a brain break was needed as the final third of the film rolled around.

"What's this?"

No matter how many times you'd seen it, the ending never failed to bring tears to your eyes. Seeing the glisten of tears in Gregory Peck's eyes as he stared longingly at Audrey Hepburn's, knowing they loved each other but could never be together was heartbreaking. It had been the most tragic thing you'd ever experienced when you first watched it as a girl, and it hadn't even happened to you.

It was those tears now that you wiped away, a warmth creeping up your cheeks because this was the second time Harry had caught you crying. How embarrassing.

Looking up, you saw the gift bag in one hand, the other in his pocket as he stared at you blankly. No warmth or his usual smile, but he wasn't glaring at you, either. He just looked indifferent, and that didn't sit well with you at all.

"I...I overheard you and Mitch talking about your cat and his allergies, and I'd heard of this stuff that you can use on your pets to help people who are allergic to animals."

You'd gone out and bought it after leaving the studio the day you'd overheard the conversation between Mitch and Harry. It was your version of an olive branch, a way to express your guilt after taking Harry's friendship and throwing it in his face. You were his friend, and you wanted him to know it.

It probably seemed silly to hide behind a gift instead of saying something, considering your profession. But confrontation was almost as terrifying as love was, it was part of the reason why you only wrote songs and didn't perform them.

Harry scoffed, and it looked like he couldn't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes. "No, I know what this is, I'm asking why you gave it to me. Or not me, to my friend and then scurried back over here."

"I'm sorry about that, about everything," you said, shutting your laptop and shifting in your chair. "I was...I haven't been in the best place for some time now. It's not an excuse for how I treated you that day. You caught me in a bad moment and I lashed out."

"Thank you for apologizing," he said, his voice cool and even. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at you. "Do you want to grab coffee? Maybe we can talk?"

The thought of being open and honest in the way that he was suggesting was daunting, but Harry deserved your honesty. "Sure. Let me just pack up my things."

Harry waited for you by the door as you packed your bag, jotting a couple notes down in your journal before putting it away. Your hands shook a little as you approached him, excitement swelling in your belly despite the anxiety you felt at the prospect of having to talk about things you preferred to leave in the recesses of your mind. But it felt good to see Harry again, to walk beside him and head to your favorite coffee house.

Neither of you said anything on the short walk over, and even after you placed your orders, you remained quiet. When your name was called out alongside Harry's to grab your drinks, you knew it was time to find a table, but you stayed rooted to your spot in front of the counter.

It was Larissa. Gavin's sister. She was standing next to the other end of the counter where baristas called out and dropped off orders. There was a moment when she didn't see you, and you thought you could make a break for it, even if that meant leaving Harry high and dry. But even if you wanted to, you were frozen in place, and when Larissa's gaze finally landed on you, you felt her glare even from a short distance.

"Y/n?" Harry asked, both drinks in his hands. "What's—"

"Y/n! How good to see you!"

Larissa's kind smile was anything but. You'd never trusted Gavin's sister. From the moment you met her, you knew to be wary of her, and after everything that happened, you were sure nothing good was going to come out of this interaction.

"H—Hi, Larissa. How are you?" you said, trying your best not to look at Harry, who had a quizzical look on his face.

"Oh, I'm just fabulous. I've just spent the last year healing my brother's broken heart, which you broke like it was nothing," Larissa said. "He's great, by the way. Finally came to his senses and realized what a God-awful mess you were. He realized all of us were better off without you."

Then, before you could even make sense of what was happening, a rush of cold washed over you. At first, you thought it was merely a visceral reaction to the confrontation, but Harry's, "What the fuck?" made you think twice.

Looking down, you realized Larissa had poured her drink on your sweater. Shock left you blinking at Gavin's sister, tears welling in your eyes. With shaking hands, you held the ruined sweater in your hands, then back to Larissa. "Wh—Why—"

"That's for my brother, slut."

"That's enough," Harry said, voice harder and colder than you'd ever heard him before. Even when he was upset with you at the studio, he never sounded this angry. Gently gripping your elbow, he turned you around. You hardly noticed the flashing of cameras aimed in your direction. All you could really process was Larissa's smirk and the iced coffee dripping off you onto the coffee house's floor.

When you were finally outside and a block down the road, Harry pulled you down an alley where you could have a moment of privacy. He pulled his sweater over his head and offered it to you in a bundle. You quietly murmured your thanks and took it from him, slipping it over your head. The plain black sweater was warm and smelled like him—like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It would've been the kind of thing to flood your senses if shame hadn't currently encompassed every fiber of your being.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said when you felt like you could speak without your voice trembling.

"You don't have to apologize for what happened, Y/n," Harry said. He gently rested his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You couldn't look him in the eye, not while your iced coffee-ridden sweater was now ruining his, not while he kept looking at you with such pity. You could feel it down to your toes, and it made you want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed. But Harry deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved to know who he associated himself with.

"I should explain—"

"You don't have to," Harry insisted.

"I want to," you said, believing the words as you said them. You weren't sure what you would've done if Harry hadn't been with you a few minutes ago. His brows were still furrowed with concern, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. His sweater layered over yours created a pretty thick barrier, but you could feel his touch as if he was caressing your skin. "We can, um, we can go back to my place."

Thankfully, Harry didn't protest, just nodded quietly. The walk back to the studio was completely silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts until it was time to part ways. He got in his car and followed you home, silently following you up the steps to your apartment, a comfortable little one-bedroom twenty minutes from the studio.

Buddy was at the door when you unlocked it, tail wagging and tongue lolling to the side of his mouth happily. He greeted you first, then Harry, who he tried with all his might to knock over by getting up on his hind legs and resting on your guest. "Buddy! Down!" you hissed, frantically holding onto your dog's collar. Harry laughed and waived you off, surprising you by lifting Buddy up into his arms. Both boys were perfectly content, and the image of your friend holding your dog in your apartment was enough to lift your spirits the tiniest bit. A small smile crept onto your face, and Harry's grin widened when he saw it.

"Nice place," Harry commented, spinning around in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Thanks." Your apartment was small, but it was in a nice neighborhood and close to the beach. You made just enough in royalties to be comfortable in a little one bedroom. "Definitely different from my place in Nashville."

Harry nodded mildly before setting Buddy back down on the floor, admiring the colorful furniture that took up the space in your living room. Shivering a little, you looked down at yourself, reminded of your coffee-soaked clothes.

"There are treats in the pantry," you said, setting your things down on the kitchen counter and nodding to the pantry in question. "I'm just going to get changed so I can wash your sweater."

Harry nodded, but he seemed content to play with Buddy and look around your apartment, and your dog seemed perfectly happy to never walk on four legs ever again.

You tried to make quick work of changing, not wanting to keep Harry waiting too long. But you gave yourself a minute or two to calm down and process everything that had happened in the last hour. Even though it was horribly embarrassing, you were glad Harry had been there. He'd been a calming presence throughout, and you could only hope that would continue as you explained why you'd pushed him away.

*.*

"I...I didn't want to hurt you," you said, looking down at where your hands were knotted in your lap. "I just...I don't have a very good track record with relationships. Of any kind. I didn't want you to be one of the people I ruined."

Harry had been surprisingly quiet while you explained everything. And by everything, you meant everything. From Gavin to the Christmas party and what you'd heard to the would-be proposal. You told him about that song you'd written a couple weeks ago and how it brought all that emotion to the forefront of your memory and that it led you to push Harry away. He hadn't said much, asking you a few questions here and there; but for the most part, he let you speak uninterrupted, and you were surprised at how you continued to fill the silence, not once feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps a little ashamed after explaining how badly you'd hurt Gavin, but you never felt discomfort telling Harry any of it.

"Y/n, I—" Harry began to say before pausing. Looking up at him, you saw his brows furrowed, a look of consternation on his face. You waited for the blow, the one that eventually led him to leave you friendless once and for all. "I don't think you're a bad person for breaking up with him. I can't imagine that kind of hurt, sure, but if you didn't love him, you did the right thing. Do you—Do you seriously believe you're fucked in the head? Or that you ruin people?"

He was referencing the song you'd written, and you flushed bright red at the idea of him hearing more of the song than you would've liked. Shrugging, you gave him the truth. It didn't seem fit to lie when you'd bared your soul to him. "I don't know."

You could tell that answer didn't sit right with Harry. His frown deepened, and you desperately wanted to see him smile again. "Y/n, everyone makes mistakes in relationships, and even then I don't think you did anything wrong in that moment. Was it unfortunate timing? Maybe, but I don't think you should punish yourself for it anymore. In fact, I think what you did was brave."

"What?"

Smiling, Harry took your hand in his. It was warm, and his long fingers curled around your hand with ease. On any other day, you would've pulled back, but after sharing so much with him, this felt good. It felt right.

"I said what you did was brave," he said again. "You didn't love him, but you could've accepted the proposal and stayed with him. And then what? Leave him at the altar? Stay in a loveless marriage? It was hard, but you did the right thing for you and Gavin. I'm sure even he would come to understand that one day. Have you tried talking to him?"

You shook your head. "He hates me now."

"I don't think anyone could really hate you, Y/n," Harry said quietly, a blush crawling up his cheeks as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I know you might disagree, but I think you might feel a lot better about all of this if you talked to him."

"His family—"

"Fuck his family. Gavin is a grown man who can think for himself," Harry said. "If he can't separate their wrong opinions from his own thoughts, then he's an idiot who never deserved you anyway."

You laughed a little at the first half of what he said. It felt nice to know that someone was on your side. Squeezing Harry's hand, you said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, for being a good friend when I maybe didn't deserve it. Evan's the only person I talked to about this, and even then I didn't explain everything," you said. Evan had been on your side, but it didn't really count to you. He was your brother. He had to be on your side. "I just don't have the best track record when it comes to hurting people, you know?"

Your eyes had fallen to your hand, which was still curled around his, but to your surprise, Harry's other one lifted your chin to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, you looked at him, heart beating a little wilder in your chest when you saw the look on his face. His expression was wide open, earnest and endearing, and filled with...something you weren't ready to see yet. But it filled you with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, you really believed that you didn't have to be alone.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hand pushed a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement made your breath hitch, lips parting as you tried to decide what Harry was going to do next, what you wanted him to do next. He seemed like he was waiting for something too, and his gaze was finally too much, like he could see your soul and was currently shuffling through every little thing you longed for and were afraid of. It was heavy with emotion, and you weren't ready for it.

"You should probably get going soon," you said, rising, with great difficulty, to your feet and putting some distance between yourself and Harry. A frown on Harry's face appeared, and you quickly explained yourself. "Your cat. You probably should head home and feed her."

Before you and Harry sat down to talk about...everything, he briefly mentioned his new kitten, Sweet Pea. "It was the name she already had when I adopted her, and it didn't feel right to change it, though sometimes she's not so sweet." She was a fluffy Ragdoll cat that was apparently quite the diva, and Harry proudly showed off picture after picture, claiming he was already in love with his new furry companion.

Now though, Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought about his new kitten since being here. "Right. Good call. I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded as you watched him gather his things. "I'll return the sweater tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You walked Harry to the door to see him out. He crossed the threshold but paused before heading down to his car. You couldn't read the look that crossed his face, but his lingering gave you one last opportunity to take him all in. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the white t-shirt he wore, and his hair had grown a tad longer since you'd spoken to him last, now curling around the nape of his neck and touching the collar of his shirt. Harry was taller than you, but not by much, though standing this close, it felt like he was a whole foot taller as you craned your neck to look at him.

Then, before you could ask if he'd forgotten something, he leaned forward. It took you a moment to realize what he'd done, but the lingering traces of heat on your forehead helped. He'd kissed you. On the forehead.

"See you tomorrow!"

Harry was gone in a flash, leaving you standing at the front door of your apartment with an open mouth as you tried to decide what his forehead kiss meant. To you, it felt sisterly, and you couldn't help the disappointment that swirled in your gut. You quickly pushed that feeling away, closing the door on whatever happened just then.

*.*

For the next few weeks, everything felt like it was back to normal. Better than normal, even. Despite the awkwardness you felt at having to see Harry after the odd forehead kiss, Harry acted like it never happened, which you were thankful for. You wouldn't have known what to say if he'd brought it up. Or tried to do it again.

But it became clear, despite the teeny tiny budding feelings you might have had for him, that he merely saw you as a friend. After your long talk with him at your apartment, Harry began showing you some of the work he'd been doing in his own studio down the hall from yours. It appeared he was getting over a break up too, though you never would've guessed by how cheerful he was most days. He still was, even as he explained a little about his most recent relationship, and you realized that while you hid your true emotions behind a wall, he might've been hiding behind his happy disposition. It made you want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath all that "fineness."

As you spent more time with Harry, you also began hanging out with his friends. The first time you returned to his house for another game night, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see you, namely Sylvia. "I'm so glad you're spending more time with H," she'd said that night. "I love him to death but he's a clingy motherfucker when he's lonely."

That thought made you laugh. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Harry a while back when he'd said his friends were "disgustingly in love." He seemed like the kind of guy who loved love, but you also didn't want Sylvia, or any of his friends, to get the wrong idea.

"Oh I don't—I mean we're not—I don't think he sees me that way."

That wasn't how you wanted to explain yourself, seeing as you weren't even sure if you saw him that way. But Sylvia must have seen your flushed cheeks and understood your floundering because she smiled at you warmly.

"I think this calls for a girl's day. What do you think?"

"Oh. Um..." You didn't expect any of Harry's friends to want to hang out with you one on one, but you'd been leaning into trying new things lately. And girl's day? You grew up with three brothers, the last time you had anything resembling that was a tea party Hayden and Evan threw for you when you were six. "Sure. I could meet you for lunch this week if you'd like."

"Lunch sounds perfect."

A couple days passed until you had Buddy on his leash, walking down to the cafe you and Sylvia agreed on. You were a little nervous, but mostly excited. It had been a while since you'd hung out casually with a friend—you weren't counting Harry—and while you'd grown accustomed to the loneliness, you couldn't help but acknowledge that it felt nice to talk to someone other than your dog.

"Okay," Sylvia said once the waiter walked away with your orders. She'd held off asking about Harry, but now the time had come. "Hit me. What did Harold do?"

"Nothing," you said, perhaps a little too quickly. When Sylvia pinned you with a stare, you looked down at your glass of water. "He just...He gave me a kiss? On the forehead? And I don't know, it just read very...brotherly."

Sylvia sighed, which at the very least vindicated your feelings. It wasn't like you wanted anything more, but the whole thing left you feeling confused. A cheek kiss would've been easier to navigate, but the forehead? It left Y/n thinking about Harry more than she should've.

"Okay, I can see where you might be confused by that, but as someone with a brother, I can confidently say they don't do shit like that."

You weren't sure what you expected her to say, or what you even wanted her to say, but it wasn't that. Sylvia knew Harry fairly well, so it was safe to say that she was telling the truth, you just weren't ready to accept what she was implying.

"I do too, and I know the last thing I would expect from any of my brothers is a kiss on the forehead, but I don't know," you said, trying to remain as neutral as possible knowing Sylvia could report back to Harry. This whole thing was starting to feel very grade school-esque.

"Just know that Harry's a pretty open guy, but he's been burned in the past so he might be a little closed off or not be as inclined to make the first move," Sylvia said, though in some ways it sounded like a warning. "He's the greatest guy you'll ever meet, and whatever you decide, just be gentle, okay?"

It was hard to imagine someone as positive and happy as Harry having a dark past, but it sounded like there was a lot more than what met the eye as far as he was concerned. It was honestly a little comforting to know that he wasn't perfect. You were such a mess sometimes it seemed unfair that people wandered through life seemingly unscathed. You knew that was rarely ever the case, but sometimes it was hard to remember when guys like Harry walked around embracing life and had smiles for every occasion.

"I will," you promised, and you meant it. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen between you and Harry, but you could appreciate Sylvia looking out for her friend. As nice as she had been to you so far, she was Harry's friend first. Her words made you wonder if you would ever have friends so fiercely loyal to you.

After that lunch with Sylvia, the weeks began to pass by in a blur. There were days when you saw Harry frequently, and then you wouldn't see him at all. He would show up at your studio to get coffee—at a new coffee shop, of course—you stopped by his to bring him and his friends baked goods, and sometimes you would end the night at one another's houses, a bottle of wine and takeout split between the two of you. You weren't dating, at least you wouldn't categorize whatever it was that you were doing as dating, but it felt nice to have someone in your life consistently again, and you liked that Harry was that person even more.

That didn't mean you couldn't read the signs. Sometimes Harry's gaze would linger when he thought you didn't notice, or he would sit a lot closer than was maybe necessary when you hung out with his friends. Sometimes his hand would brush yours as you watched a movie as if he wanted to hold it, and yours would brush back encourgingly, and then suddenly you were holding hands. To anyone else, it might have appeared confusing—in fact, Sylvia had vocalized her confusion over the non-relationship you and Harry were engaging in—but for you, not acknowledging what was happening and not putting any labels or definitions on this thing happening between the two of you was somehow easier to swallow. And since Harry seemed to be following your lead, he didn't say anything to object.

It was around Christmastime that things began to change. You'd spent your morning writing a song for an artist's Christmas album, a feat you'd managed to avoid in the past. But since you'd worked with the artist before and liked the vision she had for this album, you decided to at least try to write a holiday song. It wasn't necessarily that you disliked Christmas or the holidays, you were just indifferent to the season in question, and after everything that transpired two years ago now, you just never felt like celebrating much.

Harry Styles, however, was a huge fan of Christmas. his studio was decked out with lights and garlands, he got him and Sweet Pea matching sweaters, which you weren't entirely sure if he knitted or not, and he'd been bugging you since Thanksgiving to come over to decorate cookies. He'd finally worn you down and you were going over later tonight, but not before putting in a couple hours at the studio, which turned into sitting in on one of Harry's sessions.

It didn't happen often, but you did like seeing the team approach to writing songs as opposed to your usual solitary method. For the most part, you watched as Harry bounced ideas off his friends, observing as they focused on one chord progression or verse until something else stole their attention away. It was a bit chaotic, but everyone in the room seemed to be having fun.

It was in the middle of a heated debate between another fun, upbeat song or beginning to work on a ballad when the melody came to you. It was just piano chords, and had you been in your own studio, you would've immediately sat down to play it and see where it went. But this wasn't your studio, and it wasn't your session, and while you knew no one would've minded hearing your input, you felt nervous all of a sudden, self-conscious.

So instead, you pulled some blank sheet music out and began to scribble, writing as quickly as possible before the melody escaped you. The melody had taken up so much space in your head that everything else faded away. You envisioned arrangements, themes, a line or two sprouting as you wrote down the next note. Something sad and somber, the exact opposite of what Harry had been pushing for since he entered the studio.

"What am I now?" you wrote on the back of the sheet music. You didn't know how it would fit, but it would. You could tinker with the words later, so long as all your thoughts were written down somewhere, you would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you working on over there?"

Harry was suddenly at your side, and when he peeked over your shoulder, you didn't try to hide your frenzied notes. You handed them over, unsure if he even read sheet music. "It was just a thought I had. I can play it for you if you'd like?"

"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the piano in the corner of the room. It was then that you realized that everyone else had left the room at some point or another. At your questioning glance, Harry explained. "Ten minute break, but it felt like you were onto something...And I figured you'd be more willing to share if it wasn't in front of a group."

"Thank you," you said, those pesky butterflies swirling around in your stomach. They seemed to appear any time Harry so much as smiled at you. "It's just a melody, really, but maybe you can use it for something.

You sat down at the piano, eyes widening when Harry sat down beside you. Shaking it off, you focused on the piano, the keys cool and smooth to the touch, a familiar feeling that felt nice among such a different work setting. You explained your thought process to Harry a little bit, telling him the direction you hoped the song would go in and possible arrangements for it and whatnot. Harry, who apparently knew you better than you thought he did, nudged you with his elbow and encouraged you to play, knowing that you were stalling.

It wasn't that you were unsure of yourself or your talent. You knew you were good at what you did. You'd collaborated on multiple albums and worked with many well-known artists and bands, or artists who were just breaking out onto the scene and did so with the help of your songwriting. The difference here was that you normally didn't play an idea for anyone until it was fully realized. You typically sent over demos and typed up lyrics, and Harry would be one of the first to hear something that you'd only just come up with. Besides Buddy, but he didn't really count.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play, letting the chords you'd only just come up with pull your focus. After having played through it a couple times, you looked over at Harry, who had a faraway look in his eyes, an idea of his own forming in his head, perhaps.

"It's fairly simple, but I think that's what's rather beautiful about it," you said while still playing. "Sometimes you don't need much to get a response from someone, and I think a melody like this really allows an artist to shine, you know? Whether that's through their lyrics, or their vocal range, or both. And obviously it can be changed to a different key, this is just the one I wrote down, but...yeah, that's what I've got."

You finally stopped playing to hear Harry's opinion, though you wished you hadn't. Now your hands didn't really know what to do, and it took a lot of effort to keep them knotted together in your lap. Harry still looked pensive, as if he hadn't even heard your rambling, though now you were even more curious to know what he thought.

"Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned toward you, his knee bumping against yours on the piano bench. His eyes cleared up as he remembered he wasn't alone in the studio. "Hm? Sorry, just thinking."

Offering him your pen and a fresh page in your journal, you said, "Did you maybe want to write it down?"

After that, you and Harry wrote hundreds of songs together. At least it felt like a hundred songs. Whether it was in the studio, or at each other's homes—mainly his because he had a home studio and a guest room for when sessions went too long—the two of you were almost always writing together. It wasn't always for his album, either. Sometimes Harry would help you with projects you were working on for other artists, or you would just write songs for the sake of writing them.

And it just worked. It felt like you and Harry just clicked. He was able to vocalize what you were trying to say to his producer, and you knew what he was thinking before he said it or the sound he was going for based off a couple descriptors. You'd never known someone so intimately before, or understood them so completely, Not even Gavin.

Harry was witty and smart and kind and genuine. He felt things deeply, and kept a lot of his darkest secrets and deepest insecurities incredibly close to his chest. You realized at some point that he was even more guarded than you in some ways. As you wrote together more and more, you obviously realized that there was more than met the eye when it came to your friend, but outside of songwriting, he wouldn't divulge much. He'd been through a breakup recently, that much you could tell, and while you wanted to know more, you respected his privacy and the desire to leave the past exactly where it was. Unless it came to the music, of course.

"So...you're what? Friends without all the benefits?" Sylvia asked you.

You met with her pretty regularly now for lunch during the week. Harry wasn't typically the topic of conversation, but on this occasion, Sylvia was giving you the third degree.

"We're co-workers. And friends," you added as an afterthought. Saying you were merely co-workers didn't seem right to you anymore, and you knew Harry would be upset if you thought otherwise. "I don't know what other benefits I would need outside of his companionship."

"Bull. Shit." Sylvia pinned you with a stare that made you blush. "Last weekend he had you practically sitting in his lap, and you're trying to tell me nothing's going on?"

"Not really. I don't think either of us are in a place to be in a relationship right now." It was the same line you fed to Andrew last week when you went to see one of his games. He thankfully bought it, or maybe he was just used to you keeping your love life to yourself, but Sylvia wasn't having it.

"What makes you say that?"

You shrugged. "I mean I'm definitely not, and I can just tell he's not there yet either. I mean, obviously, I've learned about his most recent relationship by working with him, but outside of that, he doesn't tell me anything. I don't even know her name."

You weren't offended that Harry didn't want to share about his ex. You wouldn't have told him about Gavin if you hadn't been put in that particular situation. But you understood better than most about that kind of pain. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe his feelings were getting all jumbled up between the past and the present. Or maybe he just didn't like you that way. The last theory hurt more than you cared to admit, but you were more scared of another potential relationship going up in flames than finding out the truth, so you decided ignorance really was bliss.

Sylvia nodded, understanding. You realized she must've known his ex, though you didn't ask for details. That was Harry's story to tell, not hers, and you were pretty sure Sylvia would say the same if you did ask. "I guess that's fair. But so, you're just...friends who kiss occasionally?"

You nearly choked on your sip of water. "What? No! Of course not. We don't—We—"

"Let me save you the struggle of coming up with an unconvincing lie," Sylvia said. "I've seen you."

"When?"

"Christmas party," she said, raising one finger as if she was about to list a few occurences.

"That was mistletoe. It was innocent," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, even though said hand was suddenly clammy.

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

"Why are you paying that close attention to my neck?"

"And," Slyvia said, pointedly ignoring your last remark. "I have it on good authority that Harry kissed you at the studio last week. Don't try to hide it, Y/n."

Sighing, you said, "So what's your point, exactly?"

"My point is that y'all are just pretending you're not in a relationship when you are!" she said, looking at you as if you had two heads. "Look, it's clear you've been through some shit and Harry has too, I won't deny that. But are you really going to put your happiness on the back burner because of it?"

Your cheeks burned at having been caught. It wasn't like you'd planned to kiss Harry any of those times. Each kiss came as a surprise, leaving you more and more breathless than the last and hopeful for another. What Sylvia didn't know was that you and Harry had kissed a lot more than the handful that she'd rattled off. Sometimes when it was late and you were over at his house working, he'd get this look in his eyes that would turn your whole body molten. He'd lean in close, nudge your nose with his, and then his lips were on yours and time suddenly didn't exist.

You liked kissing Harry. A lot. You liked the way his fingers gingerly held your jaw, you liked that kissing him gave you free rein to touch him wherever you wanted—his hair, his arms, beneath his shirt. Sometimes it felt like you couldn't get enough, but it always ended with one of you pulling away under the guise that it was getting late. Your lips would tingle long after, and you'd text Harry late at night when you should've been asleep, or he would call to talk about whatever he was thinking.

To anyone else, it wouldn't make sense, but it made sense to you and Harry. There was no pressure to be more, no urgency to define what you were doing, and that seemed to work for both of you.

"I'm perfectly happy right now," you said, and you were.

It had been a long time since you'd felt this content. Your breakup with Gavin left you feeling guilty and ashamed. And deep down, you knew you already felt more for Harry than you did for your ex, and that made you feel horrible too. Part of you still felt you were being greedy by trying to be this happy, that you should just take what you were given and try not to press your luck.

Sylvia took you by surprise by taking your hand. Her fingers were warm and reassuring, just as her eyes were when you finally met her gaze. It was safe to say now that she was your friend. She'd come over to your house multiple times for wine and movie nights, you went out to bars together, you'd met her partner, who was the absolute sweetest person on the planet. You valued Sylvia's friendship, and you valued her as a person. You didn't want to lose her if things with Harry progressed and fizzled out.

"It's okay to want more, Y/n," she said gently.

It was like she saw through all the bullshit and realized what you were really scared of. Harry was the only person who knew everything regarding your past relationship, but you told Sylvia bits and pieces. When you'd told her that you broke up with Gavin the night he wanted to propose, she didn't judge you, or ask why you'd throw away a perfectly good relationship. She was empathetic, and said she was sorry you had to go through that. It felt good to confide in someone who was willing to hear your side of the story, to have them realize if you could've loved Gavin the way he loved you, you would've.

"Maybe," you said. "But like I said, I'm not the only one who has shit to work through."

Sylvia nodded, letting the subject drop. But the words she'd said, It's okay to want more, needled at your brain the rest of the day.

*.*

"You should come with me."

You had been watching Sweet Pea doze contentedly on top of Buddy, who was curled in a ball on his dog bed. The two of them were an unlikely pair, but they'd gotten along great the first time they were introduced, and now you found it adorable any time they napped together.

Harry's voice was low and scratchy in your ear, as if he wasn't too far off from sleep himself. You were huddled together under a blanket on your couch, watching the credits roll on the second movie of the night, but you hadn't paid much attention to anything since the moment Harry pulled you to his chest and tucked his chin in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses as his thumbs rubbed circles beneath your shirt.

"What?" you asked, not having really heard him. It seemed impossible, but every day his touch became more and more dizzying.

"To Japan. You should come with me," he said. "It would be like a writing retreat."

Harry had mentioned his impromptu trip to Japan over dinner. He seemed excited about it, of getting out of town for a little while and just being alone with his thoughts. Those were his words, though now he was inviting you along.

"I don't even have a passport," you said, a non-answer, as Harry would call it.

"We'll get you one," he said. "Don't you think it would be fun to explore a new city together? Just the two of us?"

"W—What about Buddy?"

"Buddy can come to," Harry said, like it was all just so easy.

You thought back to your conversation with Sylvia a week ago. It's okay to want more, she'd said. At the time, you were content with this thing you and Harry were doing. It was simple and easy and pressure-free. A couple weeks later her words still nagged you. You hadn't mentioned wanting more to Harry, but this was different. This was...big. Appearing nonchalant didn't make it so.

"What are we?" you found yourself asking, hating how cliche the question was, even if you did need the answer all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but you knew he was too smart to not understand.

Still, you sat up and faced him, forcing him to sit on the other side of the couch to have a proper conversation. "I meant exactly what I said, H. What—What are we doing here exactly?"

Harry's face flushed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed his neck. "I...I don't know. I thought we were okay with not really defining it."

Not defining it, or not talking about it? you thought, even though that wasn't really fair. You were just as content not to ask as he was until now. Or a few weeks ago, you couldn't exactly tell when you began to want more, or when wanting more stopped scaring you.

"I know, but now you're asking me to drop everything and fly to Japan for...for how long exactly?"

Harry shrugged, and your jaw ticked. "A couple months?"

"A couple months," you repeated, trying to align your thoughts. All you could hear though was, It's okay to want more. Taking a deep breath, you said, "I think...I think if I'm going to follow someone across the world for a couple months, I would like a definition about what it is we're doing."

"It's a writing retreat, Y/n. We would be working on songs. Just like we've always done."

You weren't sure when you became the brave one. Perhaps it was your conversation with Sylvia bolstering your confidence, or maybe it was Harry's reluctance to acknowledge the situation at hand, you weren't sure, but his reply wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'd have to find my own hotel," you said. "Or an apartment to rent I guess."

"You'd stay with me obviously," Harry said, and you had to resist the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he started seeing your perspective.

"Co-workers don't live together, H."

"But we're not just co-workers, Y/n. We're—"

Your brows raised, encouraging him to finish, but he ended up shaking his head. Running a tired hand over his face, he said, "I understand what you mean, but I can't...I can't give that to you right now."

You nodded, then stood up. "And I can't go to Japan without it."

It hurt, but at least he was being upfront about how he felt. It wasn't really fair of you to ask for more when both of you had been content to keep things simple. But somewhere down the line, you realized you liked Harry. A lot. You were okay with leaving your history with Gavin in the past, and you wanted to look to the future now. You'd thought that the future might include a relationship with Harry, but he wasn't ready, and you weren't sure if you wanted to wait. So much of the last two years had been waiting, hiding. Now you needed more. You craved it.

You felt like you were in some kind of alternate universe. One where Harry was scared and unsure of himself and unable to admit to what he wanted. You wanted more, and you weren't going to settle for anything less. You wanted to be more than his friend whom he kissed sometimes, you wanted to hear his scratchy voice as he woke up beside you, and you knew he did too, but something was holding him back. You'd spent too much time hiding from life and love to hide with him some more. Part of you wanted to, just because it was Harry, and you cared about him a lot, but a bigger part of you knew what you deserved, and it was okay to acknowledge that.

"I understand," he said, standing up with you.

Both of you were quiet as he gathered his things. You watched his broad shoulders shrug into his coat, the lean frame of his body bend down to put Sweet Pea in her little carrier. You felt the loss of him already, and he hadn't even gone yet, but you could feel the wall going up between the two of you. Both of you were guarded in your own ways, and both of you had been as vulnerable as you could be, but it wasn't enough.

"When are you planning on leaving?" you asked as you walked him to the door.

"Couple weeks," he said. "Just have to get the logistics figured out."

Nodding, you stepped into his offered embrace, letting yourself inhale the scent of his cologne and feel his arms around you for the last time for a while. His nose bumped yours in a move that was so familiar it made your heart squeeze. You weren't sure how long you stood like that, kissing until you couldn't breathe, it was only until Buddy's wet nose nudged the two of you apart that you finally stepped away from him. Harry bent down to scratch your dog's head and let him lick his cheek a few times before straightening back up. He was about to turn and leave when you called his name.

"I don't know what happened," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "If you did something or if she did something to make you so...closed off, and from one heavily guarded person to another, I'm sorry that it happened and that it made you this way. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in Japan."

Harry grinned, but it wasn't wide enough to show his dimples. Without saying a word, he left, head bent as he walked down the hall, taking a piece of you with him.

Buddy nudged your leg, pulling away from the hall Harry already disappeared down. Your dog's eyes were big and curious and completely unaware of what was wrong, which brought a watery smile to your face. "Come on, bubba. Let's get ready for bed."

[divine-donna]

hey, can you make Miguel O'Hara X gender neutral reader? Where reader (Miguel lover) accidentally get teleport or glitch in the spider verse where they (the Spidey's) were in the middle of chasing miles? Thank you! <3

hi anon. i'm happy to write this for you.

i wrote this in the form of headcanons rather than a fic. i'm still recuperating from finishing dragon age: inquisition, the succession finale (even if it was like a week ago), my adrenaline high from the across the spiderverse, and the other things i have written already.

some creative additions i made: this is a spidey! reader. i think it naturally made more sense to have a spidey! reader rather than a civilian. i would have to jump through a lot of hoops for a civilian reader to make sense and my brain does not have the capacity to jump through those hoops right now.

you deserved a well needed rest. after all the work you had been pulling to keep the multiverse safe, it was the least you deserved. especially a nap.

what you didn't expect when you went home was to just fall asleep on the couch.

you had gone out with your friends, finally caught up with them, and changing into some comfortable lounging clothes. you had plans to watch the newest 3 hour long ego project the director called a movie. and naturally because it was 3 hours long and an ego project filled with nothing, you ended up falling asleep.

what you forgot to take off was your multiversal band. you always kept it on in case of emergencies.

you also had a habit of rolling around in your sleep a bit. and you don't have the best luck with technology.

naturally your band malfunctions and you're thrown into the portal and transported back to hq.

ideally you didn't want to be falling through the space. but you were. and that woke you up.

"fuck! fuck! fuck!"

you had no web shooters. why would you? who sleeps with web shooters anyways? (actually there are some spider people that might)

and the worst part is, no one seemed to notice that you were falling. because they were busy doing something else.

when you squinted your eyes, you saw what was happening: every single spider-person that was at hq was chasing after one singular spider-person.

you didn't know who it was but from the looks of it, it looked like a young spider-person. someone who was only a kid.

if only you weren't just free falling-

"(y/n)! what are you doing here!" a familiar voice exclaims.

he caught you in midair, swinging safely to the nearest platform that wasn't stampeding with spider people and other variations of spider totems to set you down.

you took in his appearance. his hair was disheveled and his fangs were poking out. you also noticed his talons were out too and his breathing was heavy.

"i...i was teleported here on accident." you explain. "what is going on?"

"i can't talk right now. go back home! it's supposed to be your day off!" he gives you a small kiss on your cheek and prepares himself to jump off the platform.

"miguel, who is that?"

"miles morales. he disrupted a canon event and now the multiverse is at stake! and we're trying to prevent him from causing another one."

"okay well did you try talking to him?"

"of course!" he exclaims, turning to look at you. "it's the first thing i did. but he doesn't want to listen. now i have to catch him before he disappears!"

he doesn't even wait for you to respond before jumping off. as much as miguel loved you and loved talking to you and cherished your presence, he had to catch up to miles. he had to stop him.

he had to save the multiverse.

you were left with a sinking pit in your stomach. something told you that today was not the day to take off.

but first you needed to find lyla or margo to help with your watch so you can grab your suit and equipment and come back.

[7-wonders]

In Waking Hours

Roommate!Calliope & GN!Reader (platonic)

Summary: Calliope's planning to enjoy a nice, quiet evening sitting outside under the moon and enjoying her relative freedom when she sees you still haunted by a particularly brutal nightmare. Plans change, because she's not about to let you face the worst parts of her former husband's realm alone, obviously.

Word count: 3.6k

A note from the author: (You don't have to, but you'll have a lot more backstory if you read To the world we dream about first)

Shitty summary but you have a nightmare and Calliope's like "well this is my emotional support human so I can't not help!" WOW this is the first time I've felt truly inspired when writing in months. S/o Calliope girl hope I'm doing you proud by giving you the stories and love you deserve.

So, I know that this isn't going to get a lot of love since there's no actual Morpheus in this, just mentions which means my normal tags can’t be used, but I love this little fic-verse I've created so much that I have to write it. (All this is to say please show this fic some love if you enjoyed!!!) This isn't romantic, but there are definitely romantic fics in the pipeline. The nice thing about a loose fic-verse is that there are plenty of fics for you to read if you don't want an eventual throuple :)

(But hopefully there will be plenty of fics for you to read if you do want an eventual throuple)

I would be remiss to not shout out the reason this fic-verse exists in the first place and the person that I can talk about any and every random fic idea with, the lovely @ivandra-winters! Thank you, thank you, thank you for everything.

Calliope doesn’t really sleep well anymore.

Not that she needs sleep in general. She’s a goddess, after all, and divine beings such as herself only sleep because they want to, because they feel like indulging in all the wonders available to them upon closing their eyes. Few things truly and regularly excite beings of myth, but the Dreaming is one of those few things. Only very rarely, such as in cases of extreme injury, do they need to sleep. Mostly, sleeping is a comfort, a way to pass the time.

In the early days of her imprisonment, after Erasmus Fry first captured her, Calliope thought that she would use sleep for both. Though her relationship with her husband had ended about as terribly as a relationship can end, the Dreamlord had never reneged on his promise to always give Calliope the sweetest of dreams. She would rest, then, and find a distraction and comfort in the Dreaming until someone, be it her sisters or her mothers or somebody seeking her favor, would save her.

Then, she found out all the terrible things one person can do to another while they’re unconscious.

Even though she’s now safe, the once-familiar action no longer comes easy to her. Almost every time she’s tried—and those have been few and far between—she wakes up in a panic before she can fall asleep enough to even make it to the Dreaming. When she closes her eyes, she sees them once more. Both of them, Fry and Madoc, taking what was never theirs in the first place. She feels their cruel, rough hands on her body, hears their voices demanding that she give them inspiration for their works. 

(Works that she wishes would be little more than drivel. But no, nothing inspired—forcefully or not—by her could ever be drivel. They’re wild successes every time, and so the men just continue to take take take until Calliope thinks that she has nothing left to give. But she does, because she is the Muse of Epic Poetry, and for as long as people still believe in her, she shall be a source of inspiration. And so she continues to be drained like a tree of its sap, an essence so integral to her being that she knows not who she is without it. Until one day, when Madoc returns to his home ranting and raving—and there is a knock at the door.)

Calliope’s been doing some reading on the device that you gave her, the one that’s like a digital library, and she believes she might have what today’s humans call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The inability to sleep, the flashbacks, the ever-present hum of vigilance that still thrums under her skin and warns her that the threat might be just around the corner—it’s all there, and it’s all her. It’s humiliating to think about it as a possibility, and more humiliating still to see herself in the words written. 

Goddesses shouldn’t have trauma! They shouldn’t even be in a position where trauma could be inflicted on them! She misses the age when she was at her strongest, the age when people worshipped the very ground she walked on, dropping to their knees in reverence and begging for her gifts.

But that world is long gone, and Calliope has landed in a new one that is entirely foreign to her. Slowly, though, she likes to think that she’s adjusting. Since the night is long and sleeping is not an option for her at present, she finds other ways to pass the hours when the rest of the world rests. The 21st century is new and exciting, and there is much to catch up on. 

Not only is she learning more about this new world, but she’s also learning herself all over. There are hobbies that she gets to discover once more, enjoyments that she forgot were hers. She listens to music (music now is…very different from even a hundred years ago, but there have been some works that she enjoys) and reads—not just the books that tell her things about herself that she does not wish to hear, but she reads epics! And poetry! How she missed poetry; that special language so near and dear to her, the words of her most favorite patrons. She reads all that she can get her hands on, good and bad, for the simple pleasure of being able to read once more.

Oftentimes, she simply enjoys the quiet at night. She basks in the knowledge that she can do what she wants, when she wants, with nobody lording over her or imposing their will. Yes, she is still technically bound to a human, but that is a non-issue. Calliope knows with absolute certainty that you have no idea of who she is or what Richard Madoc had done when he declared that she was your problem now.

She likes living with you, though it has been an adjustment being what you call a ‘roommate’ instead of a captive. Whereas the two men (if such brutes can be referred to as men) had been the worst of humanity, she finds humanity endearing when she sees it through your lens. How can she not develop a fondness for you, with how earnestly you try to include her in your life and make her feel like she belongs? 

There is also some level of comfort to be gained from the blissful ignorance you live in, the way that you believe your world to be black-and-white with no potential of the things you were taught to be nothing more than myths and stories. To you, such tales don’t exist—Calliope, the Muse, doesn’t exist—and Calliope, the woman, feels that she is able to let her guard down for the first time in a long, long time.

At times, she can feel your desperation for some sort of inspiration, lost as you attempt to complete your studies. It is comforting to know that you have no idea the being that you now share a home with. It is even more comforting to know that she has the choice of whether to grant you some inspiration or not. 

Tonight, Calliope decides for herself once more, and thinks that she would rather like to sit outside on the patio and enjoy the late night. With her mind made up, she sneaks out of her bedroom with a blanket in one hand and a book in the other.

“Oh!” Calliope gasps in surprise, startled upon seeing a figure sitting on the couch. 

Moonlight shines through the curtains that were most definitely closed a few short hours ago and illuminates your face staring out at the dark. She relaxes, but her fear immediately shifts to concern upon seeing what look to be tear tracks drying on your face.

“Hey. I’m sorry.” Just as she suspected, your voice is thick with tears. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Do not apologize,” she lightly chastises you. “Are you alright?”

You nod and use your sleeve to wipe under your eyes. “Yeah.”

It’s obvious that you’re planning on leaving it at that, which simply won’t do. Calliope levels you with a stare (a ‘mom stare,’ you teasingly referred to it as the first time she used it, without knowing how true your words were. One day, she thinks, she’ll tell you about Orpheus. Once the pain of losing him stops hurting so much) that you try your hardest to act unaffected by. You sigh after a moment, knowing that the fight is lost.

“I had a nightmare,” you admit. “And like, I’m not a little kid anymore. So why did this nightmare scare me so badly that I literally woke up and jumped out of bed in fear?”

Well, that explains why she heard a noise of surprise from your room, followed by a loud thump. She assumed that you hadn’t yet gone to bed, that you were up late finishing a project or just plain procrastinating your sleep. Why your late night required what sounded like the moving of furniture was beyond her. But no, instead, you’ve found yourself at the whims of a nightmare. 

Nightmares are not something that Calliope has a lot of experience with. She’s met nightmares, of course. With how much time she spent in the Dreaming, it was a foregone conclusion that she met a nightmare or two. And when they weren’t performing their duties, a lot of them were really quite nice!

(The only nightmare she truly could not stand was her former husband’s most beloved creation—The Corinthian. He…creeped her out, for lack of a better term. It wasn’t just the ocular mouths, though those were also chill-inducing. Rather, it was his entire demeanor. Like he was simply playing nice, biding his time before he could go in for the kill. She was glad to have never seen him again after the end of her marriage.)

But has Calliope ever actually dealt with a nightmare? The lives of immortals are long (obviously), and while she may have once had nightmares when she was very young, it was so long ago now that she can’t remember any particulars. Even when her own son was young, nightmares were not truly a concern. Though she and Morpheus had mutually agreed that he needed to sleep like a normal child at least sometimes in order to aid in his development, the very first time his little brow creased and frightened whimpers began to well in his throat, that decision was quickly forgotten in favor of comforting the boy and assuring him that nightmares would harm him no longer.

So, while it’s true that she does not have much experience with nightmares, what little experience she has had helps her to know just how frightening they can be—and how frightened it’s made you. 

“Would talking about it make you feel better?” Calliope asks.

You shake your head resolutely, determined to keep your fears to your chest. “I don’t remember it anymore.”

For many mortals, dreams and nightmares do not follow them out of the Dreaming. They may remember snippets of it, or certain emotions, but often, they fade away in the few hazy moments after waking. It’s pretty obvious that this isn’t the case for you, however. You continue to hold yourself tense, as though whatever had troubled you while you slept would reappear at any moment. Calliope has also seen you deep in thought a couple of times now, and the way you were looking outside when she first stepped out of her room was the same way she had seen you look when trying to complete schoolwork or focus on making something complicated. 

Up until now, you’ve tried so hard to always be positive and to make your home and yourself as comforting as possible so that Calliope may have the best possible environment to heal. She appreciates it—this new life she’s found herself in has truly been conducive to recovery—but now, she struggles to watch you try to keep up this facade so as not to lay your upsets upon her. She wishes that you would, though; that you would feel like you can confide in her the same way that you have made her feel towards you. After all that you’ve done for her, you deserve to feel like you have gained a friendship. 

Calliope will let you keep your secrets, then, even though this means that particular avenue of help is closed—she will not force you to do anything that you do not want to do. She moves on to Plan B, into the kitchen where she fumbles around until finding the kettle. Filling it with water, she places it on a burner and turns the stove on. Though she’s still not very confident around newer inventions like kitchen appliances, she’s proud of the fact that she’s slowly learning.

At the sounds, you peek up from the couch. “What are you doing?”

“What you’ve done for me when I find myself particularly upset,” she says, fetching two mugs from the cupboard.

“You’re making me tea?” Your voice sounds strangled, as though you can’t imagine why she would be providing you this small comfort.

You first started making tea for Calliope on the night that she technically became ‘yours.’ After locking herself in the bathroom and scrubbing her skin raw under the stream of hot water until she was sure that every inch of her body was clean from the DNA of another, she spent an interminable amount of time just enjoying the knowledge that she was now safe. While it was true that you were still practically a stranger, she had lived for long enough now and had honed her gifts well enough to be able to get a good read of a person’s intentions.

From the moment that she met you, you held none of the same ill will as the others. No, your immediate concern had been making sure that she was warm. When was the last time somebody cared for how she felt? She watched intently as you grabbed a coat from your vehicle, sure that, at any moment, your intentions toward her would change. Though she didn’t believe that she had the power (both strength and will) to fight you off, she would not be caught off-guard if it came to that.

But it never did. You simply wanted to make sure that she was out of harm’s way. You concluded on your own that whatever had happened to her in that house, at the hands of the man you called your professor, was horrific. To you, Calliope was a woman, battered and scared, with nothing to her name and nowhere to go. It was the obvious option to offer her food and shelter, to ensure her safety, simply because it was the right thing to do.

Still, even after your show of immense kindness, she did not want to face you, for some part of her was waiting for the inevitable. When you would demand the use of her gifts, wanting inspiration and fame and power and riches. She was dreading the potential that you were simply another human wanting to take take take. So she waited until the water ran cold and she was shivering. Even then, it took until she physically could stand the water no longer for her to finally make slow moves to get ready to leave the bathroom. Toweling herself off and putting on the borrowed clothes (clothes that actually covered her skin, so much more than the satin slips that she had been granted by her former captors) could only take so long, so with a heavy sigh, she steeled herself and opened the door.

There was no sign of you, however, and a quick glance at the light from under the closed door of one bedroom indicated that you were inside. The only sign of life that proved that you were once in this space was a plate and a mug sitting on the counter. When Calliope cautiously got closer, she saw a note next to them. 

“Made you some dinner and tea. I’ve always been told that tea (or your preferred hot beverage of choice) can do wonders for making you feel better, and I’ve found that to be true a few times now. Sweet dreams!”

Your name was signed at the end, along with what looked like a drawing of a smile.

Aware of the very real possibility that this could be a trap—Fry, after all, had first tried to woo her before taking what he believed to be his by force—she hastily grabbed the ceramicware and made off to the room that you had called hers. She had no real need for food, of course, nor for bathing. But they were those same creature comforts that not even the gods were above, and beyond sporadic, cold baths, they were creature comforts she had been denied for over sixty years. Calliope would take any that she could get, especially when they were (seemingly) freely given. Unfortunately, she was not in a position to spurn such gifts right now.

These gifts kept coming, without an expectation of anything in return from her. She was free to take whatever she wanted, go anywhere she liked, do anything she wished. And you were always there to cheer her on and encourage her, with a smile on your face and (when she wanted it) tea in hand.

“‘Make’ should perhaps be used loosely.” She smiles sheepishly, back in the present as the kettle begins to warm. “Depending on how much of your help I shall need after the water boils.”

You wrap a blanket around yourself and make your way to Calliope. “Then we’ll make it together.”

After the tea has been successfully prepared and you’re both settled back on the couch with a large blanket shared between you, Calliope asks, “Do you have nightmares often?”

“Not like when I was little. I was one of those kids that had night terrors, y’know?” She doesn’t know, because she has never heard of them more beyond being mentioned in passing when she was still wife to Dream of the Endless, but she nods regardless. “Apparently, I would just scream and shake until I ran out of breath and woke myself up.”

“I am so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. Like most kids with night terrors, I never remembered them.” You take another sip from your mug. “This is good tea, by the way.”

“You are the one that determined when the tea was done steeping.”

“Yeah, but you boiled the water, which is an integral part of tea-making.” You smile at her, the first smile she’s seen from you tonight, and it makes her feel a little better, like she’s doing something right. “So well done.”

You fall quiet, having said what you wanted to say regarding your nightmare and choosing instead to enjoy your tea. Though you’re content with companionable silence, Calliope is not. She feels like she should be doing more to help you, to comfort you. Caring for another, helping someone to feel better, does not come easily to her like it once did. She has been burned for too long now, that caring nature snuffed out early on in her imprisonment. But slowly, like the first blades of grass pushing back through the soil of a blackened landscape after a wildfire, new life has started to grow in the middle of this scorched area of her heart. She wants to help you, to care for you. 

She wants to make you feel better.

“My younger sister, Thalia, is far better at this than I,” Calliope admits with a sigh.

“Better at what?”

“At cheering people up.” 

Indeed, Thalia did not preside over comedy for no reason. Many times over the years that she’s been unwillingly away from her family, Calliope found herself wishing that Thalia would be right next to her. She loves all of her sisters equally, but Thalia would have effortlessly known what to say or told an anecdote that would have made her imprisonment easier. Perhaps it would have even given her the extra strength needed to truly fight and find a way out.

You bump Calliope’s shoulder with your own. “You’ve done a really good job of that yourself, Cal.” 

She feels her chest warm, both at the compliment and the term of endearment. Somewhere along the way, you (and your friends, who are just as kind and welcoming to her as you have been) adopted a nickname for her. This is new for her—prior to her imprisonment, she was Calliope, eldest of the Muses Nine, Beautiful-Voiced, Chief of All Muses. She has always been Calliope. But now, sometimes she is Callie, or Cal. Those who call her this do not know that they are in the presence of a goddess, that she should be commanding the respect that she deserves from mortals who believe her one of them.

Instead, she finds that she loves having a nickname.

“You have…eight sisters, right?” you ask.

“Yes. Thalia is the second youngest.” Calliope has only spoken about her sisters in the most vague of ways, hesitant to reveal too much. Telling you the names of a sister or two certainly won’t hurt.

“It must be so much fun when you’re all together.”

Calliope smiles wistfully, feeling that familiar pang of homesickness. “It is. There are lots of laughs shared, and we all leave with enough stories to last until we see one another again.”

It hits her almost as soon as the words leave her mouth: There is something that she can do to help. She can do what she does best, that which is her chief function. She can tell you a story. Already the words come to her, the tale writing itself within her, nestled right at the hollow of her throat, and just waiting for her to speak it aloud. Her inspiration, her gift, is used on herself for the first time in a long time, and as her mind goes to work, she remembers why it is that she is so coveted. It feels intoxicating to think up a story once more, to be inspired to create. It’s an old feeling, one that was once so familiar to her, that it feels quite like a homecoming for her to be experiencing it once more.

“Have I ever told you of the wager that Thalia and our sister Mel once had?” she asks, baiting you.

You look at her curiously and take said bait. “No.”

Calliope smiles, feeling her power hum within her as, for the first time in a long, long time, she prepares an epic of her own. “Well, it started one summer…”

•••

Fic-verse taglist! (If you want to be notified when future parts drop, shoot me a message or an ask and I'll add you!)

@aralezinspace @morpheusbaby3 @juwu-theliciosa @pageswithoutaplot @thatonehumanbeing05

[finniestoncrane]

First of all, congrats for the 1,5k followers! I love your account! It's the main reason I'm checking Tumblr now and then and it really encouraging me to get to writing on Tumblr myself, though I'm still building up the confidence to do it 👉👈🥺

Jumping on the Vill-inn bandwagon, I'd love a blind date please!

I'm a 21 year-old ace Frenchie (afab, but I go by they/them in english) who wants to study cybersecurityI'm a big Sherlock Holmes nerd and usually I love murder mysteries and lovecraftian horror as an aestheticI want to get into witchcraft as well, for now I'm trying to learn tarot but I'd love to get more into itAlso a big videogames player, these days I do A LOT of Dead by Daylight (I'm trying to get into horror but I'm a bit of a scaredy cat) I'm a former gifted kid, so lots of people pleasing and a lack of self-confidence here, and a sprinkle of social anxiety to spice it up lol

And, once more, félicitations! You deserve it!

💜 blind date 💜 the kitchen is now closed! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: oh god anon that's the nicest thing ;-; definitely share your writing with me if you feel comfortable i'd love to read it ;-; 💚

"Oh, hi. You're finally here. Welcome to the Vill-Inn. I'll show you to your table. If you could... either eat quick and get out of here or be the designated spokesperson for your table, that would be great. We're already sick of your date. Have a nice time..."

That's not really giving you a huge vote of confidence in how well this evening will go, but as you approach your date, you recognise him instantly. He doesn't need an introduction, but he offers you one anyone.

"Hello, Edward Nygma, you're welcome, by the way."

You can push aside the arrogance, The Riddler is as infamous as they come, so you can see why he might have developed an ego. he settles down quite quickly, also, which makes starting the evening a bit smoother than the introductions were.

When you actually get a chance to get a word in, you reveal your interest in cyber security.

"This isn't supposed to be a job interview... but I'm going to keep you in mind for a 'project' I have coming up."

Edward is quick to tell you he enjoys testing the limits of cyber security, or rather pushing them to it. It's like solving a puzzle. A mystery, where the solution is behind codes and passwords.

"I'm the Holmes, you could be my Watson?"

He grins wide when you laugh at his joke, mentioning your interest in Sherlock Holmes, as well as horror and the occult. These are subjects Edward isn't well-versed in, so he spends the next hour grilling you intensely, taking in as much knowledge as you can give him and thanking you profusely for giving him ever more information.

Once he's prattled on about his own love for video games off of your own admission about how much you enjoy them, he decides it's probably only polite to ask you a bit more about yourself, to get a feel for your personality, though he is desperate to talk about himself more.

When he learns how much you have in common though, he feels satiated in his desire for companionship. You're someone who might just get him. He too, struggled in childhood with his intelligence and the pressure placed on him because of it. Though, he's gone the opposite route. He prefers to disappoint people, and he's got, if he can admit it himself, possibly too much self-confidence. But he can always hope that some of that rubs off on you... if you're willing to spend more time with him, that is.

"Which of course you do! Who wouldn't?"

You can almost hear the wait staff rolling your eyes, but you're surprisingly only finding yourself falling for him more with each ridiculous statement he makes.

[protect-daniel-james]

honestly, i'd talk about fanfic with you all day and would totally ask you all of these, but how about: ❤️, 🥴 (however you define weird), 🌶️, 🏆, 🫣

haha thank you!

The fanfiction that holds a special place in your heart

Definitely the fics that were at the beginning of now "big" ships - I was the second person to post a Rakidrić fic on AO3, and the first person to post a Gavi/Pedri fic in there. I like being ahead of the curve, to be kind of "proven right" about certain chemistries being interesting and appealing. And I like the idea that someone thought of Gavi/Pedri fic, searched AO3, and mine was The One fic that was there in their time of need - before others eventually got the balls to write one as well (and now there's almost 350 fics with Gavi/Pedri, which is amazing, since it's a lovely ship). So these two will always be kind of special in this sense. I wrote a bunch of unpopular/rare ships, and I don't strive to write what's popular or what most people would read - I hope that someone might read my fic and think - this makes sense, why didn't I know/think about this pairing; rather than being one of the billions who write about Messi/Ron or Messi/Neymar etc.

I also wrote the first Harry Kane/Pochettino fic, and I'm sad and disappointed there's not more about them! (they deserved it)

Your weirdest fanfiction

In terms of pairing, definitely the Unai/Football one, but I am proud of it and once again - I think it is subtle and it makes sense. Like, it's written in a way that could convince someone to ship them, haha (I hope). I think the weirdest in the sense of story itself it's probably Italian Cuisine. I cringe at the stuff I wrote about Ronaldo/Dybala, because a lot of it was pure PWP with a bit of angst. It was really explicit compared with what I've been writing lately; and it's basically meaningless porn that's not really my style anymore. It feels weird to me now that I was like - oh sure, lets write about Ron fucking Dybala with a cucumber. There's no other meaning, or reason, or any sort of explanation.... It's literally just that. And I think I don't like writing stuff like that anymore.

I wrote a lot of "weird" things in terms of incest, omorashi, piss kink, priest!AU, priest kink, Basque separatism!AU, or even more in the past - Trudeau/Macron PWP lol ... But I think all of these were justified/served the story/served the exploration of the dynamic - but there is just no excuse for the cucumber story, period.

Your spiciest fanfiction

Uuufff, that's difficult to say since I find most of my PWPs from 2018-2019 cringy (and that's when I wrote most of the spicy stuff). Probably Rakidrić's Never knew anyone in love or Three is a charm (Two is not the same) about Kane/Poch/Southgate threesome. And of course, the priest kink with Dalić/Modrić (and it was my first risqué fic, or a fic that I felt like some people might have a problem with), I do like a priest kink hehehehe. Once again I would write it a bit differently and probably more...subtly today? I think I wrote a couple of nice spicy PWP things back in the day, but now I feel like I use smut scarcely, non-explicitly, or as a tool to depict someone's deep desperation and inability to connect/communicate in other way (Lampardverse, Frank/Mason, Scamacca/Paquetá...)

The fanfiction you are the most proud of

Right now, probably The Stands of Villa Park. Ngl, some parts made me emotional, because it made me think of the reasons why ppl love football so much, and how important it is, how it is part of life (I wrote my Master's thesis about something slightly covering this subject, so naturally I am passionate about it) - and it gave me an opportunity to explore all of this in a deeper, visceral manner of someone who would not survive without football, who needs it more than food and drink, and who needs all his senses filled with football, football, and only football.

I'm proud of the whole Lampardverse experience (but it's not my verse wink wink) and its stories because it just makes sense and explains a lot.

I think atmosphere wise, I really like Briefly and We'll Always Have London because of the heavy implications and what is left unsaid - the unrequited feeling in the former, and the relationship breaking up in the latter. I like having that in fics.

The fanfiction you were most hesitant to post

The Grizicest saga. I feel like it was sort of an appetizer before Lampardverse, and a lot of the themes first explored in Grizicest are now being rediscovered in Lampardverse. I actually got one anon hate for the Grizou, Grizou story on my previous blog loooool. Today, I would write it differently, definitely. But the main plot would probably stay mostly the same.

Also, today I wouldn't care at all about someone hating on that story. Look, (wo)man, I feel like writing a story about Unai fucking a football pitch. Or a trophy. Or Scamacca pissing on Paquetá, or Cousin Jamie breeding Franko. What are you going to do about it? As I said in the notes for my last fic, patrolling days are over.

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 5

CW: reluctant Whumper, way too much exposition, card games, insults, alcohol, fade to black gore

PART 4 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 6

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There was no way to tell how much time had passed now, the barricaded window frames didn't even let a sliver of sunlight crack through them. Elliot doubted to get any kind of power or heating going, though the temperature inside remained at a continuous chilly level. If he had to guess, focusing on what his gut told him, they slowly approached the late afternoon. Not that this changed anything, the brightness of Morris' table lamp dictated any change of lighting, he didn't want to find out what would happen if the battery ran out.

What started as a quick match of Crazy Eights turned into hours of shuffling, dealing and frustrated sighs Morris let echo through the tension between them. Looking the man up and down, with long stubble slightly darker than his chestnut curls, Elliot noticed how he also started to relax into this new dynamic. If only for a second he could forget how they came to be here, his designated company would deserve to be this enjoyable.

This satire of a game night was originally supposed to get him more leeway, along with acting as some sort of damage control. His anxiety-induced fits had irritated his opponent visibly, so he was lucky to be given a chance to make this right.

Make him like me, whatever that means-

To humiliate him back was a tempting option, but only if he decided that his bones weren't vital anymore. Sadly, both were well-versed enough in the children's game to keep each other on edge, dragging a single round into infinity.

So what's the right ratio of wins to satisfy a sadist? Elliot had to ask himself that question after a particularly tricky match, as his victory let Morris'  face bloom with an unhealthy crimson hue. 2 to 1? Or even a 70 percent success rate?

Only one truth was disclosed to him: The man really loved Crazy Eights. Taking every round as a fight for survival, Morris chewed his nails down to a stump, frantically looking at his hand and back towards the upcard of the waste pile. Elliot decided to lose this round again, preferably before the air was squeezed out of his throat.

Their game was barely interrupted, aside from a bathroom break and dinner consisting only of a protein bar. Elliot couldn't remember when they properly started to talk about all the world and his brother, but Morris tried desperately to enthrall him for the local baseball team, just to be rewarded with fake enthusiasm flowing into trivial queries about sports. The questions were genuine, though, Elliot couldn't keep him going otherwise.

Card games: fun. Screaming and crying: no fun. Doesn't really sound like a textbook sadist. Not that made a difference, at the end of the day, Morris was just a man. A violent, reckless one, but still a man.

I can work with that.

It was sad in a way, how much he seemed to enjoy his unwilling company. Maybe that's what the wanted all along: friends for rent.

What felt now like an age-old question continued to nag the back of his mind, the key component to his escape: Why him?

If he was acting hard to get, then Elliot would need to get a little more brisk.

"So, what do you do when you're not teaching me basic sports knowledge?" he asked, using a beat of Morris' pause to start the offense. He wouldn't spell out his social security number, sure, but it was worth a shot.

"This." Blunt in his reveal, Morris didn't even meet the eyes of his captive, too busy planning out a winning strategy. Elliot found himself to be less than underwhelmed, hoping for a helpful twist he could use as bait.

"We can't all sell stocks, now can we?"

"I...don't. Who told you that?" The ransom aspect made a lot more sense now, someone really had to hate him to make up those kinds of lies. His only answer was a shrug.

"I'm a part-time office clerk." he tried to explain himself, not sure if it would really help his case, "I-I write you an email if the gas prices increase again or your energy was shut off, but I have nothing to do-"

"Thrilling, really." Morris responded dryly, only slightly irritated he played the seven of clubs.

He does make losing difficult. Ignoring the couple of clubs already in his hand, Elliot drew another card. Walking on eggshells with that kind of opponent is risky, I shouldn't push too hard.

"Your turn," he said instead of another lecture.

He lost this round gladly, managing to turn the atmosphere into a relaxed caution of both parties again. During his shuffle to prepare the next one, Morris seemed to reflect.

"What about the other part? The one where you're not a corporate slave?"

So you don't know everything, alright.

"I use the office to finance the half of my life I really love: Music!" he explained, hoping to get some bonus points for dramatics, "When my colleagues and I start to play together-"

"You're in a band?!" During his short stay at Morris unusual establishment he already got used to being interrupted, at least the bait finally worked.

"Well, I-"

A short buzzing stopped him again, but this time they stayed quiet. Morris just got a message. Eyeing the phone on the table with a breathless intensity, Morris just had a mild sigh to offer: "Don't get too excited now, it's not what you think."

He laid the stack of cards face-down onto the table, careful not to scatter them everywhere, and fished for an object in his inside pocket. During the rummage through the leather jacket, Elliot didn't dare to speak, not wanting to ruin the sprout of hope inside him.

Morris finally got a grip on his desired object, pulling out another phone. Elliot would recognize the slick wooden case anywhere, his father bought it for his birthday. The screen was marked with fresh thin cracks, probably caused by his drop on the wet concrete.

I fell, he grasped, No! He made me...

Without warning, Morris reached over the table to grab the other man's right hand, still rubbed open at the wrists. Elliot let himself go limp, like it was already trained response, while his thumb was pressed against the front of the screen. As quickly as Morris grabbed him, he also released.

With now unlimited access to his data, Elliot could do nothing but gawk at the audacity with which his captor seemed to navigate through his phone, reading the newest message in silence.

Keeping it on - practically running around screaming to be arrested. He was no sadist, just a big fucking idiot. Elliot prayed that he would act exactly as stupid as he seemed to be. His colleagues ought to be too angry with him to just ignore his absence. A call had to be made, one he didn't accept, so they started to worry...

"Brooke wishes you a speedy recovery!" was all Morris had to say. Brooke Hoffstetter, first violin, just a few rows in front of him. "A bit late, but still very considerate of her."

"Why?" he whispered, his hope slowly shrinking.

"You have a nasty stomach flu and couldn't make it to practice, it seems," Morris casually told the man he had the nerve to impersonate, "Let's hope I don't catch anything."

"Fuck you!" The words just tumbled out of Elliot's mouth, unable to hold it back anymore.

He felt like crying again, the same helplessness overcoming him in waves, just like it had many hours beforehand. He thought he made progress, but he was exactly where Morris wanted to have him. Nice and quiet, stuck to a chair. No one was coming.

"You know, I like you better when you stop shoving your head up my ass," he continued, a sound close to a chuckle carried his words right to Elliot's ear, turning fear into anger.

"At least they don't hate you for coming late again. She claimed that your conductor was pretty pissed, but don't worry, everything is taken care of. I'll just send Brooke a thumbs up, she seems so well organized."

The inside of his mouth had started to bleed. Elliot bit down on his cheek with such a force, so any other insults would be kept at bay; he wouldn't fall for this obvious trap. 

Fucking with the feelings of a desperate man: fun. Being insulted: fun. Good to know.

"Cute, how much you enjoy your work," Elliot began to press out between clenched teeth, the metallic wetness still coating them.

"Don't be like that, I have to make sure everything is running smoothly." 

He began to shuffle again, slower than usual, matching the rustling of the cards with Elliot's controlled breathing. Still smiling, but in a more understanding way than before, it looked like even the abductor didn't want to ruin the mood further. "Ready for another round?"

Elliot never felt ready in the time he spent here, but the exhaustion lingered even heavier on him now. His bound legs screamed for release while his still pounding head wanted nothing but to rest, the dirty foam mattress looking awfully comfortable.

"I'm tired. Can I lay down again?" he asked, polite enough to charm every degenerate in a four-mile radius, but not Morris. Suddenly on edge again, he looked back blank.

"Listen, I know this is stressful for you. We can play something else if you like. Do you know Mau-Mau? Or Switch?"

Desperate, all of a sudden. Tough shit.

"Isn't that the same game all over again?" he asked, digging through his worn mind to recognize what the topic was even revolving about. "I don't even know what time it is, I just want to sleep for a bit."

He didn't trust Morris a single inch, but the fatigue would be his main obstacle in the coming hours, so nothing granted him much of an alternative.

"Around five in the afternoon. I bet it's just your blood sugar, Elliot, you can handle that! I'll even do quartets if you like."

Digging through the duffle bag, he pulled out another protein bar, proudly pushing it towards Elliot. He had never seen a man so desperate for a game of cards, it was mind-boggling. "We play for a bit, and then we take a break, okay? Asshole, you know that one?"

"I actually know a lot of them." The biggest sitting right in front of me. Still, he didn't even touch the well-meant peace offering, instead resolving to lean back in this chair, making himself as small as possible.

"We'll make a deal, alright?" Elliot said after a few seconds, "Worked fine until now, so it shouldn't be a problem, right?"

"I'm not negotiating with you. Even though I do appreciate you finally growing a backbone," Morris replied hesitant.

"You tell me why this is all happening, and I do whatever you like." Wording, you fucking moron. "Damn, I'll even play... I don't know, blackjack with you."

It was the worst offer Morris had ever heard, but he would accept it one way or the other. Far over twelve hours had passed, without a single reaction or phone call. If he was forced to do something he ought to avoid at all costs, Elliot had at least to understand why. He didn't seem to be half as bad as Morris had imagined. So he gave in.

--------

They went back to Crazy Eights again, naturally. A last round which kept one of the parties busy enough to ignore the looming threat inside the room, tainting their domestic game night. With five cards still in his hand, Morris lost without question. He wasn't a sore loser, but the truth still tasted bitter on the back of his tongue. This would take time none of them had left.

"So," Elliot asked again, his voice shaking so badly it nearly broke at every other syllable, "why are you keeping me here? Did my parents accept a sketchy loan or something?"

Morris just now understood that the poor man was under the assumption his mother would ignore violent threats of a stranger. No wonder a few hours in duct tape messed him up so deeply. He wondered in what manner he should break the news to Elliot, to avoid any ugly tantrums. Now, with his arms freed, he could do a lot more damage than just yelling; a fact the dull pain between his legs kept reminding him of.

"Your ex..." Morris claimed, at last being filled with a sense of release.

"Which one?" Elliot asked back, though not even needing an answer. He knew exactly who brought him into this mess.

The beat of silence stressing his statement was suddenly broken by a heavy and rich laugh, making the walls around them shake with honest delight. Morris bent over himself for multiple minutes, being shaken by his own wit for what felt like an unhealthy amount of time. At one point it sounded like choking, and Elliot prayed to no one in particular to make it real. Finally calming down from his sudden lapse, Morris just had one thing to say: "You get around, huh?"

"From time to time." 

Elliot didn't understand how he could remain so calm inside. Gallons of anger or betrayal had to explode any minute, filling him up with a deep rage to outgo all his previous fits. But there was nothing to wait for, whatever he expected left him behind a long time ago.

So he just stayed still, watching Morris wipe some tears of joy out of the corners of his eyes.

"What did she do?" he dared to ask after his captor settled down again.

"Mhh?"

"Amber, what did she do to you?" Of course, it was her. When his life went down the gutter, you could place bets she was standing right on the sidewalk.

"Amber, yes..." Morris looked so much smaller for a second, like it physically pained him to even say her name. "She owes me money, among other things."

"Fuck, I can get you money. I'll pay you back whatever she forgot to. With interest, I don't care."

Over the past hours, he had grown accustom to Elliot's whining and bargain, it was like second nature to him. Morris shouldn't punish him for that, it's just what happens in these kinds of circumstances.

"It's a matter of principle, you don't fuck me over and then disappear from the face of the earth." Yeah, sounds like her.

"We- we broke up months ago. I'm not useful for any of this," Elliot whispered desperately, still not seeming to grasp the position he was in.

"She still loves you, don't you know that?"

"Sure, she loves me so much that she doesn't even bother to answer you," he spit with all the venom he had left. It didn't help Morris already helpless expression. "Lets me rot in a fucking asbestos den..."

„Don't be so bitter about that. She broke up with you for a reason."

He sounded so convinced in his delusion, Elliot caught himself agreeing with him for a second.

"And don't worry about yourself, we have time." Liar.

"Service's working?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure she'd seen the pictures?"

"Yes," Morris said unbothered, lying more to himself than the twitchy stick of a man in front of him.

Obviously, she had seen them, after all these hours, she had seen it all. The threats, the blood... All for a phone call she was too proud to make. Morris realized his chronic misjudgment with a sour expression: She didn't take him seriously, she never did, and this farce wouldn't change a single thing about it. But maybe he didn't have to carry that burden alone anymore...

"Why did she end it?" he asked, this time genuinely invested.

Elliot, covered in dried sweat and blood, still looked like a top-drawer son-in-law. Someone who would braid her hair if asked nicely enough.

"First of all, I did!" the twitchy stick spit at him, his feelings stewing up after months of simmering under his heart, "Second, that shouldn't concern you." He was fed up with the small-talk.

"Tell me, or I gag you." Morris threatened with aloof implicitness, acting more and more offended as his delusion fell apart. Elliot wished every kind of misery upon this captor, including Amber's ongoing company.

"Cheated on me with her fucking weed dealer." Tension was thick between them again. "Among other things."

"Oh, sorry." It was comical, in a sort of way. Elliot scoffed quickly, ignoring that Morris apologized for the only crime he hadn't committed.

"I have nothing to do with her anymore. Don't even know where she lives now. You should have taken any of her friends, not me. She probably won't recognize me anymore!"

"Would have saved you a lot of stress, if you knew her current location."

The sad undertone Morris' claims carried didn't do anything to help Elliot accept his helplessness. If he made it out alive, he would live in the nearby monastery, single for the rest of time.

"I know where her friends live," he tried instead, not a sliver of guilt in sight. He knew exactly where they were hiding, being dragged to all the awful house parties turned out in his favor after all. Morris eyed him slowly, humored by his sudden proactivity, and admittedly impressed.

"You'd rat out her friends?"

"So what? Are their kneecaps more valuable than mine?!" 

His captor smiled again, thin and knowing. 

"You really are the same. You and everyone who came before." Elliot didn't know what to answer, so he let it be.

"I understand that you're upset, and believe me, I would like to watch her obnoxious circle to shut up in an instant. But it has to be you, it's just how it is."

"Definitely not personal, I see."

Retorting with a sigh, Morris stood up for the first time in hours, ready to end this try at a peaceful mediation. Elliot really was a handful, he decided and smirked to himself. Pulling a wooden wall panel aside, digging through the empty space behind it, he grabbed a dusty bottle which was still filled to the brim. No need to scare him anymore, he could be open for once.

"Last time I was here, I spend so much time with solitaire, I nearly went insane. So I decided to make some moonshine; makes the whole thing less lonely!"

You seem to have a problem with that. Can't blame Amber for running. Wishing he had been just as successful as his ex-lover, he accepted the small glass Morris presented him with.

"A shot for every time we lost!"

With 34 to 13, if Elliot counted correctly, he would get alcohol poisoning before the sun even rose again. Maybe the better alternative.

"I don't know if-"

"Wasn't a question, Elliot." He poured them each a shot, the clear liquid spilling over the edge. Elliot couldn't handle his booze very well, a lightweight through and through. Not wanting to be pickled by his oh-so charming captor, he thought of an alternative.

"We could play for that, starting fresh. Each time one of us loses, they have to drink."

"I don't think I'm in the mood anymore." Expectantly, Morris stared him down.

Taking the first shot as a well-meaning sign and desperately trying not to spit it out in an instance, Elliot bent to his will again.

"Could take longer than I expect." Morris mumbled, also downing his own. Liquid courage, he told himself.

"But we have time, right?"

"Yeah, sure."

Silence settled over the pair. The quiet clicks of nails against glass was the only noise disrupting the thick atmosphere. Morris was the first to speak again, slowly lifting the bottle to pour another round onto the leftover droplets.

"Drink," he pressed out, not even bothering to keep the act up. "Please don't make this difficult, come on."

Despite his stern tone, Morris' continued to stare blankly at the stack of cards, still itching to be used again. Even though both men knew that wouldn't make a difference anymore.

--------

Morris tried to shake him back to consciousness, once or twice. Spread out over the table, Elliot long dropped his ability to stay awake; the mixture of low blood sugar, exhaustion, and dehydration was to blame for it.

Slowly, Morris grabbed his shoulders to lean him back onto the backrest, but keeping his hands firmly on the now soaked wood. Quiet murmuring was the only sound of the last half hour; at least Elliot appeared way less miserable and tense in his drunken state and if Morris had to guess, he wouldn't be able to feel what was about to come.

He warned her insistently, multiple times in the last few hours, and even tried to call again. Nothing. She witnessed it all, he was sure, but decided just to watch the message preview instead of taking the commitment seriously. 

He didn't plan for this to happen, not really, but that what he thought he deserved for underestimating Amber. He let the drowsy head tip back to better reach the gag still bound around Elliot's neck, gently putting it back into place without any protest. It would be a bummer if he accidentally bit his tongue, Morris honestly enjoyed the little banters they had.

With Elliot's fingers now forcibly spread apart, Morris reassured himself this gesture was a necessity, a sign for her to finally take his demands seriously. Examining the dazed man beside him, he wondered how he managed to free himself from her. Nobody just breaks up with Amber like that.

The edge of his old switchblade pressed lightly into the base of the ring finger laying flat against the wood, teasing the joint apart. But Morris hesitated, not entirely sure why so. The messier, the better, he thought by himself, knowing exactly how much she hated the horror movies they watched together.

It wouldn't be fair though, he recalled, and very unhygienic for the both of them. Imaging a brand-new game of cards, the deck smeared with various bodily fluids a human could provide, he was certain that Elliot would never go for another round. Even if his severed finger was just laying next to him, no threat would convince him otherwise. It was better this way. Tidy.

Morris didn't think about Elliot when he positioned the knife far lower on the back of the hand and turned it around, the point of it facing the ceiling. He didn't think of the whole day they now knew each other, more or less, and he also tried his hardest to ignore the light twitch shooting though his own body. 

He thought of Amber and how happy they could be together, if she would just answer - as he let the far end of the knife smash down into the bones underneath, again and again.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[bafflement]

Ozqrow Day 7 - Alternate Prompt - Love Letters

... imagine this as the musical episode of the deaged AU. I know that I am...

Tip: Write me a message that comes from the heart

Is this an ending or merely a brand new start?

For you and I, maybe one day we'll fly

Away from the war, away from it all

Just to be free to choose a destiny that isn't the same

I feel it's calling our name, though I know that we can't

This wasn't your fight, it was never your war

Yet you still stand beside me, we've been through it all

And we're standing still, in a way, at least...

Both of us changed here, though you not as much

I long for your kiss and the sense of your touch

But I can't reach the distance that time itself placed

Between us now, not yet, but maybe one day

I still need to wait to grow up, to be adult again

You don't have to wait, I've seen that look in the eye

Of someone who sees you, you never needed to stay

Loyal to me, you know. Maybe he can give you

Everything that I can't, right now?

All that I want is you to be happy, maybe this

Can give you a taste of that, for awhile?

I wouldn't blame you, I could never grudge

You that, I love you too much.

My heart is my message, it's scrawled on my soul

Whichever fragment of it that's still me

And not someone else, at least, that much is yours

And it always will be.

Qrow: Oh pen me a missive that's written in stone

Not flesh and blood, not skin and bone just yourself

For that's all that I wanted... don't you know

That I'll wait until Remnant falls, nothing else matters

To me, not at all, only you. Well, that isn't quite true...

The kids matter too, and our friends, them as well

Though maybe not Jimmy, as much

And if Glynda stopped glaring, she'd almost be pretty...

(Sorry, I know, I need to take this more seriously...

But poetry never was my thing, pocket sized...)

Anyway... you have to know that I love you, that I always have

I don't care about Clover, not really at least

At the most he'd be temporary and I think that

I'd fast find him too annoying for that...

I mean, he thinks you're a kid, and a real one at that

The man doesn't quite get context clues.

Maybe he took too many bumps to the head

This IS Atlas after all, you know what they're like...

Tip (Laughing): Okay yes, maybe we took this too far

An interesting semblance, though, one for the ages

I rather doubt though that the medium will take off...

How do we stop this thing, anyway, it needs to wear off?

Great. Oh I love you, my dearest Qrow

But this much is obvious, this much you know

That you matter to me more than I ever thought that you could

Or that I deserved, but this love that burns deep

Is too great a fire to put out. I think though

That maybe we'd better shut up, now

This is getting rather embarrassing, as

I'm pretty certain the others will never

Quite stop laughing at us as it is.

I'm just rather glad that Tai cannot hear

Or, oh Gods, if Raven could maybe she'd decide

That I'm not a threat, that I'm still on the side

Of the good guys, I still wish I knew why

She ran... ah well, maybe one day.

Qrow: Yeah, pocketsized, I think we need to be quiet

Not that that's easy for either of us

Maybe that's why it was us that got caught?

They found the person whose semblance it was,

They say maybe five minutes, a little less?

I just want to stop speaking in rhyme and in verse

Forget either of us, this thing is truly a curse...

[averysexyleon]

Uhhh CAN YOU JUST ANSWER THEM ALL anyways I won't use much to give other of your followers to ask as well so. I tried to limit myself ROFL

😈✨🤗❌💖

you should have seen me squinting to figure out which emoji is which. i'm too old for this LOL

Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

In my fallout new vegas fic everybody wanted my courier and boone to bang, and it was kind of known they would end up together, but I just delayed it because I was TERRIFIED to write smut. everybody thought that I was being a troll, which maybe was a little true, because they had so many close spicy encounters before the smut. actually, the smut of that 200 chapter story was chapter 150 and i just named it "chapter 150" instead of giving it a nice name because of all of the hollering for smut LOL.

Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it.

uhhh. my compliment to me is, good job wet vacuuming the entire living room today including the stairs. it may have literally killed you and wasted a day but it's done. and my compliment to my writing is, holy shit, almost 9 months into the year and closing in on 150 chapters, well done!

What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

WRITE, FUCKING WRITE. don't matter if nobody sees it. this is a hobby for you. and find some friendly fic writers in your verse to talk to. it's less lonely that way. but it also might be lonely, writing in general is pretty lonely. but that doesn't mean don't do it. DO IT. STOP NOT WRITING. FUCKING WRITE.

What's a trope you will never write?

I don't know about tropes, but I can't ever write any kind of "toxic romance". If someone is abusive, they're abusive and I don't like it. I have moments in my romances where the characters' trauma comes through or they fight, but I have endured enough abuse and watched enough to not want to ever write it in any glorified way. people who write and enjoy VERY toxic/abusive relationships, you do you I guess, but I'll never enjoy it. I only mention this one because even though it used to be pretty rare, it seems like I see it more and more lately. I also see people take characters with ambiguous or questionable morals in the source material (like Karl) and just turn them into toxic disgusting villainous almost comically awful people and I....don't get it. I don't like Mia and never have, but I humanize her when I write her instead of making her a cartoon villain. maybe it's a maturity thing idk but I don't like it. thank you for coming to my TED talk on toxic relationships in fan writing.

What made you start writing?

reading a lot. when I was in school I was reading 3-5 NOVELS, NOVELS, a day. Turns out I have autism, but anyway, I started writing these little observation things about the classroom and my classmates thought they were hilarious and would ask for them at lunch. I realized that I had an affinity for writing, and that I liked the attention from having others read what I wrote (even if it was oddly vulnerable.) I also realized I had something to offer, because even though other classmates sometimes tried this it never really caught on the way mine did because idk, I'm a good storyteller and have the "it" factor when I write. I can say this confidently and also say confidently I have no other It factor and am a very disappointing person in every other way, so I have to write HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

[selkymaiden]

🥛🥤🍅🥂🍞 for sophie and galina heh heh 😈💕💕💕

🤨 hehehe i see you!! Sorry for the late response but I like to sit and hatch things, or cook them for a while as I think of my hair-brained schemes <3 BUT THANK YOU!!!!!

Sophie first:

🥛 [MILK] What is your OC’s relationship with their biological parents like? What about their relationship with any non-biological parental figures?

Her parents are actually dead. They were murdered. That's why she ended up in G*tham, she literally was out for revenge for about uhhhhhhh. Fuck... I wanna say I killed her parents off when she was 8 and that was her driving force for revenge, which she got, at around her mid 20s I was making it. Sorry, she's still new so a lot of her story is still being made! But modern-day Sophie is in her late 30s and she's got her revenge by now. But she loved he parents and misses the time she had with them. Loved learning from them as they were well-accomplished magic users; but a lot of stuff has also been forgotten too, unfortunately. She can't remember how they look or sound anymore :/

🥤 [PARTY CUP] How does your OC feel about drama? Do they start any themselves?

OH! Okay, she actually likes to know the drama but wants NO part of it. She will go so far as to just simply stand up and walk out of the whole room, leaving the whole building if she has to. Which actually sucks for her because after she meets and starts working with [Acme truck drives past] she is suddenly part of the Batman Rogue gallery. Sort of. But either way, she likes knowing but that's it. This means she does not start anything. Or at least tries not to, because a lot of the other rogues are super fucking irritating she finds out. Also, they're like roaches they won't die and they just come back, or they act obsessive, just clinical insanity she finds out! But she'll be aight.

🍅 [TOMATO] How misunderstood is your OC? In-universe or IRL.

I don't think she's misunderstood at all. Or at least she does not play the victim to things she's done or has done, or will do. Also if someone wants to misunderstand her and her intentions then that's on them and she doesn't feel the need to correct people. Unless it's the few that she cares about. Otherwise, she's not like a nasty piece of work or had some great tragedy (at least she doesn't see losing her parents as a great tragedy at this point) befall on her to become misunderstood with how she acts. Aka turning people to stone. But those people deserve it. Most of the time.

🥂 [GLASS CHEERS] What is your OC’s 'aesthetic?’

Ohhhhhhhh, I mean I could go the easy route and say snakes. Which she does! But not just snakes. She likes history and Mythology a lot, aka the whole Medusa vibe she goes for, or her 'theme' in the city of G*tham. She's actually well-versed in the Greek pantheon as well as actual history. I like to think Maxie Zeus sort of has a crush on her. But snakes, mythology-greek centric, as well as eyes! I don't know how to explain eyes with her. But anything with eyes that are the focus like in art or films or photography she loves! Also when I tag her and the eyes are the main focus I'm like 'That's Sophie.' The petrifying magic, like Medusa, only works if you look into her eyes but she can do other fancy things with her eyes also!

🍞 [BREAD] Does your OC have any allergies? How severe are they? Do they require equipment to help them?

She does not have any allergies known! Or at least severe ones. Something mundane I've thrown in is she takes, you know, Claritin LMAO during Spring. She probably uses a nasal rinse every night before bed.

NOW GALINA'S DUMBASS (Affectionate)

🥛 [MILK] What is your OC’s relationship with their biological parents like? What about their relationship with any non-biological parental figures?

With her ma and pa it was a good relationship. Healthy in fact! But more leaning into with her father- as her father never got any sons so he picked Galina out of the three that makeup her and her sisters. So she was raised in business, finances, and hunting! While her sisters spent a lot of time with their mom. But Galina was more than happy to be with her father most of the time since she found it more interesting. She likes to learn first and foremost and he did a good job building her up to be confident in her skills when she gets older.

Now non-biological parental figures I can't say... Anyone really. Instead, I'd have to go back to biological parental figures because after her parents pass it's what she learns from her two sisters is what turns her into a little terror. That's when she learns how to finesse, how to talk to other nobility, and how to play mind games. All those things she learns from Marya and Zoya, her two older sisters, WHO learned from their mother. So it trickled back down to her in the end.

🥤 [PARTY CUP] How does your OC feel about drama? Do they start any themselves?

OH FUCK. Oh fuck... LOVES drama. And she will be the one who starts it! One of my favorite posts I've tagged her and I think the twins is this one [x] Literally the thought of Treavor inviting her to an outing without telling his brothers... Just so she shows up and ruins everything is so fucking good. And she'll be sooooo happy about it also. So loves the drama and lives for it.

🍅 [TOMATO] How misunderstood is your OC? In-universe or IRL.

This one was hard because I can see in Dunwall she'd be misunderstood as just another terrible noble. But a fallen one, so it's like 'ew' since nobility in Tyvia is like [russian revolution, goodbye romanovs] and that just reeks this person has problems and not just personal ones. But she's not the type to let it get to her, she has good armor and also money ayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. So she could play the misunderstood card or be that terrible noble or barbaric foreigner if she wanted to. But she just doesn't find it fun or entertaining so I don't think she's really misunderstood or at least she doesn't see herself as it.

🥂 [GLASS CHEERS] What is your OC’s 'aesthetic?’

At her base: books, scrolls, art, hunting- any sort of activity that will work her brain that's outside the realm of social interactions. She likes to read and learn and talk about philosophy or gray morality subjects. But it's hard to get there with her. Instead on the outside it's fashion, gossip, theater, or ballet- Anything that looks expensive but finely crafted. She adores shoes and gloves and has a lot of matching pairs of them.

🍞 [BREAD] Does your OC have any allergies? How severe are they? Do they require equipment to help them?

She's actually sensitive to certain cleaners, so she'll break out in hives if something is laundered incorrectly or with harsh chemicals. As well as fragrances make her light-headed so a lot of perfumes she'll avoid. Which is unfortunate because she knows a lot of good smells but can't stand them very long.

[lacunasbalustrade]

Give me a word for this poem's title, will you?

Kinder to be silent than to let the clang of glasses

Toasting, ring out.

Here again a silver January becomes a tool to be wielded, as if it were not hungry for more tunes to swallow.

Another million verses that will never tumble from my lips.

I am ashamed to say the door is closed; ashamed to get up and open it.

Kinder to run fast than to love well or be kind.

I too know what happens when closeness exceeds the parameters of an object's comprehension or motive.

There are citadels that cannot be given to the public, colourless Decembers.

Glasses of sherry that languish beneath an earthy cellar.

What if storyboarding my life could grant me some wisdom to attain that which always seems so improbable?

The graves of forebears mock me for my presumptuous attitude.

Here again another artist will die.

There is nothing I can do about the urge to find a cliff to die on.

Bogged down by hopes I cannot fly.

Gladiolas ripe for the picking, ears of purplish corn.

Pop your ambitions with the ambient laughter.

Sometimes the call for silence is more than I can deny. Sometimes it exceeds the threshold that I can process.

Yet I go on.

Silence is another name for water.

You drown and it sustains you.

You wait and it retakes the Earth.

It brings a harvest and a brimming world; too full, too much, too little, always enough.

Slap a poster onto the wall.

It has broken through the whiteness of an entire cavern.

What can the calendar be for if not recalling all the posterity and pains that have troubled you from day to day? Yet throw it away and much is aimless.

I can say with certainty that trouble is the fruit of life.

If a keyboard clacking is what it takes to pin me to reality, maybe it would be better to forfeit a world without love.

Love again is such a calculative concept. Contemplate everything you like with context, it must be an arrogant desire to want to be seen. What else is music for, says the one who sings as if there is no tomorrow? Here again I am rambling. Forgive my transgressions.

But it is a desire that turns into selflessness, at least, and everything circles back to this.

L'appel du vide.

I will never be able to capture the world as I see it. These moments will remain unshared within my mind. Words are the editors of any visuals that I input; they end in a warping of the reality I perceive and do not enable to viewer to understand anything that I do not tell them specifically. What can there be that would allow a simple transmission of the image I imagine within my head? It's a broken reality once again.

Many attempts to convince me, I flinch as someone massages my shoulders.

I am not tired, I have produced nothing, I do not deserve this, don't give me things I don't deserve.

Honesty at least remains my friend.

It has been a long road that I have walked, but one that I haven't done anything on. Is my shallowing standards for myself proof of my declination or my health? I want to trust but I don't want to be the one who let themself go. It hurts to try and maintain this facade of not wanting to feel the pavement against my face and the head twisted awkwardly by the fall.

True suffering was not simple it was mangled and twisted and angry and malicious. It stood beside me and spurred me on in the darkest of days, now that I am in the light it has morphed into a fake sun. How I love the night.

Can you count the number of times I have failed? Yes, my sins are hidden deep in the sea, I know, I know, I know that they are forgotten by God. What if I fail again? What if I'm still failing? I do not want to disappoint hopes. More accurately, I do not want anyone to hold any hopes for me. There is no question that I cannot succeed in bearing these burdens. Look at these basic words I'm throwing about. What a pitiful thing to contemplate in a quiet place. Is this really the only thing I'm capable of? What if I could leave this place and go straight into one where I was someone worth facing?

Well, there is nothing worthwhile gained in running away, again.

Kinder to be silent than to place a price on the auction of your speeches.

Kinder to leave it behind rather than to wait for it to hurry up.

Yet I will understand all of this one day.

[hariasonet]

four hundred and one.

I'm pacing the hallways with a guilt ridden heart. Waiting for a flash that never comes. One step turns into four thousand and one. The hallway was not enough to contain my doubt. The shadow creeping in slowly like poison oak after a prickle on a skin. 

The corridor was full of me. Or me from the past, you wouldn't recognize her by now. I was smiling, showing my missing teeth. Have I told you about that? What about the one where I got my spelling bee award in third grade? It was the word ‘malevolent’ that got me the gold. Now I can't even recognize the word when it spits on my face and calls me names. Funny how the world works, huh?

Or the one from five years ago, me in my dazzling dress looking pretty in pink. You said things about Peter Aoki who didn't deserve to bring me to Prom. You, with your thousand verses on how I deserve better. Deserve someone like you. But did you? Did I?

Oh! That one from my older sister's musical performance of cabaret. Our friend group was meeting up that day, didn't we? We’re just going out for four months at that point, just a shy manner of speaking and texting, we’re not brave enough to put a name on something so early. That’s what you said at least. Fransesca told me you looked at my sister too long. 

What else, what else. Oh, that’s us with the red cup glass from a party a few months ago. This one was where we confirmed it to our friends group about us, right? You, with your snapback and me trying to put on a smile. Act like us just happened a month back and not something you insist to hide for the past two years. 

This was my parents house, you never step foot here, yet your presence is still haunting like a bad dream. Four thousand and one and I'm in the kitchen. It was airy, with big windows and spices put neatly in the cabinet. My mother was always peculiar about people who walked to her special place. I never like cooking that much, but I have claimed it for myself. I had to. All my siblings have their thing; My older sister Sasha with her musical, my little sister Sylvia with her MIT scholarship. I have to have my own even if it's something inane like cooking. 

I'm already the forgettable middle child, at least Im known from something. At least when I get to college I can make a name of myself. At least I had you. Right?

Four thousand and one and I'm in my dad’s study. There was nothing familiar here. The thick book and maps stay still, collecting dust and problems for tomorrow. Is this what it felt like, stuck in time? The only one who went into the room was Sylvia, only to clean it out and walk away. She was the only one who was not tainted by the anguish. Is it what it feels like standing still while the world keeps spinning around? 

Four thousand and one and I'm in the dining room. The table was spotless, a speckle of dirt nowhere to be seen. THe one place my mother tried her best to improve, so people from outside looking in can see how beautiful our home is. How beautiful and empty, never to be used. A trophy to parade around and to fulfill your ego. Am I no more than your trophy? Or am I something less than that?

Four thousand and one and I'm still pacing, finding something to put my focus onto. But I have nothing, nothing more to see, nothing more to give. Even when you’re not there to consume my attention, I still have to give and give and give. To your overlying ghost of an ego, feed it till it is full of my torment and I am left nothing more than a husk of a person. 

Four thousand and one and still nothing. Nothing from you, or other people I care about. People who told me it's ‘us against the world’. The one i thought cannot leave me bereft and dry. THe one I hold dear when they shed their never ending tears or torment. Yet no one. In this big house there is no one but me and my distressed shadow.

“Why didn't we meet sooner?” I remember you said that one time, when we’re still giddy on life. 

I agree, I recall. Nodded like a marionette doll, with no thoughts in her head. 

Me  at that time had not yet been touched by reality. Still with her rose colored contact lenses and bad dye job. Looking life right in the eye and thinking everyday is a challenge she should overcome. And then there was you. You and your wallbreaking smile. One look and I'm wounded on the leg. One look and I willingly gave you all the key to my destruction.

And that's all you need. 

All those secretive smiles, illicit dates, and reserved hugs. All those caution steps, looking behind my back after every peck. All those wasted years just for you to wreck it the second you take hold on what you want. 

One flash and it all goes out of the window.

“Why didn't we meet sooner?” 

Three years ago I might foolishly agree. But me from now could only stare at nothing and pacing. And pacing and pacing and pacing. Walk around this house like a madman because this is the only thing I can do. 

The other possibility was arson and I cannot light anything on fire without burning myself first. 

So walking around it is. 

“Why didn't we meet sooner?” 

I ask the hollow wall, no longer holding my secret like it used to be. All of me was already wasted. Used by someone else for their own amusement. All the threads I hold dear, snip away in a blink of an eye. 

And you’re holding the scissor, grinning wildly. 

“Why didn't we meet sooner?” 

So you can annihilate me faster, put damage on my naive self even more? Bleed me dry and sold the blood bag for cheap? 

I was kind before I met you.

No, I was kind, I am kind. 

Where were you when I was kind? 

You were never there, weren't you? Not even a little bit. And now I have to be the one who bears the brunt and burns with it.

Four thousand and one and no one’s gonna come. Either to save me or to mock me even more. They all have enough of me, it seemed. Four thousand and one and this house was valuable, even more than me. But still no one’s come in through the door. Even when I am at the edge of destruction. 

Four thousand and one and blazing red. 

Four thousand and one and no more. 

[purplesurveys]

1788

Have you ever been hurt by a narcissist? I mean, not just hurt because I've been with someone who was one. Only after getting out of the relationship did I realize how fucked up it was for a person to make it their personality to 1) never apologize for anything; 2) never apologize and always be able to flip a situation to make it seem like things were always my fault; 3) not understand the concept of compromise, because things always had to go their way; 4) become extremely manipulative as soon as they get called out for their tendencies; and 5) proudly proclaim themselves as selfish.

I'm no saint and I came with my own set of faults too, but the level of self-centeredness that person breathed in and out on a daily basis seriously deserves a world record of some sort.

What does forgiveness mean to you? Little. I don't really forgive. Forgiving for me comes off as giving someone a pass for the terrible thing they said or did, and I find that kind of unfair to myself. That's just me, though.

Have you forgiven everyone who's wronged you? No.

What's your favorite thing to do at sunrise? Stay in bed and cherish the remaining moments wrapped in my blanket before I have to sell my soul again to the corporate world, hah.

How are you celebrating Earth Day this year? I don't really. My family used to turn off the lights for one hour but we haven't done that in years.

What is God teaching you right now? No thanks!

What does Notre Dame Cathedral mean to you, and how has its fire affected you? It means nothing to me. I don't mean that in a snarky way or anything too, it's just that I don't have any sort of attachment to it.

Are you prophetic? No.

What is something you miss from your past? How easy it was to make plans with friends. Everyone was always free after class or on the weekends. Now, scheduling dinner together is no different than setting up a virtual work meeting lol – "Are you free on Saturday, 5 PM?" and all that hahaha.

Are you beating yourself up about a stupid decision you made? I feel like I'm done with the beating-myself-up phase and have moved on to the acceptance of simply riding the wave until I can get out of it.

What's the last dumb decision you made that you beat yourself up over? Continued from this morning. I bought a new charger for my phone and paid for it in cash, then moments later remembered that I had gift certificates for that exact shop.

What's your favorite version of the Bible to read? If applicable, do you underline verses in your Bible? None and no.

When was the last time you went to church? Sunday, for the Christmas eve service.

Do you surrender to Christ every morning? No.

What's the last song you listened to on repeat? Cult of Personality by Living Colour.

Have you ever smoked weed, and if yes, did you like it? I consumed it in a different way, but anyway no I had a terrible first experience because I happened to mix it with alcohol.

Do you have any big regrets in your past? Sure.

If you've ever talked to a counselor, did it help? We had regularly scheduled 1-on-1s with a counselor in my school, but considering I went to Catholic school they were of little help to me. I knew that from the get-go and simply hid 100% of my actual personal life so they wouldn't pry.

Does your town's hospital have a good reputation? I wouldn't know much about its reputation, but I needed to go there a handful of times for my dog bite and I had nothing but positive experiences.

What is your hometown known for? The views.

What is your hometown's symbol? Not sure if we have those.

Who do you miss from your past? Sofie.

Are you longing for and missing a toxic person? No.

What's your greatest longing? For everyone I love to remain healthy.

Have you ever read a Bible verse and thought, "this isn't true"? If so, what do you do when that happens? Yes.

What are you behind on? Learning how to cook.

Is there someone who's stolen from you and never got caught? Yeah whoever that jerk was who stole my wallet from high school, lol.

Do you wish you could talk about spiritual things with someone? Nope.

When was the last time you had a deep conversation with someone? Last week.

How long has it been since you weren't lonely? I rarely feel lonely these days. I've learned to be content with my own company and that has helped tons.

Have you been lonely for most of your life? You can say that.

What color is your sleeping bag? Blue.

When was the last time you used a sleeping bag, and what for? I have a makeshift couch under my loft bed that's really two foldable sleeping bags positioned side-by-side. I use it as my bed on the weekdays since it's easier to get up and mentally prepare myself for work from there. My actual bed, I only use on the weekends. I don't know if that makes sense for anyone else but it's my routine, haha.

Do you prefer to sleep under the stars or in a tent? Tent. Mosquitoes are a year-long problem where I live, and you don't sleep in open air unless you are willing to wake up with mosquito bites all over your arms and legs.

Do you live near the woods? No.

What do you want to be for Halloween this year? List 1-3 ideas. Idk, I don't really get in the mood for Halloween anymore. I didn't even attend any party this year because I was stuck home with the flu, hahaha.

List five things people have been jealous of you for. I'm not sure and I don't know if there's even anything. You'll have to ask those other people.

List five things you have felt jealous of other people for. How everyone else seems to find new jobs to switch to so quickly and easily; knowing how to cook; earning a living just by creating content LOL; when they're a good writer; having friend groups that are able to see each other regularly.

Do you start to feel jealous of someone after they've hurt you? No...?

Does your astrological sign match up to your personality? I have no idea what a Taurus is supposed to be like, so idk.

Which bugs do you hate the most? Cockroaches.

What is your favorite shade of brown? I don't think I have one. I'm generally not a fan of brown.

Do people tell you you look sick when you wear a certain color? If yes, what color? Nope.

Do you find yourself exhausted much of the time? Yes, especially when at work. I'm past pretending at this point too, lol.

Do you find that people call you lazy, even though you're always exhausted? No, I don't really get called that.

What color is your toilet seat? White.

Would you rather live in an apartment or a house? Apartment.

What's one thing you had growing up that you miss now? A complete set of grandparents.

List three ways in which you are a hippie. I'm really not, so...

Do you prefer kale, lettuce, or spinach? Lettuce.

[legion1227]

Paramore: This Is Why Review

Paramore's come a long way since the days of Misery Business.

While many other pop-punk bands have come and gone since the nineties, Paramore is among the titans that remain standing. As someone whose childhood occurred in the 2000s, some of my favorite songs consisted of pop-punk bops from bands I adored. It's 2023, and the rock icons that shook the younger generation's core are making a comeback, and I am here for it! My Chemical Romance is on tour, Fall Out Boy is dropping a new album in March, and Paramore recently dropped their latest album since 2017.

Their 2017 album, After Laughter, didn't impress sixteen-year-old me all that much, but as time went on, my feelings changed. I consider After Laughter an amazing project that spoke earnestly to a growing teen and continues to do so as I am now. Somber lyrics juxtaposed with the infectious upbeat melodies of multiple tracks cemented songs like Fake Happy, Caught In The Middle, and Idle Worship as not only some of my favorite Paramore tracks but some of my favorite songs. Period.

Unfortunately and unfairly, I held standards for their next project, This Is Why way too high. Don't get me wrong, it's still a high-quality album that I enjoy, but not as much as After Laughter. Though, like with After Laughter, my feelings on the album might change over the years.

This Is Why's first two tracks are the singles released before the project dropped, The News and This Is Why. The first song, sharing the same name as the album, feels like one of their most political songs in quite some time, setting the tone for the majority of the project. "If you have an opinion, Maybe you should shove it." It's as strong a start as you would want from our beloved lead singer Hayley Williams. The following song, The News, starts right by mentioning war. Between The News and This Is Why I find The News a slightly superior song. Both tracks are politically charged and lyrically intriguing, but I find The News edges out the win with a better, more charged foot-tapping chorus.

After the first two songs, it's a bit of a mixed bag. There are no bad songs, but some tracks are not as good as others. The singles are fine, but The News and This Is Why are near the bottom of my list if we ranked the songs from least to most favorite. The next two songs I prefer more than the singles. Running Out of Time comes in at track three, less focused on politics. The track fixates on Hayley's poor time management skills and is full of multiple spectacularly relatable or, dare I say fun, lyrics. ("Intentions only get you so far, what if I'm just a selfish prick?" One of my favorite lines, I must admit.) Afterward, C'est Comme Ca plays, and it's even MORE fun. Hayley takes a spoken song approach with her singing during the verses, an uncommon style for her, with an earworm hook.

The remaining six tracks are odd commodities. Hayley's voice is soothing at some points and just okay at others. The lyrics are either profound and thought-provoking or fail to hit the heart accurately. And instrumentally, it's either the most fascinating reflection of inner turmoil or just….there. There are only three tracks I could recommend after C'est Comme Ca, and that's You First, Crave, and Thick Skull. The album as a whole deserves a listen, but some songs surpass others in terms of quality. There are low points, but high points as well. But the highs don't come close to After Laughter, in my opinion. But I'm so happy to have more Paramore in my life, after so long. I'll at least be revisiting the songs I rock with immensely quite a bit.

This album is almost great but still very good. 3.5/5.

[woozi]

henlo yza beloved <33

oh my god <//3 love the way you put it honestly, the way you're so smart <3 the answer was right there and i managed to miss it 😭 i was lichrally like " ok so river dried up no thoughts head empty " and now it's as if the last missing puzzle piece finally fit itself in my mind jdjsksks that really explains whys and hows of haku ending up there, btw the importance of names and home in this movie was so heartwarming 🥺

also that's so sad to think about though, haku not having any place outside of the spirit world also means he might never get to meet chihiro 😭😭😭 ( unless he found a little something like home in chihiro ( yk home being a person instead of some house ) then idk he can become a water body anywhere she lives, if or when he decides on meeting her. like you know there is someone out there calling out his name or missing him which gives acknowledgement to his existence thus making a tiny place available somewhere where he is wanted even if as just a visiting guest) ok but honestly i'm also kind of okay with them never meeting hddjdj like even though it's sad there's still some kind of comfort in knowing the fact that some people only come into your life to help you grow in good way!/ intentionally or unintentionally helping e/o through tough times and then moving on )

also honestly same 😭😭😭🥺 i feel like we've been talking since ages, thank YOU for even taking out time to listen and reply to my nonsense fr, i'm so glad i sent that ask to tell you, your " im skydiving with vernon " tag was funny 😭🥺 i really enjoy talking to you

SPEAKING OF VERN how excited are you for his mixtape? would love to hear your thoughts!, i feel like he's gonna come out with some emo rock/grunge banger tbh, basing on the artwork and his love for avril lavigne songs hdjdjdkd whatever it is i know i'm gonna eat it up bc i live for his verses in hhu songs

hope you're doing well yza 🤍, and you too after 21st take some time out for yourself and recharge, you deserve it <333 love you 🥺 thank you for hanging out with me as always, bestie <333

(honestly had nothing extra to add 😭 dec is kicking me fr. days are just going by i have had no idea about which day it is this whole month 💀 also i haven't forgotten about the movie i'm gonna dm you details after i send this, feel free to check after 21st! )

MA CHERIEEEEEEEEEEEEE 😻😻😻😻

NAURRRRRRRRRRR i am not smart i'm just one for obsessing over details fjkfjdkfjdk AND I KNOW </3 it was such a good concept esp considering how our identities are so tied up with the names given to us by birth and the names with which we choose to present ourselves with!! AND UR MIND HELLO???????????? also agreed <33 i'm fine w the bittersweet ending (i… love them actually 😭)

ALSO PLS NOOOOOOOO i should be the one thanking u fr </3 lich rally where would i be without ur lil ask </3

AND URE SO REAL FOR THIS PLS FKJDFJFDJKFDJK i also find myself gravitating towards his verses we r besties fr 😋 and u r right once again omg it gave early 2000s <3 WHAT DO U FEEL ABT IT!!! i personally like the band ver more, it feels a lot more raw!! think the way mainstream kr companies (honestly cant be said for the indie ones theyre going IN on it there) produce rock music is so… tame for lack of better word, but the band ver ate fr tbh <33 IM KINDA SAD SOME OF THE SCENES OF HIM IN THE BLACK TANK TOP DIDNT SHOW UP ON THE MV THOUGH </3333333 HE LOOKED SO GOOD

i've been getting to rest a bit until i received an e-mail from one of my professors today 😭 now it's a sign for me to get back to work, i still have more finals and more deadlines for january, but after that i'd be FINALLY getting a real break 😋

AND NO PLS FDKJDFJ I FEEL U!! i hope ure getting to rest as well and that you've had a great time this holiday season <33 love u thank u for always being here 🥰 MWAH

[hajiike-archive]

@izuru-ru from  🍑

Her thumb pet his hand, the dark and rubbery one, and stared at the silhouette of his profile against the darkened backdrop of their room. “Izuru?” she whispered. “... what does it feel like? Y-your arm?” She knew the hole in his chest hurt, she couldn’t help but wonder the same of his arm.

[saeransangel]

My Attention is All Yours

Anonymous asked:

Mikasa x fem reader who is very protective and always has been of Mikasa. When Mikasa gets Eren back, the reader starts to distance herself from Mikasa because Mikasa is very loving towards Eren and the reader feels forgotten 🥺 but Mikasa doesn’t like Eren that way and hates how the reader has almost vanished from her life. They get together in the end. I keep asking writers for this and no one responds. headcanons or a Drabble would be fab!

Canon Verse Mikasa Ackerman x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is such a cute idea. When you said "gets Eren back" I'm assuming you mean when Reiner and Bert snatched him that one time lol so that's what I based it on. I <3 Mikasa sm. She deserves the world tbh anyways here it is!

Summary: After Eren's rescue, all of Mikasa's attention is placed upon Eren. Y/N feels forgotten and starts to distance herself from Mikasa. She thinks her absence goes unnoticed. It doesn't.

CW: light swearing, season 2 spoilers (okay if you haven't seen at least s2 cmon), jealous! reader, slight aggression towards each other **Might be a little longer than a drabble tbh

WC: 1.6k (not proofread yet :p )

Listened to F Song by Strawberry Guy while writing this <3

Ever since you saw Mikasa with Eren the first day of cadet training, you knew she was someone you wanted to get to know. She was effortlessly gorgeous in the way she walked or glided through the air in her ODM gear. When you finally introduced yourself after a few weeks of heavily debating if you should even approach her, she seemed distant at first. But you were persistent and eventually broke down the wall she had put up for everyone else. Eren, Armin, and now, you are the only ones to see the softer side of Mikasa Ackerman.

As time went on you became secretly very protective over Mikasa. The way she would throw herself into dangerous situations in the name of saving Eren had you scrambling after her, running head on into whatever situation was thrown at you. You didn't mind it though. Mikasa was always there to protect her friends. It was only right that someone look out for her too. Not that she really needed it.

Mikasa noticed that wherever she went, you were following close behind. Even in the heat of battle. She deeply appreciated your loyalty. Everytime she got a glance of you covering her in battle or standing up to back her in an argument, she remembered the day you two met in training. You awkwardly smile as you introduced yourself, extending your hand. She remembered taking your hand and feeling how soft and gentle your grip was. You were always someone she could rely on no matter what.

In time the two of you became each other's rock. You did everything together. You were the first person Mikasa actually opened up to. She allowed you to comfort her, though it was rare, but she felt safe being vulnerable with you when she needed it. Sometimes, after a particularly hard day, Eren and Armin would find you and Mikasa fast asleep in one of your beds. Your limbs were tangled with each others and your face was usually buried in her chest with her hand on top of your head.

It was clear there was chemistry between you two, but neither one of you ever talked about it. There was never a definitive label with you and her.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions for everyone in the scouts. Reiner and Bertholdt revealed their true identity as the Armored and Colossal Titan and managed to capture Eren in the process, attempting to bring him back to where they came from. After a brutal fight and losing many comrades, the scouts managed to get Eren and Historia back. Things finally seemed like they were calming down. At last you could take a breath.

After cleaning up, you got dressed and headed back to the bunks. On the way back you ran into Mikasa.

"Hey, how's Eren holding up?" You ask her. You could see her forehead scrunch with worry.

"He's still unconscious. They're hoping he wakes up soon so they can ask him about anything Reiner and Bertholdt may have said while he was with them." She explains.

"I see." You sighed. You were worried about Eren too. Being so close with Mikasa meant you were also close with Eren. You were slightly at ease again knowing he was back under surveillance of the scouts. "Well if you want we can go up to my room and talk?" You asked hopefully. You knew she would probably want to talk about the events that unfolded over the past few days. Hell, you really needed to talk. To be honest, that was the most terrified you'd been in a long time. Going against the Armored Titan, Bertholdt, and Ymir was terrifying within itself, on top of attempting to get Eren and Historia back to safety and not dying, on top of also worrying about Mikasa.

"Thanks, Y/N, but I think I need to stay with Eren for a while. I'm hopeful he will wake up soon and I want to be there when he does." She said, looking back at Eren in the infirmary bed. "I'll stop by later tonight though."

"Alright, I'll see you then." You say, feeling a bit dejected. You went back to your room and sat down on your bed with a long sigh. You tried to pass the time by reading a book that Armin let you borrow.

You got lost in the book and decided you were getting tired. You yawned and set it on your nightstand. You took a glance out the window and noticed that it was now dark. The moon and the clusters of stars littered the sky. it must have been hours since your conversation with Mikasa. You waited up a little longer for her, but no luck. You sighed again and settled on calling it a night.

****

About a week later, and still, you haven't heard anything from Mikasa. You were beginning to worry. Had you done something wrong? You still saw her everywhere. At meals, in squad meetings, and even more training. Just because you saw her didn't mean that you two spoke at all. It was so weird and sudden. You didn't understand what happened. As of recently, she spent all her time with Eren, attached at the hip. You absolutely hated it. Yes of course it was horrifying that Eren got taken so suddenly in what seemed like the biggest betrayal you have ever faced, but he's back now. It was like you didn't exist to her. It was only Eren.

You were growing increasingly jealous as the weeks went on. After a while, it was like you completely erased yourself from her life. The only person that decision seemed to effect was you, seeing as she never reached out to ask what happened over the past month. You began to think your absence went unnoticed.

It did not.

As you were walking through the courtyard, heading into headquarters, you felt a familiar grip on your wrist. You were suddenly pulled back into a grassy corner of the courtyard right next to a few pillars. You whipped your head around to see familiar black locks. You clenched your jaw as you looked into her dark eyes.

"Why does it feel like you just up and walked out of my life?" She asked, aggression lining her voice.

"I could ask you the same thing." You fire back. "Where's Eren? I'm surprised he's not attached to your hip."

She rolls her eyes and gives you a sharp glare, inching closer to you. You could tell she was trying to intimidate you into owning up to why you did what you did, but you weren't budging. "What is your problem, Y/N?" She was really trying to contain her anger with you, but her question came out almost as a growl.

"Nothing. I don't have a problem." You say, tone laced with venom. "I'm perfectly fine with you giving Eren all of you attention. He clearly needs it more than I do. If you don't need me anymore, I don't need you. It's that simple."

You didn't actually mean a single word you just said, but you were so hurt. It felt like she completely forgot about you. What hurt the most is after all that time apart you realized that you had feelings for her, and if she felt that same, she wouldn't be doing this.

Mikasa's eyes widen slightly as you brush past her shoulder walking past her. She quickly turns and grabs your shoulders, spinning you around until your back meets the cold stone of the pillar. Your eyes shut from the harsh impact. As you open them again you see her face is extremely close to yours, breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking as she kept her tight grip on your shoulders.

"You-" she said shakily. "You don't mean that... do you?" Her pleading gaze burning deep into your eyes.

Your face flushed deep red while realizing how close you two were. Her face was inches from yours, her body almost pressing into you. You were speechless; heart thumping loudly as all your previous feelings for her bubbled up. You opened your mouth to object but you closed it again upon seeing her move impossibly close to you.

Her lips ghosted against yours as she towered over you and looked at you with narrowed eyes. "Do you?" Her voice was wavering.

Your eyes fell wide feeling her soft lips barely touching yours as she spoke. This time you moved closer, fully connecting your lips to hers. Your hands moved to drape over her shoulders, deepening the kiss. Her arms on either side of you are still caging you against the pillar. She kissed you shyly at first but slowly eased into it. Your movements were longing and she mimicked the same desperation as she kissed you. It was like you were both making up for lost time.

When you finally pulled apart you rested your forehead against hers, hands tightly gripping her shirt. "No, I didn't mean it." You said breathlessly.

"Good." She said serious as ever. "I need you, Y/N." Though she was looking you in the eyes and putting on a strong face, you could see the slight waver in her stoic expression. It almost made you smile how shy she was in admitting her feelings.

"I need you too, Mikasa. I'm sorry. I just saw how much you were doting on Eren and I got upset. I starting thinking you never felt the same way as I did." You sighed.

Hearing you say that you needed her too sparked something inside her chest that she's never felt before. Without another thought she leaned in for another sweet kiss. This time it didn't start out shy. She knew what she wanted now and it was you. She wanted to show you how much she felt the same way.

"You're the only person I can fully trust no matter what. I love you. My attention is all yours." Her words were confident and reassuring.

You smiled. "I love you too, Mika."