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freshbakedbreadstick · 6 months ago

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No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Eight

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: Forgiveness is earned, not given. And you were prepared to do whatever it takes to earn it, even if it means groveling for the rest of your life.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, grief, angst, strained relationships, arguments, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, running away, addiction, al-anon.

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: BESTIES ! ! ! i AM BACK FROM THE DEADDDDDD ! ! ! Unfortunately, i became an academic victim instead of an academic weapon this past year . Currently suffering thru a stress induced cold too LOL love that 4 me . ut the year is over n finals r done so ill be continuing this ! ! ! ! Anywaysssss only two chapters left of this series </3 breaks my heart low-key LOL I really enjoyed writing this whole thing, it was fascinating putting the emotions into this whole thing ! Quite the experience, I tell ya ! but anywayssss have a slay day !

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic @eternallyvenus @jackierose902109 (i apologize if i missed anyone new or previous!! please let me know if you were missed/wanna be added <3)

Masterlist

The tears wouldn’t stop bubbling over, leaving stains of sea salt on your cheeks that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times you rubbed it with the back of your hand. At this point, your skin was raw from your scrubbing. But no matter what you did, they just wouldn’t go away.

The Al-Anon meeting had since been adjourned and slowly but surely people were shuffling out of their seats and either to the snack table for a quick swipe of donuts and coffee or straight to the door out of there. But here you were, scrubbing away fat tears that continued to roll down your cheeks, staring straight at the back of the head of a person you didn’t really know if you wanted to face at that moment.

A particularly watery group of tears clouded your vision, making you wince and snap your eyes shut before bringing both your hands up to viciously scrub them away, taking your vision from the head whom you were trained on. As you scrubbed, feeling your eyes burn and vision turn into a kaleidoscope of colors, you failed to notice the sound of someone getting up and rapidly approaching you until it was too late.

A strong hand gripped your forearm and jerked you up from your seat, making you yelp and snap your eyes open again. They stung from the sudden sunlight invading your vision, but you blinked it away, instead focusing on the person with a calloused grip dragging you out of the room with a rush that made those still sticking around gasp and glance in your direction.

You barely managed to hold yourself and your stuff together when you realized you were out the door of the room and back into the empty hallway. Carmy dropped his grip with an expression on his face that you couldn’t read at all.

“Carmy-“ you began.

“Stop, stop, stop. Don’t start…. Not now….”

Carmy sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking off and away from you. His shoulders started to sag, making him look so uncharacteristically… scared in front of you.

He glanced back at you, watching your mouth open and close like a fish out of water as you kept trying to stop yourself from launching into some sort of explanation or apology. He continued to watch as you leaned against the wall, your body folding it on itself as your knees got weaker and weaker. All you did was stare at him with wide, watery eyes, trying so hard not to say anything.

After some silence, Carmy looked away and spoke up, “You came.”

You swallowed the knot on your throat before nodding hesitantly.

He turned to look at you, blue eyes rimmed red.

“Why.”

You opened your mouth, ready to launch into what you wanted to say, but Carmy threw his hand up to signal you to stop. With one hand on his hip, he looked at the floor and sighed again.

“Why now? Is this an attempt for you to... to make it all better? Just like that? Listen, that might’ve worked on my brother but definitely not me.”

“No, I-“

“If you think of this as your form of retribution for everything, forget it. I don’t need your begging for forgiveness or your pity. I can’t… I can't just get over this, okay?”

“Carmy, I get that but-”

“But what? There are no amount of apologies or declarations of love for my brother in front of a group of strangers that will… that will change how i feel about this-”

“Carmy!”

He snapped his mouth shut.

With shaky legs, you stood up before him and made direct eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

His adam's apple bobbed as he stared at you.

You took in a shaky breath, “I’m not asking for anything, okay? I just… I want to say sorry. For stressing you out. For worrying everyone. For…. for leaving. I’m sorry.”

Then, Carmy did something you haven’t seen him do in a long, long time.

He cried.

Tears spilled over his red rimmed baby blues, falling slowly, then faster and faster and faster.

With a choked breath, Carmy whispered out, “I needed you.”

“I needed you and you… you weren’t here. You ran. And I ran too.”

He shifted uncomfortably and looked away, but still whispered out his confession.

“I was so… so fucking scared. I didn’t know what to do. But I knew that I needed you here. But you got scared too. So you ran. I…”

And with that, you began to sob.

You leaned against the wall, sobbing into your hands. You could barely hear his words over the echo of your cries, but you didn’t care. And you didn’t care when people came slowly out of the meeting room, casting glances in your direction before walking away to exit the building.

“I’m sorry. I… i’m taking it out on you. But you aren’t my brother. You're you. And I needed you in the same way you needed me. But…neither of us were here for each other like we promised.”

One thing you and Carmy always did during an infamous Berzatto family dinner was sneak out of the house and into the front yard, leaning against the garage door to share a cigarette.

Whether it was Donna’s yelling that drove Carmy out or Mikey’s constant erratic personality that got you feeling overwhelmed, you both somehow managed to take a second to go outside and catch a breath at the same time.

So it became tradition to sneak out for 10 minutes before someone came looking for one or the other, to silently smoke and have a brief moment of peace.

Most of the time you were alone together, other times Natalie joined the two of you, usually just closing her eyes and leaning against the wall besides you, silent.

By the 32nd informal Berzatto Family Sneak Out, as you two dubbed it, Carmy was opening up to you. He would tell you about how life has been treating him, his struggles, and general day to day things he enjoyed. You would do the same, providing him with his own mental escape just as he did for you.

Some days he would chatter on and on in a way you didn’t normally see him do. Other days it was silence. But regardless,you enjoyed his company regardless, as he did yours.

One Christmas, the two of you were shivering in the cold but still out there in scarves and sweaters regardless.

“Shit,” you murmured and threw the cigarette down to stomp on it, foot sliding across the icy pavement.

You wobbled a bit, making Carmy snicker as you shot him a look.

“Hey uh, i got you a really cool present this year.”

You glanced at him, rubbing your hands together, “Oh yea? Owning up for last year’s mistake?”

Carmy rolled his eyes, “I swear i didn’t know you owned that sweater.”

You laughed, “I wore it during Thanksgiving!! It was right in front of you and you didn’t even notice!”

Carmy rolled his eyes and chuckled, rubbing the dark circles under them.

“Yea whatever, give me shit. But i promise this one will blow you away. I put a lot of thought into it, especially because it’s been a while since i’ve been down here…”

You hummed, looking off into the soft piles of snow glittering under the string lights, some red, others blue.

“I missed you, you know…”

Carmy sighed, throwing his cigarette down and stomping on it.

“I did too.”

You looked up at Carmy, smiling but no longer feeling your lips. He smiled back at you.

“Promise me that we'll always have these little sneak outs, yea? It keeps me from going insane on your brother,” you said with a snort.

He just chuckled, “Of course… I'll always be there for you if you’ll always be there for me… yea?”

He extended his hand out. You slapped your hand into his, shaking it with a playful grin.

“Agreed.”

Someone calls your name from inside. Mikey’s booming voice echos from the house, loud and clear like a siren call within a turbulent sea. You whip your head to the front door and giggle, “Better get going, come on Berzatto. Maybe i’ll let you have my leftover christmas cookies if you sneak me an extra piece of that tiramisu you brought.”

With that, the two of walked back into the home for the rest of the night.

You can feel his hands gently grip your shoulders, helping you up from leaning against the cold wall into his arms. His muscular arms wrapping around you, the familiar scent of spices and sweat invading your nose; a scent so remarkably Carmy.

“I’m sorry… I just really needed you… I needed you and i.. didn’t know how to ask…” He whispered into your neck, muffled.

You sobbed, staining his shirt with tears but neither of you cared as you stood there, in the empty hallway as the setting sun streamed in through stray rays.

By the time you separated from the hug, the hallway was a twilight blue. His rough hands reached up to your eyes, thumbing them away with a gentleness that made you want to cry again.

“I missed you.” you managed to say, after a long period of silence.

“I missed you too…” he murmured, eyes droopy.

It was quiet and it felt… good. It felt good to stand there, staring at the lines on one another's' faces that showed the age and the years that you missed while apart. The stories they told you of each other, of how you drifted apart. But now they showed a different story.

It felt good to be back.

“Hey uh, i have to get back… we have a, uh, bachelor’s party today…”

This made you snort, making Carmy crack a side smile.

“A bachelor’s? At The Beef? Are you that broke?”

This made him chuckle softly, “Uh, yea…”

You shook your head with a small smile, “Well, I guess you better get going then. Everyone’s waiting on you, chef.”

Carmy looked to the floor, stepping away from you as he continued to smile, “Yes chef.”

You watched through as Carmy waved to you and your parents from the backseat of their car, your arms wrapped around yourself tightly. Your mom waved enthusiastically as your dad backed out, tires scratching on the gravel underneath you.

He got smaller and smaller as you all pulled away, making your way back home with a car full of hope.

It was 6 in the morning when you got the call from Carmy.

You drove a little above the speed limit as you chewed on your bottom lip, eyes sweeping across the streets as your car lurched forward ahead of everyone else. The streets were slick from a light morning fog, rolling in with the cooler weather of fall and winter. But your skin was too hot to even realize how cold it was outside as you ran across the street from where you parked to The Beef.

You threw the back door open, causing multiple people to throw their heads around to look at you. Ebraheim nodded in your direction and Tina smiled warmly. She glanced behind her before turning back to you, beckoning you in from your stiff stance in the doorway.

You thanked her softly as you walked in, the chill from the air behind you making you shiver in your light sweatshirt and thin pants.

You found Marcus in his corner, organizing diligently as Carmy walked away from his station and to Ebraheim’s, where he held up and complained about a sparkly black bra. You giggled as you watched them, getting Carmy’s attention.

He walked swiftly around the kitchen, signaling you to follow with a nod of his head.

The two of you moved to stand in the door way leading to the front of the restaurant, watching Richie and Tina laugh before they turned, grabbing cleaning supplies. But when Richie turned and saw you, he briefly froze.

“Richie…” you said softly, crossing your arms across your chest with an arched brow. Carmy clued you in during the call, which is why you rushed here as soon as possible, worried sick about Richie.

“Hey uh…” he mumbled, sheepishly looking away from you as he scratched the back of his neck and avoided your gaze.

“Really? Jail?” you huffed.

“Come on, it was hardly even jail. I spent a night in holding, that’s it. Besides, i’ve done my penance… i’m a changed man. ” Richie said with a roll of his eyes and a choked laugh.

You rolled your eyes, only to tense up when he asked his next question, “Why are you here?”

It wasn’t meant to be accusatory, just curious considering how the last conversation had ended here. But here you were, beside Carmy who didn’t seem very upset next to you.

You looked away, clearing your throat softly, “Can we… can we talk in private about that…”

Richie visibly softened and glanced at Carmy before turning back to you, “Listen, you don't have to worry about-”

“No no no, just listen to me first, okay? Please… cousin?”

This made Richie perk up and clear his throat, “Yea yea, come uh, come out back with me then..”

The two of you made your way to the backdoor, Carmy’s eyes trained on your backs right up until the door clicked shut behind you.

“Listen Richie, I'm… I'm sorry. For… for everything. It’s…” you began, your throat drying up pretty soon after.

Richie sighed, pacing away from you for a second as you struggled to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Can i… say something…?”

You looked at him, his back turned to you. But you heard him and the slight quiver in his throat loud and clear.

“I… it’s a secret so you have to promise not to tell anyone.” He said, laughing softly.

He slowly turned to you, showing the guilt and remorse all over his face that cleared that little moment of laughter right up.

You nodded slowly, stepping forward toward him, “Yea, yea, of course….”

He hesitated, glancing up at you and analyzing every part of you for some form of dishonestly… but he found none. He only found the same eyes looking back at him, with trust glittering in them, like all those years ago.

“Okay…” he began with a shaky breath, “I…”

You leaned forward some more, nodding softly.

“I… I never once regretted loving Tiff.”

Your eyes widened.

“She… was everything to me. I don’t regret loving her… even now…”

You could feel your heart racing in your ears. The way his eyes watered slightly as his hands shook at his side made your own eyes water. But his words, his words shook you up more than anything.

“I fucked up alot with her… you know that… and… and i don’t regret it either…”

Your bottom lip quivered.

“I don’t think you should regret anything you did out of love for Mikey either… okay?”

You could only whimper, reaching forward to wrap your arms around him. He wound his arms around your own body, squeezing tightly as he did so, squishing you against him but neither of you cared.

“So don’t apologize to me, okay? I know why you ran, and I don't blame you for it either.”

“....Thank you Richie… you're the greatest friend Mikey and I could ever have…”

Richie smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “Of course, Mikey might… Mikey might not be here but I am. I’m here for you…”

“Thank you…” you tried desperately to hold back the tears.

The two of you held each other there, in the cool morning air until Richie cleared his throat and murmured, “So you and Carmy are good now? Or what the hell?”

You laughed, voice watery.

“Listen, i thought you two would fight each other out here, honestly. Wrestle like you would as kids over the last goddamn pudding cup but uh, i guess not huh.”

“No…no. We uh, talked yesterday and it… it ended pretty good i think.”

You stepped back with a sigh, brushing away a couple pesky tears, “You know Carmy, he’s not easy to forgive so I don't expect that talk to fix everything but i… I'm glad I finally grabbed the hand that was reaching out…”

Richie shook his head, “I don’t get how you two always were so buddy-buddy, you’re like exact opposites.”

You shrugged, “You don’t know Carmy like I did… like I do. We are a lot more similar than you might think.”

With that Richie chuckled and clapped his hands together, “Alright, no more slacking, we got a shit ton of prep today.”

The two of you wiped your tears away with small chuckles as you stared at one another’s puffy eyes and flushed faces, trying your best to not look like wrecks as you walked back inside with small smiles.

The day went off without a hitch, until… the fire.

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quin-ns · 2 years ago

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Inevitable (Kang the Conqueror x Reader)

Word count: 1.8K

Summary: you don’t know kang, but he knows you

Tags: antman and the wasp: quantumania spoilers!!, canon divergent, avenger!reader, one-sided affection, soulmates (kinda), denial

Request: anon: “Ohohoho the DRAMA of a Kang fic okok so how about an avenger who’s super powerful, and loves Scott as a friend and is a good person and has a strong moral compass, somehow they end up in the quantum realm with scott and cassie etc…. And when they meet kang it’s like he knows her… he shows her them in the future being lovers etc… it’s almost like they’re soulmates and she is horrified, she thinks he’s good looking but nuu he’s a bad guy…. How will it all turn out o.O”

A/N: loved this prompt- I did deviate a towards the end but still hope it lives up to expectations. kang was fun and interesting to write for. complex villains are the best ngl lol

Misc masterlist + main masterlist

You didn’t blame Cassie for her invention going haywire and pulling you all into the Quantum Realm. Still, it wasn’t exactly ideal.

When you, Scott, Cassie, Hope, Janet, and Hank all got sucked into the Realm, you all got separated. You, Scott, and Cassie ended up together thankfully. You could only hope that the others were all together as well.

The three of you did your best to stay out of trouble. Except that’s exactly what you got into because, well, who knows? Avengers seem to have bad luck. If you were superstitious you’d say that you and Scott both being there amplified that.

There was an attack by what you thought was a sun—you all quickly found out it wasn’t—and then some big purple… thing. You were saved, but then next thing you knew, you were being captured by what Cassie called quantum people.

Great.

They separated you and brought you to their weird town. It was a marvelous setting, but you didn’t exactly get to admire it all that much. The people surrounded you and chanted loudly, spiking your anxiety. At first you were scared, especially when they poured red ooze into your mouth. You suddenly could understand them.

The leader, Jentorra, warned you that because you were from above, he would be hunting you. The Conqueror. He didn’t sound like someone you wanted to be captured by.

The attack was sudden. Ships shooting blue lasers descended. Robots, or what you thought were robots, began to go after people. It was a mess. Some of them evacuated, some fought. You, Scott, and Cassie ran. You all knew that you were the targets and you couldn’t get captured. Not before finding the others. You saved as many people as you could along the way.

There was a giant floating metal head—MODOK is what it called itself—that stopped you.

Turns out, it was an old acquaintance of Scott (and sort of Cassie). Darren, they called him, showed his—maybe this was mean, but it was true—hilariously ugly giant face. He took you to a tower and divided the three of you into cells. Scott cracked some joke about how he had been in jail four times—one more than Cassie.

Darren revealed that he worked for the Conqueror, who built him into what he was. As it turned out, the Conqueror built a lot of what you were seeing.

You were pacing around your cell, trying to devise a plan, when the sound of heavy footsteps began to echo through the hall. It caught your attention. You watched as a man in a green and purple suit approached Scott. His face was veiled in blue and his eyes shone with the same color.

He walked right up to Scott’s cell and they began to conversate. You were diagonal to Scott and next to Cassie. You weren’t sure if the man even saw you.

You heard Scott tell him he was an Avenger, and the Conqueror casually asked if he’d killed him before. “I’ve killed so many, they start to blur together…” the Conqueror mused.

Scott asked who he was, the Conqueror told him he was the man who had lost time. He began to explain that he had a plan for Scott.

You couldn’t fully hear him, and you decided to speak before you could think to stop yourself. “Hey, if you’re revealing your evil plan, can you clue us all in?”

The Conqueror fell silent. He turned to face you. The moment he laid his eyes on, a chill ran through your spine. The blue mask was gone. You could see him more clearly now. The look on his face… there was recognition in his eyes. Sure, he said he’d killed the Avengers in other universes, but this didn’t seem like that.

“Oh, you…” the Conqueror said, seemingly surprised. Pleasantly surprised. “MODOK said there was one he never met. I didn’t know it was you. I should’ve, though.”

The fact that he was handsome threw you. You were expecting someone… scarier looking? Or more alien. Although you supposed not every villain you dealt with after Thanos would be like him.

“Am I that much of a surprise?” you asked, raising your brows.

“A bit,” he admitted. “You look so… well, like you.” The Conqueror approached your cell, Scott forgotten.

“Okay, what does that even mean?”

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” he sighed out. There was a longing in his eyes that seemed so out of place given everything you knew about the man. “It’s good to see you.”

“I don’t know you,” you told him, shaking your head.

“Oh, but you do,” he replied smoothly.

The barrier on your cell dissipated suddenly. The Conqueror extended his hand out to you, passing easily through the barrier that had once been.

“If you would come with me, Y/N.”

You hated the way he said your name. There was an unearned sense of familiarity. Despite the allure in his tone and the gesture of his hand, you ignored it. The Conqueror let out a sigh. He turned on his heel and began walking away. Slowly. Waiting for you to follow him like he knew you would.

You looked to Scott’s cell. His eyes found yours. He didn’t speak, but he was trying to warn you silently.

That was Scott, always looking out for you. But if you had a chance to negotiate, maybe get you all home unhurt. You had to try, right?

You stepped out of the cell. The Conqueror hadn’t gone out of sight. The moment he heard your movement, he halted his own. You didn’t know the man, but you could see the victorious smile he wore before he even turned to face you.

“I knew you couldn’t resist,” he said knowingly. You began walking towards him cautiously. “I have something to show you, dear. I think you’ll find it quite enlightening.”

You stopped next to him, jaw clenched. “Who are you?” you questioned. “I want a name.”

“Kang,” he revealed. “You can call me Kang.”

You nodded. Okay, that was something. You waited for him to lead the way, and he did. He didn’t offer his hand again, he realized you had no intention of making contact with him.

You looked over your shoulder one last time. You couldn’t see Cassie from the angle you were at, but you gave Scott an assuring look. The one he returned didn’t quite match your confidence.

“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Kang revealed once the two of you were alone.

“Yeah, because this is what I had on my schedule today,” you replied sarcastically.

Kang let out a laugh. It was short, but genuine. It was an odd sound to hear from someone who’d sent an army to take out civilians. That reminded you that you in fact should be scared of him.

You arrived in what appeared to be the center of Kang's tower—or whatever the hell he wanted to call it. It didn’t matter what it was, it was where he had been leading you.

“What’s on your mind?” the Conqueror asked, looking your way. You were put off by sincere curiosity.

“Okay, what is going on?” You couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Why did you bring me here? Huh? Why just me?”

“Nice to know some things never change,” Kang said, mind distant for a moment. Then, his gaze refocused on yours. “You always were a curious one.”

“Stop talking like you know me!” you snapped.

Kang remained eerily calm. “But I do. That’s what I wanted to show you.”

Without further word, Kang turned his attention to—well, you weren’t sure what it was. Your best guess was something similar to a projector. He did something, you couldn’t tell what, but suddenly beams of light shot out of it.

In front of you was a projected image of… you? You weren’t alone, though. At your side was the Conqueror himself. His arm was around your waist and your head was resting against his shoulder. You were both dressed formally. You couldn’t tell where the two of you were or what you were looking at, though.

The way the projection displayed, you were staring into your own eyes. It was unnerving to say the least.

“I liked this universe,” Kang spoke up. You nearly jumped, suddenly becoming aware of the fact that he was at your side in reality as well. “We had a lovely wedding.”

Your head snapped to him, unable to believe his words. Kang looked at you and let out a content sigh. “We’re married in a lot of universes. And even in the ones where we aren’t, we’re bonded.”

“You must’ve forced me.” It was the only explanation you could think of. “You say you’ve killed the Avengers—I’d never abandon my friends to love someone who’d do that.”

“There was no force.” He sounded briefly offended before regaining composure. “As for the ‘why’?” Kang allowed a small smirk to cross his face. “I won’t spoil the ending, dear, but I’ve seen it. I’ve seen every ending.”

“Why are you showing me this?” you asked.

“Because, I need your help. Well, you and your friend. Scott, right?” he finally recalled. “I need to get out of here,” Kang explained.

“I saw what you did to those people,” you argued. “Why would I help you?”

“My future directly impacts yours,” he explained simply. “If I get out of here, you could come with me.”

You let out a mocking laugh at that. “No way. I already told you, I’d never be with someone who has done the things you’ve done.”

He looked offended. Hurt, even? But it wasn’t like you lied. There was even a flash of anger but he regained composure.

Kang stepped close to you and you stepped back. Behind him, the holographic image changed. You and Kang. Then it changed again, then again. Picking up speed. You were watching as your future in hundreds of different universes played out. Different paths, different lives, but they all ended up the same way. With Kang.

He was proving a point.

“You and I are inevitable, Y/N. In every universe where we exist,” the Conqueror revealed calmly—calculating—and continued to approach you.

You shook your head. “No,” you stated firmly.

Kang tilted his head slightly, eyeing you curiously. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

It was right in front of your eyes and yet you refused to accept it. “I know it’s not true.”

“You don’t know anything,” he dismissed passively. Like he just knew he was right and didn’t see the need to genuinely argue. “Not yet, at least.”

It wasn’t until Kang’s hand rose to your face, his gloved hand brushing your cheek, that you’d realized you had fallen still in front of him.

“But you will see,” he revealed in a way that you could only label as ominous. “You always do.”

#quin-ns writing #request #kang the conqueror x reader #kang x reader #kang #kang the conqueror #quantumania #ant man and the wasp quantumania #kang the conqueror fic #jonathan majors #marvel #mcu

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nametakensff · 10 months ago

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Suggestible (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

The first fic of a few I have for these two because I am deeep into this shit now lol. Ended up at 4K!

H/arry, whilst working on the murder case in M/artinaise and ever so slowly piecing his identity together, notices an interesting reaction in K/im to his budding cold. I guess the first part of a series that will become increasingly NSFW, but for now mostly just alluding to it!

Based on an insane little piece of dialogue in the game where K/im suggests that other people sneezing makes him sneeze

~~~~~~

Content:

Future/hinted M/M, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, H/arry has a latent sneezing fetish that he doesn't remember having yet, spray, stifles, sneezing into handkerchiefs, slight elements of voyeurism but only because H/arry is a confused mess lmao

CW: lots of drug and alcohol mentions, lots of self-hatred

NB - I guess please don't read if you plan on playing the game and want to go in with no prior knowledge - it doesn't really have any plot heavy spoilers but takes place within the story

(also also - decided to write this in 2nd person narrative to somewhat resemble the style of game play - it's not perfect but it was fun to try haha)

Minors DNI please!

Lieutenant Kitsuragi trails behind you as you jog your way across the empty boardwalk and towards the fishing village. The air is piercing and bitterly cold – you are starting to feel the effects of it as the salty air whips against your face. It has been snowing on and off for hours, and you are woefully underdressed. This has not been a good day for you – few new leads, endless dead ends. And a hangover. The hangover to end all hangovers. Not even the frigid winter weather can distract you from the dull thud of a lingering headache, painful pulses beating in time with your heart. It feels as though your brain is too swollen – or your skull is too tight.

Suddenly, you feel it – the familiar, fluttering sensation of a building sneeze. You have been a little under the weather ever since you awoke in your hotel room several days earlier, having no recollection of who you are and woefully bereft of substances to abuse. You had put any subsequent discomfort down to just that – the miserable lack of alcohol, nicotine and narcotics in your system. This tickle, however – it is something all of its own. You stop dead in your tracks, practically skidding to a stop as it crests. You have no hope of holding back the encroaching sneeze. Your mouth hangs open, a great yawn of irritation, before – at last – release.

It comes out sounding more like a desperate shriek than anything else; a few startled seagulls scatter, flying away in a maelstrom of confusion and feathers. You didn’t mean to cause such a scene, but the cold air, the breeze, and now the beginning of a miserable cold – it all proves too much for you. You take in another shuddering gasp before you’ve even recovered from the previous explosion and do it all over again.

“HAAAEEEIISHHHHhhh!!!”

There are no seagulls left to scatter this time, but you hardly notice for the way this sneeze, even more violent than the one before it, sends you flying forward and staggering on your feet. You manage to catch yourself before you fall face down on the sandy ground, panting slightly in the aftermath. It practically tore itself out of you, leaving your throat more than a little hoarse. Perhaps a drink would be just the thing to remedy your misery…

You’re shaken out of your alcoholic deliberation by a familiar, soft voice. Lieutenant Kitsuragi is resting a gentle, gloved hand on your shoulder, hovering next to your crouched form. His voice is as placid as always, but you can’t help but notice a slight hint of concern. You right yourself immediately and snuffle at the mess that’s threatening to overflow from your nose, already a bright shade of red from years of alcohol abuse and the biting cold of the beach.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?”

The Lieutenant notices the thickness of the sound, a barely perceptible look of displeasure passing over his face. You see him reach into his pockets and pull out a large handkerchief – the very same you have seen him use before to cover his face as you performed a field autopsy together. He proffers it to you and you hesitate for just a moment - then your nose starts to run into your moustache. This prompts you to take it from him and snuffle into it apologetically. You realise this pathetic sniffling will do nothing to stem the flow – you surrender and blow your nose with as much conviction as you possibly can. The sound of it is devastatingly loud, almost as disruptive as the sneezes preceding it. You glance at Kim sheepishly from behind the material. If it’s as disgusting to Lieutenant Kitsuragi as it sounded to you, he doesn’t so much as flinch.

When you’re finished, you offer the soiled fabric back to him with an outstretched hand. He looks at it with mild dismay.

“You keep that, officer. I carry a spare with me at all times.”

Stupid. That was stupid of you. Why would you hand him a snot rag? You dismiss the thought before the negativity drags you down further into the already miserable grips of your hangover. But for whatever reason, you keep note of this new information regarding the handkerchiefs. It’s not as though this is out of the ordinary for Kim. He’s so organised and focused – a great cop. Not like you. Of course he would carry a spare. Moving on, you ask the lieutenant for his opinion of what you ought to do next.

“Hm…We should return to the Whirling-In-Rags. Try Klaasje again and see if she’s ready to discuss the murder in more detail.”

It sounds like a perfect idea to you. The wind is fiercely cold and you never did get round to buying a windbreaker. Your hangover is making it impossible to tell if the major discomfort you’re feeling is from the alcohol dissipating within your husk of a body, or the virus threatening to take hold of your sinuses. Either way, getting out of the cold is imperative.

You approach the vicinity of the Whirling-In-Rags Hostel – at last. Your chest burns. Normally, a brisk jog is nothing to you – if anything, it energises your ailing body after a particularly lengthy binge. But today, you feel miserably worn out. You pause for a moment, look towards the Lieutenant, and attempt to speak. You fail, nothing but a series of wheezing gasps issuing from between your lips, followed by an increasingly hacking cough. You buckle over your knees and continue to hack like the washed-up middle-aged man you know you are. Kim places a hand on your back - he seems worried.

“This isn’t good. You’re unwell, detective. Perhaps you should rest a while in your room?”

Something tells you this isn’t a suggestion exclusively for your own benefit. A perfunctory glance tells you that Lieutenant Kitsuragi is tired, and as miserably cold as you. He wouldn’t mind a break inside a warm building, thawing out over a cup of coffee. Nevertheless, you feel disappointment blooming in your chest. As if you weren’t already a pathetic excuse of a policeman - missing memory, decked head to toe in questionable clothes and with a penchant for drug and drink on the clock – you’re now so weak you can’t even handle a mild case of rhinovirus. Pathetic.

You stand upright in an attempt to signal that you are and always have been a perfect beacon of health. You tell the Lieutenant that time is of the essence; you’ve been working on this case for days and have no time for further setbacks. He acknowledges this with a small nod; he seems to appreciate this professional, business-like approach to the matter. He doesn’t say anything more but merely walks beside you as you stride towards the Whirling-In-Rags.

You barely manage to take a few steps before the tickle is upon you again. You tense your jaw and attempt to quell the sensation by taking in shallow, measured breaths, but no dice. In seconds, it tears its way out of you as before, echoing off the walls of the nearby buildings. It is so loud that you wonder if the scabs protesting outside of the Union can hear it over the sounds of their own angry chants. Again, you stumble forward under the force of it, feeling light-headed.

The Lieutenant reaches out to grip your shoulder, steadying you just in time. You wait and sniffle miserably in preparation for the following sneeze, lingering in the depths of your sinuses, but it never comes. You straighten up, blinking tears of effort from your tired eyes, when you become aware of a certain sensation. Kim’s hand squeezes your shoulder with a sudden flex. Could this be a gesture of affection? Reassurance? This is not the Lieutenant’s regular style. He is far too cool for that kind of thing.

You look over your shoulder in curiosity as the Lieutenant continues his grip, despite your having collected yourself. You can see that behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes are unfocused and heavy-lidded. His mouth hangs slightly open, and he is holding a fist – expectantly? – before his face. The expression is…familiar. You’d seen it before, though not on Lieutenant Kitsuragi.

As you furrow your brow in deep consideration, reaching for an explanation that only just manages to elude you, slight movement from Kim pulls you out of your thoughts. You watch as his head tilts back, stays there for a just a moment before he’s jerking forward into his gloved fist, pressing it against his nose and mouth. His features contract severely, moulding his ordinarily placid face into a twisted, almost angry and unrecognisable countenance. You feel his fingers flex again. His entire body shudders, and as it does so, you hear him utter a tiny sound.

“-hHdt’!”

You blink, still not putting two and two together. Maybe this amnesia was worse than you had initially assumed it to be. Was he – seizing? No. Of course not. You continue to watch in confusion as he seems to uncrumple with a gentle exhalation. You think he might be done, but no. Just as quickly as one breath is exhaled, a replacement is sucked back in hurriedly. You watch as he repeats the action, ducking forward into his fist again, more forcefully this time. His shoulders jump with the effort and his hand squeezes substantially harder against you.

“h’Ngxt-!! hh…”

That strange sound again – this time followed by an uncharacteristically shaky exhale. A moment later the Lieutenant straightens up and assumes his regular composure, releasing your shoulder as if nothing just happened. If you hadn’t watched this series of events unfold right in front of you, you’re sure you would have missed it altogether. He blinks several times as if to clear away tears. Still you have no idea what the fuck just happened – any remnants of the pained expression that cinched his features tight has vanished, leaving him to look as calm and collected as before. You stare at him, eyes roving over his face. This intrusive observation gives you the last bit of information you need to understand. His nostrils flare delicately as he indulges in a sniffle, moisture gathering around the irritated rims and glittering ever so slightly in the afternoon sunlight.

Had those been…sneezes? Those tiny little swallows of air?! You feel a grin spread across your face, any discomfort of your own forgotten for the moment. You bless him enthusiastically. Ignoring the inkling that tells you not to tease or cajole him, you also comment on how adorable the Lieutenant’s sneezes are. Like a kitten. A badass cop kitten.

He thanks you somewhat reluctantly, blatantly ignoring the kitten comment. He clearly wants you to move on from him and focus again on the case. You continue to make your way towards Whirling-In-Rags, but don’t miss out of the corner of your eye the sight of the Lieutenant covertly pinching his nostrils shut, before pulling down towards his septum. He is wiping the resultant moisture of those sneezes away with his gloved fingers. This realisation makes your heartbeat spike for just a moment. You choose to ignore this.

You walk into the establishment – the increasingly familiar sounds and sights greet you as you pass through the door. The Hardie boys are in their booths, an unwelcome fixture. You glance sidelong at them – Titus glares daggers back at you. You think you should puff up your chest and stare him down in a battle of warring machismo, but at last minute think otherwise. It would do nothing to repair your already abysmal lack of authority if you sneezed at him mid stand-off. You glance away. He smirks, arms crossed firmly over his broad chest, clearly enjoying this silent display of dominance. You get an all-consuming urge to spin around and put him in his place – but you feel shitty. Much too shitty. It would probably end with his fist in your face.

You approach the staircase leading to the bedrooms when you feel that familiar, irritating tickle blossoming anew in your sinuses. Not again, not here! Not in a busy room full of so many people. You want to maintain your cool cop image – sneezing is not a cool thing to do. You briefly think to yourself that Kim is cool, even when he sneezes - but it is a foolish thought. You’re not him. You fight to suppress the gasp that fills your lungs, fumbling in your jacket pocket for the handkerchief the lieutenant had given you – but you’re too late. Two huge sneezes rocket out of you, sending veritable clouds of spray across the base of the staircase. They practically break the sound barrier, two near identical “IIIIEEEESHHHHhhtt!!!” screams of irritation. Kim doesn’t steady you this time – you reach out and do that yourself with the help of the banister.

Jeers erupt from the Hardie boys across the cafeteria floor – you only just manage to hold back an embarrassed blush from creeping over your weary face. You have finally managed to extract the handkerchief from your pocket. You decide a honking performance will do very little to remedy this utter humiliation, dabbing softly at your aching nose instead. You begin to climb the stairs; a sordid walk of shame.

“That’s just what this establishment needs, following the hanging, bloated corpse – a biohazardous drunk anointing his plague unto us all.”

That snark came from Garte – the bartender. No, the Cafeteria Manager.

“Just ignore him.” Kim mutters close to your ear. You proceed to flip the bird at Garte instead. As you make your way upstairs, you swear you can hear a tiny gasp from behind you. Without the sensation of a hand gripping your shoulder and signalling the completion of a sneeze, you have to strain your ears to even confirm they happen at all.

“’Ngxt’ch! h’ddt’! Hh’Ggkt!!”

Those are definitely sneezes. Slightly louder than before, enough that you can hear the Lieutenant’s own soft voice blending in with the strained sound of them. Your stomach is suddenly alive with butterflies. In your mind’s eye you can visualise the way his face crumples with each of them – nostrils flaring outwards as he valiantly bites down against them. You are sure if you try to do the same, your head will explode. Or at the very least, an aneurism is a surefire possibility. You shudder at the thought of it. You want to offer a blessing to the Lieutenant, but based on the previous reception it received, you decide against it. This could be the start of a beautiful partnership – Harry’n’Kim, Du Bois and Kitsuragi. Disco Cop and Cool Cop. You can always brainstorm on your trademark duo name at a later date. Either way, you decide to ignore the Lieutenant’s strangled outburst. A soft exhalation behind you signals that he is finished – for now.

You reach the top of the stairs. With great dismay, you realise that perhaps for the first time in your life, you are experiencing firsthand the effect of all those years of chain smoking. The wheezing gasps bend you over for a moment. Lieutenant Kitsuragi stands nearby, just short of nervously hovering, waiting for you to recover. You finally catch your breath and stride as confidently as you can towards Klaasje’s room. You extend a fist to knock on the door when you feel the soft touch of Kim’s hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks. This has to be a new record. He has touched you on four separate occasions – all in a span of under thirty minutes.

“Perhaps you should take this opportunity to rest after all, detective.” Kim offers. You sense by the firmness of his voice that this is less of a gentle suggestion and more of a request. He smiles wryly.

“You are not very likely to get her to open up to you if you deafen her with your sneezing.”

Your stomach flips at hearing that word come out of his mouth. It is confusing but not entirely unpleasant. Whilst he doesn’t laugh, you can see the amusement held in the subtle quirking of his lips. You think for a moment that you should tell him your sneezes are the pinnacle of masculinity – ladies dig a huge, manly sneeze. You choose instead to sigh, practically deflating as any will to remain poised upright seeps out of you. You know he’s right. The filthy sheets of your bed beckon to you.

You agree with him and turn heel to your own room. He looks pleased – perhaps a little relieved. How disastrous did he think the interaction would have gone, had you proceeded? He turns to face you as you stand outside your respective doors.

“Don’t worry, detective. I will wake you up in a couple of hours, and we can resume our investigation. There is no point in making yourself ill.”

You nod. You are both about to enter your rooms when you feel it again. The tickle. It is persistent and increasingly difficult to control. You feel a gasp inflating your chest, helpless to do anything other than let the sensation overpower you. There is no time to even lift the handkerchief to your face. You do manage to turn away from the Lieutenant as the sneeze rips through you, baptising your own door with a trembling “aaAAAAEEEEGSHHHHhh!!!” A cloud of spray settles on the wood, droplets of spray shimmering under the harsh lighting. Gross.

“Bless you.”

A blessing. You feel relieved – and slightly giddy. Your stomach flips again. It is likely out of politeness, but the Lieutenant has at least not run for the hills in response to your disgusting display. You start to thank him when – oh, sweet confusion - he interrupts you with another sneeze of his own. He isn’t fast enough to bring a fist to his face this time. You can see every minute twitch of his facial muscles as he suppresses the sneeze through sheer willpower alone.

“Hh’Gnxt!! Huh’NGxtt!!”

The second sneeze follows immediately – his head dips twice in quick succession. That look of desperation suits him just fine, you think. You decide to abandon the thought as quickly as it forms. You are only partially successful in doing so. His hand reaches into the pocket of his trousers – he succeeds in removing the handkerchief in the duration of that second sneeze, you notice in great appreciation. You would never have managed to pull that off.

You watch as he raises the handkerchief before his face for a final sneeze. This one looks more irritable than the ones prior – the expression plastered on his face is openly more agonised than before. He pauses for what is likely only a second longer before the tickle reaches its apex, but that is more than enough time for another thought to cross your mind – one of an entirely salacious nature. You think that the face he is making resembles the sweet agony of another kind of release. You try to unthink it, but it’s too late – you’re absolutely, undeniably thinking it. The second passes. At last, the lieutenant smothers his final sneeze into the waiting folds of the handkerchief. It is considerably louder than before, even with the assistance of the fabric covering.

“hHh’nNGgxtt!!..chu…”

The soft vocal exclamation that rounds off the sneeze sounds weary, like it took a lot out of him. He sniffles briefly into the handkerchief, rubbing at his nose before tucking the cloth back into his pocket. Is it your imagination, or is said appendage starting to look a little reddened from the effort?

“Excuse me.” The Lieutenant mumbles, sounding uncomfortable. Embarrassed, perhaps?

You bless him before you remember to bite your tongue. Luckily, he accepts it with a soft “Thank you.” You watch as he removes his glasses and swipes at a stray tear rolling down his cheek. He replaces them just as quickly, giving you hardly any time to take in the sight of him without the thick frames. It is for a brief moment only, but the word ‘vulnerable’ comes to mind.

It dawns on you quite suddenly that he must be sneezing because you have infected him with your disgusting, no good germs. You ask him if this is the case, unable to hold back the shaking guilt as you voice your question-cum-self-abasement. He waves it off immediately.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, detective, I assure you. I’m fine.” He pauses for a moment, looking hesitant to say more. You say nothing. This awkward silence seems to prompt him to continue.

“Sometimes the power of suggestion is too much for me. When somebody sneezes in my vicinity, I find my body often wanting to do the same. And your sneezes are particularly…” He trails off for a moment, in want of an appropriate term.

Masculine? Sexy? Bad-ass? You go with the first one. He shakes his head gently.

“…Suggestible.” He finishes. You’re not quite sure you catch his drift, but you do recall that he had mentioned something like this before. ‘Dancing makes you dance like sneezing makes you sneeze’. He had said that, in the church – he had been enthusiastic to interject, and then immediately changed the subject. You had had no idea what he had meant at the time – not once had you ever heard anyone say anything even remotely similar. It had been easily forgotten. Until now.

You smirk. You hope it isn’t akin to ‘the expression’, but is happening nonetheless. You cannot help it. This. Is. Gold.

You manage to hold back from laughing, but what you cannot help is calling him adorable. For the second time that day.

“I’m a 43 year old RCM policeman. I am far from adorable, officer.” He states firmly, almost as if he is chiding you. You do not miss, however, the softness in his eyes and the momentary twitching of his lips into a tiny smile. You do laugh at that. Bad idea. The laugh quickly morphs into a painful, wrenching cough. Whatever light-hearted moment you’d been sharing, you have ruined it. Your throat burns with the effort. God, but you want a drink. And a smoke. Maybe some speed. You finish at last, wiping spittle from your lips with the back of your sleeve.

“Please rest, Harry. I will check up on you soon.”

He casts a final worried glance your way before nodding curtly. You watch as the door clicks shut behind him. After a moment, you make your way into your own room, not even bothering to kick off your shoes as you collapse onto the pile of twisted sheets. Far too tired to think about the past that eludes you, about the case, about any of it, your eyes start to slip shut.

But it is back. The tickle. You have no means of fighting it, and you’re not sure you want to. You sneeze, smothering it into your sheets at the last second.

“HHHRRMMMPPPSHHHh!!!”

You peer cautiously at the sheets. You have left a considerably large damp patch on the section that covered your mouth and nose. Gross – that should be your middle name. You feel disgusting, but before you can begin another spiral of self-deprecation the exhaustion overwhelms you entirely. A final thought passes through your mind as you surrender to it. Did the Lieutenant hear you?

Next door, settling into the chair at his desk, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi tenses at the sound of your sneeze. It was loud enough to be heard not only the next room over – indeed, anyone on the second floor may have been startled by it. His breath hitches, once, twice, before he is tipping forward into his gloved hands, steepled around his face. Depleted of energy from the prior onslaughts, he is unable to hold them back at all.

“-hh! Hck’tshuu! Hupt’Tshhht!! ‘TSCHH’uu!! hm...”

He glances in unmasked irritation at the damp speckling of moisture now adorning the palms of his gloves.

“Merde!” He grumbles under his breath. The Lieutenant pulls the gloves from his hands, pausing to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles for one indulgent moment, before resuming the paperwork he had failed to complete the night before. He hopes, for both your own sake and his, that once he wakes you your sneezing spell will have passed – due to a temporary chill and nothing more. Neither of you have the time for this absurdity. He sniffles once more and begins to write.

#nametakenfic #d/isco e/lysium #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fet #snz kink #snz fucker #snzblr #sneeze fucker

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tblsomedoodles · 9 months ago

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C R A V E

more Donnie VS The World content. It makes me vibrate and scream and wiggle like I'm off my meds. I would love anything, even a solid block of text, but your doodles/full artworks/comics are my favorite.

Please? All I've found so far is what we see in the donnieverse comic and the MVA/AMV (music video animatic/animatic music video). So many questions, like - is Casey (Sr) involved in any way, whethercas a fellow captive or rescue mission teammate? Is this the True Apocalypse or Averted Apocalypse timeline? If the latter, where is Casey (Jr)? How is Splinter handling it? (Is he even still alive to be Having Emotions About It?)

(Please feed me.

B L E A S E)

(If you don't mind, could you show/tell how Donnie escapes, one of his first Big Leads that gives him so much hope he cries, and/or the Big Reunion? One would be nice, two would be great, and all three would be amazing. If they aren't planned/are too spoilery, that's okay. Anything you can/are willing to give would be lovely.)

Thank you!! I'm glad you like it : ) I don't think I've answered many asked about this particular au, so i'm more than willing to talk about it! : )

I don't really have much up for it, mostly b/c it deals with a lot of angsty material that i can be a little uneasy about posting. I have a bit of old concept art, and an unposted fic i'm editing/rewriting (b/c it's the first fic i wrote for Rise and i did not have those character voices down lol.) I can probably post the first bits of it later this week. I did say at one point that i would once 'proud family tradition' was over, and it now is.

but yeah, here's the concept art, i'll put the explanation under the break b/c i'm going to be rambling lol.

So Donnie vs. takes place after the thwarted apocalypse (not-apocalypse future). They get taken by Bishop a few months afterwards, and it isn't until about a year after that, that Donnie gets free.

He's the last one still with Bishop at that point, and had been told/convinced through various means that his brothers were dead.

Bishop did a lot of experiments on him, leaving a lot of scaring. One of which was injecting him with Krang DNA to see what would happen. (the eye and veins thing. I think he has some side effects from that but i'm not entirely certain what they are atm)

The fic itself starts after his rescue, b/c i'm focusing on Donnie's search for his brothers (and his own recovery) Rather than the traumatic event itself.

The rescue itself, was certainly a rescue. April, Casey, and CJ worked together to get him out of there as well as gain whatever information they could before they were found out. (Casey went undercover and was able to get some incomplete files and help get donnie out before she was discovered and had to leave.)

donnies in...pretty bad shape at that point, mentally and physically. Physically, he's malnurished, injured, scared, the works. Bishop did a number on him in the year he had him.

Mentally, he's pretty much shut down. He's completely non-verbal, unresponsive most of the time, when he does respond it's very slow and seemingly difficult for him to do so. He describes it that it feels like he's behind several plates of thick glass. He can see and hear what's happening, interacting (or even just feeling anything about it) is very hard to get past the glass.

How he goes from that state to hunting down his brothers is fairly simple. One of the broken, encripted files Casey acquired was Leo's file. None of the three could open it, but they managed to get Donnie to try to do so. He manages it, sees the file, and for the first time in about a year, has hope. He doesn't even wait to show the other three, he just takes off while no one was looking, with April's laptop and CJ's coat (he steals a backpack along the way.)

I don't really want to say much past that. A lot of the rescues/reunions are pretty spoiler heavy, and i don't want to ruin some of the mystery of what's going on in the fic. But know this, he does get all his brothers (and family in general) back. Also, splinter is alive and is part of this, but again, that's spoilers for some things i don't want to ruin.

Again, i'll probably start posting this sometime this week. It's an interesting fic that i've put quite a bit of time into at this point, so i'll be excited to see what is thought of it.

Thank you!

#asks #tmnt #rottmnt #donnie vs the world #my doodles #medical experimentation

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jackie-gremlin-ghost · 6 months ago

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After posting Chapter 4 of my TGAMM fic a couple days ago, I couldn’t get the opening dream sequence out of my head, so I had to do a drawing based on it! It’s not TOO spoiler-heavy, but it’s kinda symbolic, so whatever lol

Probably gonna add it in the fic itself on AO3, too, because I am crazy proud of how this turned out!

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #tgamm fanart #tgamm fanfic #tgamm oc #Fran 'Fizz' Wolfe #my ocs #my art #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing

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wishcamper · 9 months ago

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Heavy Lies the Crown: Rhysand, greatness, and the pressures of power

Or: the librarian’s daughter, former playwright, licensed counselor mashup of my nightmares dreams because I am vast, I contain multitudes.

No content warnings and no real HOFAS spoilers, I don't think, other than that he's in it but I feel like you know that by now. Spoilers for Breaking Bad (lol).

---

In working on my current fic (on ao3 here!) I've been thinking a lot about Rhysand and how he really goes off the rails in ACOSF and HOFAS. It's easy to chalk it up to poor writing, but I like the challenge of trying to make it make sense. What are Rhys’ motivations, truly? What would explain the vast array of heinous shit he does the text tells us is justified?

Rhys is shown over and over to be quite Machiavellian ('ends justify the means' dude, who was maybe writing satire). It's easy to list the times he shows this. The 50 year Velaris hostage situation. The bargain UTM with Feyre. The Weaver's cottage. Stealing the Book from Tarquin. CLARE BEDDOR. Infiltrating people's minds. Torture. Assassination. Allying with Kier. Concealing his wife's medical information. Being an ass to people in general. According to Mr. Machiavelli, any action is warranted if it the goal it achieves is morally important enough.

It seems like Rhys can justify anything to himself if he believes it will serve the greatest good at the end of the day. He does so many things with the air of “it’s for your own good” or “you’ll understand why one day” but that day never.. comes? Not yet anyway, which begs the question: is he that unself-aware, or is there a longer game he’s playing that all of these minor skirmishes are leading up to? What if he knows what's coming? And what kind of cause or threat would feel so great he could justify everything he does up to this point?

Okay I'm gonna talk about Aristotelean literary structure, please don't leave me.

The idea of a tragic hero is a character whose downfall is inevitable but who fights against it anyway. Hamlet is a classic example of a tragic hero, Oedipus being the de facto first, Walter White from Breaking Bad a more modern version. We see Walt learn he’s going to die in the first episode, in the middle he does a bunch of stuff to prevent his physical death (cancer) and metaphorical death (failure/obscurity), and then both his body and reputation die in the last episode as a direct result of his attempts to avoid fate. It’s blissful Aristotelean symmetry. *chef’s kiss*

Every tragic hero has hamartia, more commonly known as a ‘fatal flaw’. In Hamlet, his fatal flaw is procrastination, and his delays create space for all kinds of the fuck shit he was trying to prevent. It’s important to note that hamartia is by design a neutral term - not so much a flaw, but a trait, motivation, or decision that sets off the chain of events the character is trying to avoid. Tragedies have occurred equally from too much love as too much hate, and doing nothing is just as much a decision as doing something. The word itself comes from the Greek for ‘to miss the mark’. To try and fail, the backbone of tragedy.

One of the most common hamartia is hubris, a modern synonym for arrogance but which more specifically means an outsized belief in one’s ability to affect and control the future. Well-known tragic heroes taken down by hubris include our boy Walter White, Tony Soprano, Viktor Frankenstein, Achilles, Jay Gatsby, Kendall from Succession. It exists in real life, too: Lance Armstrong is a perfect example of a modern tragic hero brought down by hubris. And what do all these men have in common? Power, via money, fame, strength, the state, intellect, violence etc.

I’ve been enjoying looking at Rhysand through this tragic hero lens because while it doesn’t really make him more sympathetic, it does make his actions easier to understand logically, which is its own kind of humanization. If Rhysand is aware of a prophesied or fated event sometime in the future and is pulling the cosmic strings now, it must be incredibly important, like annihilation-level important, which is so much pressure.

So he grows to maturity with an understanding that he will one day have to face this intense evil that could completely destroy his world, and it plants in him a hubris. He believes that his immense power grants him a certain amount of influence automatically. And honestly, is he wrong?

And this is where it’s important to think about how power makes people weird. Power gives people a false sense of confidence in their actions and choices, because their status and privilege protect them from so many more consequences. In this way it’s easy to see how someone can get a big ego - no one is stopping me, so I must be doing well! Or: everything is going well for me, so I must be really killing it! I know I feel that way in the first tingles of hypomania, but hypomania is fundamentally a distortion of reality and I believe so is power.

Power not only gives people confidence but also access to make decisions for others. They begin to think they should share the success they’ve found by leading and guiding others to see how great it can be if you do what they say. Just look at one of those cringe 'billionaire morning routine' videos to see what I mean. It’s a very patronizing form of altruism, because the leader genuinely believes they have the people’s interest at heart. And I use the word patronizing intentionally - leaders have often referenced feeling paternal towards their people, Winston Churchill + FDR, 'God the Father'. Power and fatherhood have been linked for a long time. And direct from our girl Wikipedia, "paternalism is action that limits a person's or group's liberty or autonomy and is intended to promote their own good".

I was talking with a girlfriend of mine recently about how I think some men don’t have the experience of other people depending on them in a significant way until they get married and/or become fathers. Like, afab and femme people learn very early to be considerate of others, to think about how others feel, to act in ways that keep others happy, etc. This plants in us a sense of duty to perform in ways that please others, to smile, to create comfort and provide caretaking in every environment we enter. So by the time we get to marriage and motherhood, we already know how to put others’ needs before our own because we’ve been doing it from the jump.

For men, however, this can be a completely novel experience. And it seems like it's SO HEAVY FOR THEM. George ‘Father of his Country’ Washington just wanted to go back to Virginia the whole time he was President. So many men talk about the pressures of being a provider and their families depending on them in a way women don’t, and I think it’s because for the first time others truly depend on them and they don’t know how to handle it.

In response, they either shove down their emotions as patriarchy demands and have a midlife crisis, or they abdicate that responsibility and go completely absent physically and/or emotionally to continue living for themselves. (Obviously there are good men and dads out there, and bless you if you’re lucky enough to know, have, or be one.)

And this aspect of power feels relevant because from the text it seems like Rhysand is unraveling. Between Feyre, the baby, the Trove, Nesta and being threatened by her power, Koschei, Bryce, the whole High King shit - I think he’s starting to crack under the pressure. And honestly, I’m kind of surprised it didn’t happen before now.

According to Aristotle, the tragic hero must:

Be significant (virtuous/capable/powerful/important etc.)

Be flawed

Suffer a reversal of fortune.

Rhysie boy definitely ticks the first two. I wonder what it would look like to get to three? I don’t think Sarah has the balls, but it’s definitely enhanced my reading experience and given me a lot of interesting things to think about.

Okay that's all I've got. Love ya, see ya soon xx

#prythian university #acotar #acosf #rhys critical #sjm critical #tragic hero #lit crit #i love thinking way too deeply about things

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onyxsboxes · 4 months ago

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Not surprising at all but "Buck isn’t fine" 👀 (though don't talk about it if you won't want to write it after lol ❤️)

Hi dears,

(I also tag you @amiserableseriesofevents because you too asked about it)

Thank you for this ask.

I only wrote down the WIPs I'd already made good progress on, so normally it should work 🤞.

Buck isn't fine (I'm not sure that'll be the final title) is one of my two most angsty fics. It takes place between the beginning of the stalag and a little before the Buckies' Fight(TM) and it's part of the werewolf!gale series.

When I started thinking a bit more about this series, I spotted two moments where Buck could have break down (whump!Gale my beloved). And instead of choosing one, I started writing both of them.

Buck isn't fine isn't the actual breakdown, but rather the path leading up to it. We follow Buck as he copes with life as a POW: keeping his men safe and sane, dealing with Bucky who is slowly losing his mind, having to hide his werewolf status in fear of death or experimentation, the lack of sleep, food (and especially meat) as well as the heavy physical and emotional impact of living in such a harsh environment.

Gale being Gale, he is doing very just fine. Because he's lucky: part of his pack is there where he can protect it, his Bucky is there and he's doing absolutely fine (no, he's not doing absolutely fine at all).

I posted a bit already under the tag #spoiler buck isn’t fine

Here are some vibes of the fic

He's fine. Buck is fine. Oh yes, he's a POW in a nazi camp, but he's fine. He is fine. Bucky's here with him. Benny, Brady, Crank, Glenn, Hambone and his boys are here. His pack is with him. He's fine. His pack is tearing itself apart. Benny can't absorb the proteins they've managed to find. Sick because of their origin. Crank trying to keep a cool head to help others while he cries himself to sleep at night. Brady trying to keep everything in order. Glenn, who can't stop shaking. His pack is falling apart and all he can do is watch. He's trying so hard. He's trying so hard to help them, to be there for them. But it's okay, Buck's fine.

#thank you for the ask!#let's talk about wip #spoiler buck isn’t fine #talking about wait what #werewolf buck cleven #clegan #clegan werewolf au #mota #ask #alienoresimagines #amiserableseriesofevents

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bapple117 · 8 months ago

Text

Some RadioCotton Trivia 📻🐰❤️

Now that my first fic "If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All" is finished, I thought I would share some behind-the-scenes trivia!

Some of this will contain minor spoilers for the plot, so read with caution if you've not finished the story - there will be no spoilers for part two (All That Grace). Okay let's go! This list is LONG so hold on y'all

The Bambi Thing

The name is a direct quote from Bambi; there's actually a LOT of Bambi references in the whole fic. The quote was actually the entire inspiration for the whole premise. Bambi is one of my favourite Disney movies and I couldn't help but notice a lot of shared themes between it and Alastor - and then I thought, what if a cute, wholesome rabbit demon came to Hell and taught him to be sweeter?

There's another direct script lift from Bambi later in the fic - when Alastor has the dream about his mother. 'Mother? MOTHER? Mother where are you?' Oh the pain.

Adam also calls Alastor "Bambi" and Verity "Thumper" at points, AND one of the chapters is called "Drip Drip Drop Little April Showers". The themes of them being a deer and a rabbit also crop up a lot, obviously.

The Music Thing

There are a LOT of references to songs, both when I put lyrics at the start of chapters and within the story itself. I am aggressively inspired by music and song lyrics, and have immensely eclectic taste, and can't help myself. Some songs would be the thematic influence for a chapter and I would literally listen to the song on repeat as I either planned or wrote the chapter. Something I'm still doing now while I write Bluest Monday!

At one point I spent about an hour trying to find the name of a music scale just so I could accurately describe it when Alastor and Verity play the piano. I am very meticulous with my research, I was determined to find it 😂

The Alastor Thing

The way I chose to write Alastor was influenced by a number of things. One, that "What just happened? Ffffffuck" line from the finale of Season 1 did a LOT of heavy lifting for me. It showed that he has a version of himself that's less guarded and raw - and I don't care what anyone says, it's NOT because his staff broke. He goes right back to the filter and accent immediately afterwards and the staff is still broken, so.

Two, I just really wanted to write him as someone that uses violence and a covered-up personalty as a coping mechanism for grief, which I don't think is too far from the canon. His eventual softening and ability to love was influenced by things like Mr Darcy, Kylo Ren (LOL), Astarion from BG3, etc etc. Traumatised bad boy is healed by the sunshine girl - we love to see it.

I also did a LOT of research on the canonical information thus far known about Alastor, including things Viv has said in streams. The only thing I got dead wrong was a chapter where he drinks tea - apparently he hates it. Everything else is either based on canon or a speculation based on lore that's been teased.

Other Random Facts

I chose to include Adam as a fleshed out character for a few reasons. One, he's hella fun to write. Two, I had the Vox-jealous-kidnap-and-rescue planned since the start, and I knew I needed a character who could help them. Adam is unknown to the Vees as a hotel resident at that point, and so he became a great choice. I needed to lay the ground work so it would be convincing that he'd help them, so he's there from the start. I ended up loving him so much that he's now one of the main characters in the sequel and is getting his own development arc. Go Adam!

Adam also breaks the fourth wall in the show (Ugly people? *looks at camera*) and so I felt inspired to make him quippy with pop culture references a la Deadpool. It was great fun and very helpful when I wanted to squeeze in a fitting reference.

There is a LOT of foreshadowing and wordplay in the fic. A LOT, so much I don't have time to list it all. For example, Verity drunkenly talks (in Chap 4) about how deer are territorial momma's boys - if that ain't Alastor idk what is. That info becomes very important in Chap 21.

There are references to stuff from Helluva Boss; Fizzerolli Cola, a Verosika music video plays, etc. A sign of more to come in P2 👀

Dramatic irony (where the audience knows something the character doesn't and it's either funny or tragic) is my absolute FAVOURITE Shakespearian trope, and I use it all the time.

I made myself laugh a lot coming up with the names for fake booze LOL

Husk was one of my favourite characters to write, as well as Alastor (ofc), Rosie and Adam.

My personal favourite chapters are 13 (Al drunk with Rosie) 19 (dream scene, fluff & first smut) and 23 (final chapter). I loved the image of Alastor laughing into his drink like a normal young man being silly and chapter 19 has a bit of everything - angst, fluff, smut, comedy. I loved writing that one so much.

The scene where Verity uses Alastor's power to manifest them away from the group cheekily and then Alastor likes it a lot and goes crazy kissing her is very inspired by this scene in Titanic (one of my all time fave movies) - especially where Rose swears and laughs as the lift is going up.

I myself have lost a parent, so I understand that loss very well. I poured a lot of that feeling into this fic, it was something I could actually inject into the story from my own experience.

I'm pretty sure we got the comments turned off on a video on youtube LOL. I linked this song at the end of Chap 19 (I listened to it on repeat while writing the love scene) and the next day the comments were disabled LMAO. That track will ALWAYS remind me of this fic now, arugh my heart

Verity

As much as Verity started as just a way for me to avoid using (Y/N) in a reader-insert fic (something I personally don't like) and a way for me to do the rabbit and deer theme, she became her own character over the course of the story. I made it reader-insert cause I figured no one would read it otherwise, but now the sequel is third person bc she's her own person.

Her name was also a deliberate choice - a V name meaning truth. She makes Alastor face his truth, yadda yadda blah blah blah you get it you get it 😂 Plus it just sounds like a rabbit name doesn't it?

Verity has a lot of traits from myself, but she is NOT self-insert for me, I'd hasten to add. I'm not completely delulu guys okay? ....Not entirely But she does have a lot of overlap with myself. You gotta write what you know, after all. I won't go into detail about the similarities between us - some of them are obvious, I think. But I'll leave that all ambiguous, more fun that way :)

Final Thoughts

There are honestly so many more things I could say but this is already veering into narcissistic self-indulgence land LOL so I feel compelled to stop here, but if anyone has any questions or things they'd like to know, pop them in my inbox!

That's all, folks!

#bapple chats #bapple writes #radiocotton #trivia #q&a #verity #If you can't say somethin' nice don't say nothin' at all #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfic #alastor #hazbin alastor #writer stuff #behind the scenes

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blorb-el · 1 year ago

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hullo! I read your chapter of your au with the Very Horrible Lex and the Very Baby Kon and the Very Sad Clark and i love it sosososo much! The GOOD ANGST my dood.

I want you to know i’ve been daydreaming abt it. Heck, i was daydreaming WHILE reading it- i mean that’s actually normal for me when i’m invested in smthn, but fr i kept getting distracted by So Many Thoughts and Feelings tm. Took me longer to read than it should’ve but rest assured that’s a positive thing!

i read the fic you based it on, and it was great! But so far im liking yours better >v>

I wanna see the rescue and the recovery! I wanna see it get worse first! I wanna see Clark attempt to raise Kon the best he can in the worst of circumstances! The love and human connection thriving even in the midst of a hurricane of cruelty— it’s so good bestie!

uhh anyway! The point of this ask: I wanna know, how did you come up with the title? “We shall be free; we shall find peace”? oVo?

Thank you!! That's basically how it came about, daydreaming about the fic that inspired it!

So I really love the fanfic tradition of using lowercase AestheticTM song lyrics as titles. Fic is already inherently intertextual, and I think it's fun to add another layer of intertextuality onto that; I named one of my other fics with a lyric mostly because 1. the lyric fits their relationship! and 2. the juxtaposition between Wholesome Radio Pop Lyric and soft d/s xeno tentacle pwp still makes me laugh.

At first the draft was just called 'horrible lex au,' and then I thought about using two other quotes before settling on the title. That's the tl;dr of it all, the rest of this is under a cut for plot spoilers for the overall arc of the entire fic, and also so, so much rambling:

The first title I was thinking about was be sure your heart is brave from Aeschylus' Agamemnon, but that quote is the chorus speaking to Cassandra right before she's about to be killed; her bravery is a heavy burden reaction to the monstrous injustices that have brought her to that point, like Clark and Kon... but then she's brutally murdered. Plus the power dynamic situation is... let's say, very different. It's an extraordinary, immortal line but the narrative arc I've got planned strays too far from the original arc, and in the end I decided I didn't want the shadow of a way better tragedy hanging over my little fanfic.

Chorus: Woman, be sure your heart is brave; you can take much. Cassandra: None but the unhappy ever hear such praise.

The next line I was thinking about went too far in the other direction, taste a morning out there, which is from one of the best 'I Want' songs, Out There from the Disney Hunchback of Notre Dame. Quasimodo's story of being thought monstrous and being imprisoned and gaslit by a socially powerful manipulator parallels Clark and Kon better than Cassandra's, but in the end the literal line itself doesn't fit right with either Clark or Kon. Clark, at the beginning of the fic, has atrophied to the point where he can only conceive wanting for such things through wanting them for Kon, and Kon, as we'll see soonish, isn't locked up underground the way Clark is. Plus, the fic is... lighter than the Orestia for sure but a hell of a lot grimmer than Disney, lol. I do have it on my writing playlist though.

So in the end I went back to one of my absolute favorite pieces of media ever, Fidelio. We shall be free; we shall find peace is a line from the Prisoner's Chorus in that opera. The solo prisoner that sings the line invites the rest of the prisoners to begin hoping, and from there, despite the sobering reminders of the dangers they face, that they're being watched, the music swells into a yearning for freedom so powerful it's difficult to understand how it passed the censors in 1805.

First solo: Hope whispers softly to me: We shall be free, we shall find peace. Chorus: Oh Heavens! Salvation! What happiness! Oh freedom, freedom, will you return? Second solo: Speak softly! Be on your guard! [The jailer's] eyes and ears are on us.

And then - the head jailer returns, and the prisoners are brought back to reality, forced back into their dark cells at the end of the act. The temporary respite is over.

Farewell, warm sunshine - how quickly you fly from us. Night is fallen upon us, from which no day shall break.

The simple act of hoping is like a breath of fresh air, temporarily alleviating their suffering, but it doesn't materially change their circumstances; it takes a number of outside forces to do that, which will be paralleled in the fic. Love and hope is all they have, and it's not enough, but it does make the torment bearable until Bruce/Leonora uncovers the extent of The Horrors and Diana/Don Fernando can deus ex machina everyone into the sunlight.

All in all, the line is a very succinct summary of the plot. Clark and Kon will be free, and they will find peace, but they have to find out what both of those mean, reclaiming their agency in the process.

oooor at least that's the plan. chapter 2 is about 90% edited and can probably be ready this weekend, I hit a little plot snag in chapter 3-5 so chunks of that are undergoing rewrites, but the good news there is that the rewrites are SO much better than the original draft and there will be some bats showing up earlier than there otherwise would have been. I did uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh kind of lose my job a few days after posting the first part, so updates will be slower than I'd like, especially since I'll have to move to a different state if I get the positions I'm currently applying to 😓

#thanks for the ask :^)#bahfev #fic: we shall be free #my writing

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whinlatter · 1 year ago

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author's note | chapter 5: the flock 🌊

here is the author's note for chapter five of Beasts! this week, the tide's rolling in on the greyback hearings, the press are determined to rock the boat, harry and ginny head for the (metaphorical) lifeboats, and madam pince is officially sick of ginny weasley's shit. all the usual behind the scenes writing notes, headcanons, fic and meta inspo and song choices below, plus a tiny sneak peek of chapter six... 🗞️

✨ spoilers for this chapter below the cut ✨

[ flock, n.: a number of birds of one kind feeding, resting, or travelling together ]

writing notes and headcanons:

the hearings – this chapter sees ginny forced to zoom out from her own (real) problems and start to confront developments beyond the castles: the trials/hearings, a broader politics and set of questions about justice and inclusions/exclusions from wizarding society, and the role of the media in that society’s political and cultural life. i wanted this chapter to feel like a wave building and building and breaking - narratively, i wanted a false break, with harry and ginny’s reunion, and the actual breaking to be with bill’s speech at the end (jury’s out on that one - also just made the chapter extremely long and a bit top heavy, which i might prune in an edit). but i was so excited to start writing this dimension to the fic more explicitly, because i’m really interested in taking up questions about the kinds of evil and darkness that linger after voldemort’s end, and how wizarding institutions do or don’t confront their own role in furthering kinds of societal divisions and discrimination that helped pre-dated voldemort and have survived him. it’s not that ginny’s personal problems aren’t valid or real, but that what i hoped for in this chapter is to take a step back and put what ginny’s going through into a broader context of a whole society coming to a reckoning.

the wireless – i’ve taken some creative liberties on the wireless, as we don’t really know how it works (this pottermore page on technology was far more frustrating than it was helpful lmao - if muggle wirelesses have been ��modified’, are they still running on the same kinds of (muggle) technology, or on magic? how do they work!!!). i decided static must still exist lol, to add to this sensory experience of irritating omnipresent noise ginny experiences throughout this chapter. the lil opener about the shipping forecast i’m so attached to is a bit of a love letter to this very strange british radio tradition (i really recommend listening to a sample one, they’re so charming), but i liked it also as a window onto a possible touchpoint between muggle and wizarding society that the wireless itself symbolises. young ginny’s question to arthur about sea monsters causing waves, and arthur’s response (“there doesn’t always have to be a monster, you know. Sometimes, there are other things to worry about”) is me trying to play with ideas about wizarding hubris that young witches and wizards internalise but which prevent wizarding society from seeing its own blindspots and points of ignorance. also the shipping forecast is foreshadowing for the rest of the chapter lol (forth is the oceanic region nearest hogwarts; lundy is the region nearest cornwall, where bill’s from. don’t worry i think i’m obnoxious too)

on bill weasley – bill is probably my favourite weasley after ron and ginny. he could be a really nothing character, but instead he’s quietly a really strong and reassuring presence who is clearly widely admired and who has these really loving close relationships with other great characters. he’s empathetic and highly observant, he’s got a sense of humour but also knows when to be serious, and he takes his responsibilities to his parents and to his siblings very seriously. but he’s also got this other streak - ginny think it’s him being drawn to ‘glamour’ and ‘adventure’, but i see it more as him having a bit of a capacity to surprise, an edge, a real audacity, strong sense of self, and a belief in his own convictions. that neither bill nor charlie followed arthur into the ministry is i think very revealing of how the weasley siblings grow up seeing through the political institutions of their world (and what makes percy’s arc all the more heartbreaking).

bill and remus – this is such a personal obsession of mine lol, being a big fan of both bill and remus as characters in their own right, but i think bill and remus’ interactions in canon are small but really meaningful, and speak to two characters bound together in some way, even before bill’s attack. obviously they’re both young(ish) men in the order, reasonably close in age (at least, less than the age gap between remus and dora), and they both often play similar roles within the larger group of resistance fighter, including as peacemakers (to molly in ootp over percy, and to ginny in DH during the evacuation), and sage guides to the younger ones (remus examples too many to name, but on bill i’m thinking of him advising harry in pre-gringotts, sheltering ron after his desertion). they also, canonically, both have an interest in these questions about politics, beings and beasts the place of other species in the wizarding world, actually discussing the goblin Q together with arthur in ootp (remus on goblins: “if they’re offered freedoms we’ve been denying them for centuries they’re going to be tempted [by Voldemort]”) then, of course, after bill’s attack, remus is both a source of information and experience in the immediate aftermath, and has previously shown an interest in comforting victims of werewolf attacks and other wereolves (ootp in st mungo’s). i think they also have a mutual respect and quite a warm friendship, only glimpsed very briefly through harry’s narration. when mad-eye is killed during the seven potters rescue, it’s remus who consoles a crying bill at the burrow (‘Bill’s voice broke. “Of course you couldn’t have done anything,” said Lupin.’) remus knows bill is upset and offers to recover mad-eye’s body with kingsley to spare bill the task, but bill is insistent he wants to go, and the two of them agree to set off alone together. bill also seems to know about remus trying to leave tonks, and knows when they’ve reconciled: ron passes the info on to the trio through bill. then ofc when teddy is born, remus and bill have that lovely moment where bill’s trying to get him drunk to toast to his son’s birth when remus is absolutely elated. i think remus’ experience as a fellow victim of greyback, their age gap and remus’ credentials as a young man who fought in the first war would mean bill would both look up to remus a great deal and would motivate him to do right by remus in death.

bill and ginny – ginny’s admiration, even reverence, for bill, comes through so strongly in canon (harry even seems faintly amused by it, as it borders on hero-worship - “Bill doesn’t like him either,” said Ginny, as though that settled the matter, in OotP). i think if fleur had been with any other of her brothers, ginny might have taken her arrival better. little ginny wants to be charlie, but she also really admires bill and will follow where he leads (👀). bill sticking his neck out will (we’ll see) have big consequences for his family and for ginny. all i’ll say for now is that i think it means a lot that ginny spends this chapter trying to shield bill from the horrors of the greyback hearings, and then he takes her surprise and walks straight into the fire.

on the montgomery family - i wrote much longer versions of all the testimonies drawn from canon here (the montgomery family, parvati on lavender, bill on remus and his own attack). The montgomery family only get a brief mention in HBP, the two sisters whose little brother died after being attacked by greyback, and writing from the perspective from the parents of that child was honestly horrendous. i had to cut a lot of it down because it was just actually horrific and much too sad, too early in the chapter. but yeah sorry writing this chapter really made me realise how fucking awful the greyback stuff is. truly truly not children’s book shit lol

on parvati and lavender - i wanted parvati’s testimony about lavender to address the severity of her injuries after the attack, but it was also important to use this speech as a chance to explore how this friendship feels for those two characters. Harry’s narration is that of a teenage boy - he’s friendly with them both, but not close, probably has a bit more time for parvati than lavender, and he’s largely uninterested in both girls’ inner lives (and tends to dismissive them as silly, girlish and giggly). so it seemed important to explore their friendship as something rich and meaningful, and to put forward a version of lavender that, while shaded by her canon appearances, gives her a more well-rounded and kinder character assessment than the narration in canon ever affords her. hermione looking up to the dormitory steps as she listens to them, ginny and luna holding hands during - girls processing their friendships 2k23 babyyy

on hermione and ginny – as discussed in the last author’s note, this is me playing with how to write conflict between two female characters that’s true to their characterisation and their relationship’s dynamics, but that also has them both coming from a reasonable and understandable place but both exhibiting unhealthy coping mechanisms. ginny is avoidant, using humour, denial and distractions, and fiercely protective of the other gryffindors, trying to shelter them from exposure to too many emotional triggers. without spoiling anything, hermione has a different perspective; she wants all the information possible, she’s very interested in these questions of how this society will or won’t change, and the prospect of reform (she also, of course, has had her own traumatising run-ins with greyback), but, as ginny, harry and ron can all see, she’s not taking care of herself - she’s not allowing her any respite from the traumatising news cycle, and she’s also clearly showing signs of distress, isolation and PTSD, particularly the absence of harry and ron (especially ron, our real hero in this chap). i’ve found it so fun but challenging to write ginny’s pov when personally i’d probably be much more like hermione (want to know everything and obsessively follow the news lol). i really care about trying to write this arc in a way that feels fair to both characters.

on harry and ginny – i finally let them kiss ok!!! and i even gave harry a semi (sorry). those two just write themselves. it was very very important for me in this chapter to have the two of them thinking together about the world around them, as well as providing each other with forms of emotional support that are valuable to each of them (quiet, careful, lots of physical contact, not overstepping or overreaching, balanced out by laughter). ginny is better practiced at this: harry is still learning, though he’s getting there. what i hope i’m starting to show is how these two people go from teenage sweethearts to two people in a marriage and a partnership. (also how do you know ginny’s in the grounds a lot in the mornings harry??? hmmmmmm???) also harry potter loves the sea it’s canon and he also has no chill and definitely would pick out a little seaside house for them both tomorrow if ginny let him. love u hjp miss writing your narration where i could take for granted that you’re very selectively observant and have you slowly realise things. ginny is too observant i have to work much harder to cultivate her ignorance lol

on ron and ginny – i really feel like you can tell in their parting conversation that i’ve been binging succession lately. the surprise at ‘love you’ is pure roy siblings without any of the you know, deeply-fucked-up-ness

on st andrews/anstruther/scottish coastal destinations – how does ginny know these places, indeed? a story for another time… (we’ll get there)

on arnold – ok confession time: i forgot about arnold when i mapped out this fic. wrote a ginny pov fic about magical beasts and forgot her literal pet. in my defence, on my re-reads i was always just thinking like, what is the point of arnold. also what tf happens to arnold. is arnold one of the fallen fifty? we do not know. (...) at a certain point, though, i realised that arnold is just like, a dumb fun pet an adolescent girl gets to play with, and that’s kind of the point. joy is worth something in its own right. so having remembered he exists in canon lol and had that realisation, i’m happy with how he’s ended up in this fic finally lmao. the story of his handover is still to come, but for now just to say i really like the idea of little bea taking ownership of ginny’s pet, this symbol of innocence and fun and happy girlhood.

on chapter titles – this one is for my jonathan livingstone seagull fans (👀 again…)

reading list:

on bill weasley:

up and down and barely made it over by cosmicwritings

Harbor by @greenhousethree

on postwar justice and trials:

castles by @pebblysand

on the sea:

Harry and Ginny at Shell Cottage (meta)

on neville and ginny's friendship:

Ginny and Neville: A Friendship Forged in Fire (meta) by @greenhousethree

on lupin among the werewolves:

It's Just What You Do To Get By by @evesaintyves

songs for this chapter from the playlist:

to anyone who has reached out to tell me they’ve been listening to the playlist - you are all the loves of my life and i could kiss you. i spend an indecent amount of time picking songs out for that damn playlist, and i really used this week’s to get me into the zone for writing different sections, so feel very attached to this chapter's song choices (also it includes one of my all-time favourite songs, nobody else will be there, by the national, which is an immaculate and underrated hinny anthem and maybe my favourite love song in the world)...

and a tiny sneak peek of chapter six... ❓❔⁉️

MEET THE WEASLEYS: THE WIZARDING WORLD’S MOST OUTSPOKEN - AND CONTROVERSIAL - FAMILY William ‘Bill’ Weasley may have made headlines after his recent pro-werewolf testimony before the Wizengamot. But Bill’s not the only Weasley unafraid to ruffle some feathers. Get to know the notorious family who are no stranger to scandal, with the Daily Prophet’s handy pull-out guide, Which Weasley?

#beasts #author's note #spoilers #fic rec #alexa play press by cardi b

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justworthlessreblogs · 1 year ago

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waffleverse: full bibury fic author's notes

this fic is so long and i had so many writing decisions/notes i wanted to talk about that they couldn't all fit in ao3's 5000 character limit. so i figured i might as well put them here. they'll be under a cut to prevent any accidental spoilers!

writing notes:

- first off this fic drove me CRAZY. another one of its nicknames was “the frankenfic” because i really did feel like i had 3 fics i was shoving into one. and it also took on a life of its own. every day i wake up and scold myself for deciding that covering 33-40 was a good idea. it was not helped by me not having many strong feelings about any of the episodes in that set, which led to me feeling really bored when writing them, and then in the last month of writing i said “fuck it, we ball” and started just making up shit. i also remembered Hey I Made Bibury Try To Kill Rio Back In May I Should Do Something About That. so you get bibury backstory! plus i was sad that they never explore her’s and rio’s time working under noir in canon aside from like. one scene in episode 18

- rio is trying his best to be better at emotions but it is definitely an uphill battle and not linear. the other cures meant well by accepting bibury so easily - after all, it didn’t really work out that great when they were constantly suspicious of him - but he didn’t see it the same way they did. in his eyes bibury was getting away with everything even though she did similar things to him. this was inspired by how the show itself does not seem to ever hold bibury accountable (at least as of where i’m at) but makes it very clear that rio needed to do something to make up for what he did (which i am fine with! this is not a “omg poor rio he was so hated by the writers” moment. i just found it interesting and thought i could explore it)

- episode 37 was the reason for like. nearly all of my original writer's block. it almost got cut, but in the end 34 got the chopping block instead because i felt that bibury didn't really have a justification to be there and 36 got basically entirely cut because i thought it was boring. plus 37 was just… too important to not acknowledge unfortunately. i still definitely want to write a waffleverse version of 34, though, i just think it’d work better on its own! which is why i summarized it here. i had the entire thing written out and saved it, so the original version will probably get uploaded to spice of life someday

- rio being like “i am so mad at my sister. however she is upset so i will make her waffles” was very funny to me. the duality of rio kuroki

- i left the bib & rio talk at the end open-ended, since i had so many things they could have possibly discussed that i couldn’t fit them all in naturally no matter how hard i tried. so let your imaginations go wild lol. however i guess i do have to thank that original draft of their conversation since it was the thing that finally, finally, made me figure out what i wanted from this fic - exploring not just bibury, but bibury and rio. this fic was originally a lot more ciel-heavy than what the final product ended up being, and frankly bib & rio didn’t interact much at all, and i wasn’t able to get to the bottom of why they still hated each other until i remembered. hey. attempted murder

- you are all so lucky that i ended up incorporating 26 into this fic because the original plan was for the scenes that changed to be stuck into spice of life when i got around to writing them someday. the mcu-ification of waffleverse is defeated for another day

- no fantastic animale because i really dislike those super forms and the attack. this is one of two times i have actively disregarded canon, i usually try to stick as close to canon events as possible (which is why the crystal animals are in this. you have no idea how badly i wanted to cut them). fantastic animale is Just That Bad. this was literally the first thing i decided after i started planning this fic. so animal-go-round is powerful enough in this ‘verse. just roll with it please

- no "do sweets bring sadness?" dilemma here because i didn't vibe with that part of the episode. i was looking forward to bibury shenanigans :( the crystal animals are just cielbib shippers /j

- if the writing seems disjointed i apologize it's because this thing was written on and off over a period of 3 months and is also super long

- i had so much fun writing the bathroom scene. finally allowing myself silly rights. the flashback scenes were also really enjoyable

- i messed with the yukari v. kirarin fight because i was a little disappointed with how it played out in canon. yukari tells everyone right away here because she had a Realization because of part 4. kirarin is more resistant than the average fairy to diable in this universe but not fully immune

- RIO FINALLY GETS TO SAY FUCK WOOHOO i've waited so long for this. also bibury is definitely a character who would cuss if the show's rating wasn't the japanese equivalent of tv-y7 so i was a little looser here

- you all know it in your hearts that aoi was 100% a vine kid. also there was no way i was letting that joke slip past me

- did the math and i'm preeettty sure that rio's age in the prologue section checks out with the waffleverse timeline? when i started this series i was under the impression that rio had been gone for way longer than what the series ended up implying, and so in waffleverse i decided he was gone for about a year. he's 12-about-to-turn-13 in the prologue and 14 in the present (his & ciel’s birthday was shortly after part 4!)

-bib starts calling him rio pretty quickly because a) she may have been evil, but she respects people's preferred name choices and b) yukari already had an arc about realizing how he's not julio anymore and i really didn't want to write that same arc a second time!

- waffle’s secondary attack finally shows up!!! waffle protége my beloved. giving him some sort of barrier just Felt Right (and waffles are the perfect shape for it). i like to think he can split it apart and use it offensively a la rosetta reflection. it was originally supposed to show up in 34 (which got cut) then in 37 (then i cut the battle from the episode since it felt very forced) and then i worried i wouldn’t be able to fit it in at all but got the opportunity with the climax rewrite

- in regard to bib's aging i'm going with "noir's presence slowed down her aging a lot somehow, so she may be chronologically 106 or so, but in all other aspects she's around 13-14 and will now start aging normally again". the same would've happened to rio had he stayed with noir longer. insert noir child labor joke here

- hey remember that time noir tried to take rio back!? i guess 40 kinda busted that for canon by establishing he sees them all as expendable but in my defense while i was writing part 3 i saw it more as a twilight-dyspear situation. and then i ran with that. at this point i’m just gonna have to accept that waffleverse isn’t purely canon divergence any more thanks to me writing it as i watch the show, which leads to the show debunking things from earlier parts

- was a bit disappointed that the great fairy meeting episode didn't really involve, well, a meeting. so they actually get some time to talk strategy here! i'm so sad the technological limitations of ichigoyama meant that i couldn't have waffle give a powerpoint presentation on noir like i wanted to. it would've been so funny. maybe i'll make it for fun someday

- yeah i messed with episode 40 like. a lot. sorry. it's just how it ended up working out tbh. i actually debated back and forth for literal months on if i should give bib a "canon cure waffle" moment or not, and nearly did it, but decided against it because in the end it just didn't feel quite right for a multitude of reasons. so you were going to get fairy combat and then bib yelling at grave instead. and then that got rewritten once i decided i wanted to expand more on why rio & bib are so antagonistic to each other. you can still see traces of the original climax though in ciel showing up with the fairies, as well as the part where bib confronts grave! bib also originally wasn’t supposed to be dragged into the town with them, she was gonna stay on the mountain and then venture down with ciel and the fairies. but rio said Nope She’s Coming With Us once the fic's course changed direction

- my beta enabled me on the "bibury hasn't slept in an actual bed in a century" thing. i originally sent it to him as a joke. he told me to go ahead with it. but let's be real noir would do something fucked up like that

- let waffle fight the townspeople 2k23. this is the other time i actively disregarded canon in the fic idc what it says He Would Do It

- bibury’s verbal beatdown of grave was inspired by her canon one in episode 40

- ciel & bib's relationship isn't gonna progress past "mutual crush" at any point in waffleverse simply because i cannot write romance sorry. rest assured it blossoms into a beautiful love story. they get married on the island where they met properly for the first time. rio is ciel's best man

- i came to the realization that a lot of my decisions regarding this fic were along the lines of "fuck canon". idk what that means

#precure #pretty cure #kirakira precure a la mode #cure waffle au #waffleverse: writing #waffleverse: behind the scenes #long post #so sorry about the length. you can blame bib fic and its 13.9k word wordcount

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trinidaddy888 · 2 years ago

Text

You Wanna Smoke? (Chapter 3)

Chase runs out of weed and must go to the human world to get more. How will they manage? And who will they be smoking weed with? Find out in this self-indulgent fic about my Obey Me blunt rotation.

Characters: MC, Mammon, Lucifer, Thirteen, Diavolo, Asmodeus, Simeon, Beelzebub, Solomon

Genre: Slice of Life

Tags: Marijuana, Recreational Drug use, No romance just bros being bros, No Spoilers

A/n: I had a blunt rotation list for Obey Me characters that I’d like to smoke weed with and I decided to make it into a story. The full story is already posted to AO3 but I wanted to keep a writing tumblr for all my stories. The previous chapter had art but I got lazy from this point on and stopped drawing lol.

Story Index

The following day at RAD, I wandered the hallway between second and third period trying to figure out who out of thousands of students here smoked weed. There were no other humans besides Solomon and I and I did not want to just randomly ask around in case word got back to Lucifer and Diavolo.

I could assume that Belphie gets high but I think he simply just likes to nap. Beel eats a lot which can be seen as a stoner move but with all the eating he does when will he get time to smoke or vape weed? If he did edibles, he would over do it and his body would feel too heavy to do anything else. Satan and Levi were out of the question. I even heard Levi claim that “Marijuana Kills” once.

“Yo!” Mammon called out behind me, interrupting my thoughts.

He put an arm around my shoulders and leaned in to whisper, “Have ya found anyone yet?”

I shook my head.

“I dunno why you’re so hell bent on trying to get marijuana, anyway,” he said, “Do you really need to be high?”

“Well,” I said, “It helps me get through the anxiety of being here. Like all of you guys are cool but I’m still in Hell.”

“Devildom,” he corrected.

“Yeah,” I said, “It helps me sleep and organize my racing thoughts better. Also, being high is fun!”

“So,” said a melodic voice behind us, “You smoke marijuana?”

Mammon and I turned around to see Simeon standing right behind us.

“Shit,” I swore.

“Simeon!” exclaimed Mammon, “Do not tell Lucifer or Diavolo, please.”

“Oh, no. Don’t worry. I won’t,” Simeon whispered with a smile, “However, I think I can help you find someone who knows how to get weed.”

“Really?” I whispered with excitement, “Who?”

“Thirteen.”

“So,” said Thirteen, “You want weed, huh?”

Mammon and I were in her room sitting across from her. Her room had an odor of what smelled like marijuana but a little different. Maybe a special strain? She was crimping a piece of rolling paper and packing a bit of weed from her grinder into it. I caught myself staring at the joint she was crafting. I glanced up at her and she smirked.

“Yes,” I said with desperation, “I would love some. Actually, I’d prefer vape carts.”

“Ew. Gross. Carts?” she said with disgust.

“I don’t know how to roll a J,” I said with shame, “And my bong broke at the last weed party I attended in the human world. Besides, it’s easy to conceal.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she said as she started to roll the joint, “I can’t get you carts here and besides, this is Hell Weed. You can’t smoke this. It will kill you. You’d have to get it from the human world.”

“How in the hell would they do that?” asked Mammon, “They’re human. The whole reason they’re here is ‘cause they need it from here!”

Thirteen licked the end part of the rolling paper and started to adhere it to itself.

“Sorry,” she said, “I really can’t help you, then.”

“Do you know who would be able to help me?” I asked.

She twisted the end and added a filter to the other.

“Yeah,” she said while holding it between her lips and lighting the twisted end with a lighter, “I know a guy.”

#obey me mc #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me simeon #obey me thirteen #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #you wanna smoke?#obey me fandom

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stellarbisexual · 2 years ago

Note

7, 8, 20, 22, 58

7. Post a snippet from a wip.

I have no idea if I'll ever actually write-write this, but I've got lots of notes for a Reddie The Holiday AU, and here's a bit of dialogue from Reddie's meet-cute:

(Eddie answers the door)

R: Wow. Stan the Man didn’t waste any time going for an upgrade, I see.

E: Am I supposed to understand what any of that means?

R: Richie, I work with him. Is he around?

E: Oh, he’s not--I’m actually just staying here. We swapped houses for vacation. I’m in from England.

R: You don’t have an accent.

E: I’m American; I just live there. Eddie.

R: Nice to meet you. Stan never goes on vacation--are you sure he didn’t get thrown in the clink for homicide? He and his ex just had a pretty rough breakup.

E: I’m sorry to hear that. But yeah: he’s staying in my incredibly tiny cottage in Surrey.

R: No shit. He’s probably miserable; Stan can’t stand the cold.

E: I think he’ll be okay. I have a fireplace. And a dog to cuddle with.

R: That sounds romantic. What are you doing in Hell-A?

E: (heavy sigh) I had to get away. Long story.

R: Sounds like it. Color me intrigued.

E: Did you need…?

R: Nah. I’ll bug him when he gets back. Which will be…

E: Two weeks.

R: So you’ll be here two more weeks. (Eddie nods.) Hm. (Reaches into his pocket for a business card.) If you need anything--someone to show you around or just tell you where to find a corkscrew…

E: Oh thank God, I’ve already gotten lost in there twice. (Gestures back at the house.) I’ll probably take you up on that.

R: (Rocking back and forth on his heels) I hope so. You liking it so far?

E: Yeah. I didn’t expect it to be so fucking windy, though.

(Wind picks up and blows a piece of detritus into Eddie’s eye)

E: Ow. Shit shit shit.

R: How’s that for timing? Lemme see.

(R takes it out)

R: I think you’ll live, Eds.

E: Eddie.

R: Eds.

E: How ‘bout I start calling you Riches?

R: (walking back to his car; throws his arms open) I’d love it, Eds. (re his card) Hang onto that.

E: (mimes tearing it up)

R: Was that a Swingers reference? Be still my little heart.

E: I don’t know what that means, either, so no.

R: I’ll come bug you another time if I don’t hear from you.

E: I don’t doubt it.

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

I swear this isn't a copout, but my brain is truly broken this morning and I can't figure out how to do this. XD

20. Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

I love both tbh but my absolute favorite is a SLIGHT AU / canon-divergent. I love writing that shit, reading that shit, you name it.

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

I love this question! I want everyone to answer this question because titling is so interesting to me! It truly depends on the fic or story or whatever, but I almost always title it somewhere during the writing process. Usually about midway through, I'll have an "a-ha" moment where the title will reveal itself. That's not always the case, though; sometimes I go in with a ready-made title and sometimes I'll finish something and have ZERO IDEA what to call it. And then it becomes "Untitled" for longer than I want it to, or I go through the agonizing process of figuring out a name and not being happy with what I've chosen. "Zero Characters Left" is probably my favorite title that I've come up with. :D

Fun fact: for The Naturals, the title was important to me, so I did a mind-mapping exercise to intentionally lead me to it, and I think it worked super well. Sometimes it doesn't work at all, though.

58. Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

This is actually something that I feel like I used to be *really* good at (and it's my favorite thing to do writing-wise), but I have this nagging feeling that I can't do it anymore, like I've "lost it" with age or something. For that reason, it's probably something from a fic from, like, 15 years ago, lol.

#THANK YOU FRIEND #jouissants #memes #writing stuff

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago

Text

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?”

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?” Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,” you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

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