#I feel like I do the smallest steps of the most basic things wrong and it feels So bad

[visdiefje]

AUGH I hate doing things while anyone is at home here. I feel like the stupidest most incapable most insecure being alive

[p-oisn]

let's get positive ! (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）

(the content below the cut contains mentions of sensitive topics such as implied su*cide & sh so pls scroll if you're uncomfortable w those !)

this is a long rant about life basically .. 💩💩

i was going to make a post like this sometime later anyways bc i felt .. like a nice person ... but i made it a bit earlier than i expected bc i saw a post from oomf that really made me think .. so here u go

this comes from my own PERSONAL experiences and this is js my point of view yk !!! im no expert on any topic HSHSJ this is js the way i cope plz dont come for me in my asks ... i am aware that it isn't the same for everyone but , i hope this message can be helpful to some extent </3

if you feel like like life is leading nowhere n you feel like giving up I PROMISE it will get better bc i felt the same for two whole years n i will say that i have improved a LOT since . yes , it took me longer than i expected but i didn't give up and you shouldn't either ! it was hard n there were times i felt like i wasn't making any progress / improvement but in the end , it still got better

be kinder (to yourself, first) ☆

i think the first step to loving yourself is to forgive yourself .. its okay to try over n over again , you're still human n i think ppl tend to forget that often bc they're so tough on theirselves . let's not forget that your body is actively trying it's best to keep u alive , your WBCs for example ! (let's appreciate these little guys for trying their best 🎉🎉) your body too , deserves to be loved back , for fighting so hard just for YOU! so pls don't hurt yourself in any way </3

appreciate yourself for achieving even the smallest of tasks because even if it wasn't something big , YOU DID IT ANYWAYS ! every small achievement of yours deserves to be appreciated . even if it's momentary happiness , appreciate yourself while it lasts . i understand that sometimes even small things could be such a hassle but you can always reward yourself later ! i personally like to buy donuts everytime i finish something (this could come in handy when you're really craving something if you get what im saying ..)

It's okay if you're going at a slower pace than other people , what matters in the end is that you get it done ! everyone is not the same so it's unfair to put yourself down for such things .. also applies to comparing yourself to someone because in the end you'll still be you .. even if you don't like it .. that makes you unique ofcourse , there's only one of you in this world so embrace yourself for that !! you're one of a kind (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

oh, but, life's the same, it's boring ... ☆

yes , a lot of days could end up being the exact same because like , there are 365 days in a year so you can except most of them to be similar .. but as a new year starts , ofc many things change without you even noticing it , you grow older ofcourse , and you could be starting a new year in school , you meet new people and so on ! if you compare your life from a year ago or even a few months ago to now , you'll surely notice a few differences atleast so .. life is not reaaaaally the same right .... everyday is a new experience ! literally anything and i mean anything could happen the next day , you could even win the lottery who knows 🤫

when i felt like everyday was the same , i tried changing my patterns .. (my current favourite thing to do is go on a walk ! sometimes i take my dog w me , it's super fun) i would do small things that i dont usually do like sketch ! or i attempt cooking something new .. but obviously there were a LOT of days where i did nothing , sometimes even weeks , and that's okay ! we all deserve days where we do nothing ESPECIALLY if you're someone who is working or js in school / college everyday .. you deserve that break

i think a big factor is being unproductive ? don't get me wrong , i still am my same unproductive self at times unfortunately , n sometimes they do get so bad that they lead to a terrible burnout .. n i went through a rly bad burnout not long ago n trust me you do not want to get this far :( how do i deal with this ? (let's take studying as an example here) well i always start off with small portions , even if it's just a page or two . n then i slowly keep increasing the amount of pages i read .. n yes ofc , i understand how brutal burnouts can get sometimes n that's why it's important to not overwhelm yourself by attempting to finish a big portion of your studies in one go .. just take it easy , let the information marinate in your head for a bit before you move on to the next topic .. so basically what im trying to say here is don't overwhelm yourself with big tasks especially when you're already burntout

friends .. they're great ☆

the thing that honestly improved my life by a mile is getting good friends .. I've had my fair share of bad friend groups so trust me when I say this , it's better to be alone than with people who drain you mentally because . you deserve someone who treats you the way you actually want to be treated .

"but it's hard to make friends" i completely get this because i am a very shy person myself </3 but i think you could start by trying to make friends online ! its easy to find someone with similar interests on the internet .. so when you feel down atleast you know that there's someone on the other side of the world who cares for you ..

but this doesn't change the fact that solitude is AMAZING too (tbh i could go on for a really long time on how i love being by myself but this is already getting super lengthy ...) you can be your own friend too ! (okay see now this seems insane but if it makes you happy WHO CARES AMIRITE) i personally enjoy my own company like omg .. she can get a good laugh out of me sometimes ... you can do whatever you want when you're alone ! you can dance to your favourite playlist or experiment with a bunch of stuff ! if you get bored you can watch your favourite movie or consume your favourite piece of media that no one gets like you 🤫 so , as much as making friends sounds great , let's appreciate solitude too !!

ah, life can be beautiful sometimes? ☆

one of the biggest reasons i go on walks almost regularly is to remind myself how beautiful the world can be sometimes .. (atp half of this is me convincing you all to go on walks) i live in a beautiful neighbourhood n there are a lot of different flowers and fruits that grow here and that makes me really happy . going on early morning walks especially is soo fun , the world is so quiet then and you can even watch the sunrise 🥹

another thing is buying myself things i like ... especially clothes ... if you think you would look good in something then js go ahead and buy it ! don't mind what other people think because like ... YOU are wearing it and if people around you have a problem with that then i think they should close their damn eyes and not look at you if it bothers them that much 🤦 you deserve to feel confident and comfortable in your own skin , you deserve to dress the way you want to ! so if you feel like dressing a particular way would make you feel better .. GO FOR IT !!! this applies to other things you like, maybe accessories, merch or stationary that look cute .. it's okay even if people judge you for your style because in the end they're the ones who are boring and miserable because they spend soo much time hating on others 😒

life is soo much more fun when you take care of yourself trust me ... you deserve to be taken care of !! so spoil yourself once in a while i promise it's okay as long as it makes you happy <3

to sum it all up .. yes , good times don't last forever but so don't bad times , and you and i both can get through a bad day because life is still going on (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ bad times too , will pass . so please believe in yourself and hold on !! i love you

again, this is all how*I* like to cheer myself up so pls don't take anything here in a bad way 😖 all of this was made with good intentions and im so sorry if i still ended up hurting anyone in any way ..

[kybelles]

egeria lives au | the final part

read on ao3

~

Damen is unconscious by the time Queen Egeria finds them in the king’s chambers.

Laurent isn’t religious by any means, not at all, but a part of him sincerely prayed for Damen to see his mother one last time before he succumbed into his temporary sleep.

Laurent has to believe it’s temporary. He’s already dangling his feet over a river of insanity and even the smallest push can result in his drowning.

There is a barely subdued terror in Nikandros’s low voice. “What do we do now?”

Despite his infamous reputation, Laurent isn’t presumptuous enough to assume the question is directed at him, not when the queen of Akielos is in the room. That’s why his intense gaze doesn’t leave the bed where Paschal is tending Damen’s wound.

It’s only after the silence becomes thick enough to be cut with a knife Laurent looks at the dowager queen and immediately feels a shiver run down his spine.

From the moment he saw her for the first time, he thought Egeria of Akielos looked eerily youthful despite being in her sixties. This impression didn’t disappear even after he was exposed to her presence more frequently (despite her displeasure) and in his most vain moments, Laurent allowed himself to think Damen was only going to look more handsome as he aged if he took after his mother. (Not that Laurent was going to be at his side to witness it first handed.)

(He always felt like he got punched in the stomach whenever he remembered this small detail.)

Now though… Now, Egeria looks as if she has aged twenty years in twenty minutes. If Laurent thought his own gaze was intense mere moments ago, it was nothing compared to the feverish desperation in her hazel eyes as she watched his son lie pale in his bed.

Someone touches his elbow lightly, a contact so brief that Laurent could think he imagined it.

Nikandros still looks every bit of the soldier he is but it’s clear he is shaken. His chest is rising and falling with agitated breaths.

“Basilinna.” he says to Egeria, desperation leaking into his careful voice.

Egeria doesn’t respond. Laurent isn’t sure she even comprehends anything but Damen.

Nikandros's heavy eyes turn to him this time.

Laurent blinks. All of a sudden, he notices his own condition. His chiton is soaked with Damen’s blood. His unwashed hair is heavy with grime. He only needs to look under his fingernails to see how dirty he is. His stomach is basically digesting itself due to the lack of nutrition he was given the last couple of days.

The man he loves is fighting for his life just a few steps away.

Yet, he cannot have the luxury of falling apart. Not yet.

“Secure the palace,” he orders Nikandros. Once he opens his mouth, the rest follows. “Many will attempt to flee now that my uncle and Kastor failed. Do not let them. Put every one of them into the dungeons, noble or commoner. Find Jord and tell him to send enough men to maintain order in the streets. The last thing I want to deal with right now is a riot. Declare a curfew for at least three days. See that everyone’s basic needs are met meanwhile.”

Laurent licks his dry lips and waits for Queen Egeria to voice her objections. Tell him his input is unnecessary, that he is overstepping.

Nothing.

She’s as still and silent as a statue.

Nikandros only says, “Yes.” before he turns around and marches out of Damen’s room.

-

And so, Laurent’s seven days of hell begins.

-

If he thought Egeria would abandon her somber silence soon enough, he is quickly proven wrong.

It’s not as if she’s gone entirely mute, but she speaks as if she has a daily quota she must spend carefully. Laurent didn’t expect them to have the same easy friendship he formed with Makedon but he refuses to believe it’s pure delusion when he says things have been better between them after the okton.

She invited him to her table that afternoon. She praised his skill and wanted to know if there were similar games in Vere. He talked and talked and smiled and praised her back; hungry for her approval in a way he didn’t allow himself to admit it before.

All the while Damen watched them with a big smile on his face, dimple on display.

Laurent feels like a thousand years have passed since that day.

The first night, after hours of tireless work, Paschal informs them with a tight face that he did all he could and now all they can do is to wait.

“He lost so much blood,” he admits quietly. “But he is a strong man.”

Egeria doesn’t say anything. The only indication that she heard him is the frequent blinking of her eyes, as if she’s pushing her tears back.

Once Paschal leaves, Laurent hovers uselessly by Damen’s bed. His gaze wanders on Damen’s sickly pale complexion and vehemently, he decides this color doesn’t suit his love at all. He’s going to spend the rest of his life making sure he won’t see Damen like this ever again after he wakes up.

He looks at Egeria again and opens his mouth to say something, anything. The queen beats him to it though. “Go wash please.”

It’s only three words and they’re not even said viciously. Yet Laurent recoils like he’s been punched and takes a small step back. He suddenly feels mortified by his lack of hygiene.

He hates Egeria at that moment, just a little, for having the ability to make him feel this way. But the woman doesn’t seem to sense his inner turmoil in the slightest as she only has eyes for her son.

Laurent takes one last lingering look at Damen and flees.

-

On the third night of Laurent’s lover’s deep sleep; Nikandros enters the chamber, looking more solemn than usual.

“Basilinna,” he starts. Laurent gets the impression he’s controlling his mimics carefully to not grimace. “What are we to do with Kastor’s body?”

Laurent assumes she’s going to ignore him the way she ignores everything but Damen these days but Egeria lifts her chin a little higher instead. She asks, calm and collected, “Is he really gone then?”

Laurent began to feel a tiny bit better ever since he scrubbed his skin raw and donned his laces again, but now he feels the uneasiness churn his stomach. Realistically, he knows the woman can’t possibly nourish very positive emotions towards the dead bastard but he also knows how one can be so sentimental and stupid when it comes to family.

To Nikandros’s credit, he doesn’t even glance at Laurent when he answers. “He is, Egeria-exalted.”

Egeria nods absently as if she hadn’t expected differently. “Monstrous boy,” she murmurs, eyes so, so far away. “Instaitable boy. Foolish boy. My boy.”

She suddenly leans her head against her palm like she’s exhausted. Her eyes close and she speaks no more.

The silence remains for a long, painful moment before Laurent breaks it.

“Preserve his body. Damianos can decide what to do with him once he wakes up.”

-

A couple of subjects that needed to be dealt with immediately forces Laurent away from Damen’s bedside on the fifth day for the large portion of the day, so his steps are hurried and impatient when he makes his way back in the evening. However, the sight that greets him upon his return stops him in his tracks.

Nikandros is watching from afar as Egeria carefully sews on something. Laurent’s surprise doubles down when he takes a closer look and sees it is indeed a cloth doll between the queen’s hands. Still, he feels the need to whisper at Nikandros. “What is she doing?”

Nikandros’s face is clouded with fatigue. “Stitching a doll.”

Laurent feels one of his eyebrows twitch. “That I see. What is the purpose?”

Nikandros is silent for a moment. “The queen miscarried so many babes,” he explains silently and too late Laurent realizes the direction this is heading. “They say, each time one of them died, she made a little doll for their memory. Perhaps she…” His voice dies down.

The anger Laurent suddenly feels is so suffocating that he feels trouble breathing.

The audacity. The assumption Damen will not–

In two large steps he paces the room and stops right next to her. His abrupt appearance seems to startle Egeria a bit as she lifts her head and their eyes meet.

It’s the height of summer in Ios and yet Damen’s fireplace is lit. Blood loss and the lack of movement make one cold, Paschal explained his reasoning.

Laurent doesn’t feel cold right now. He feels as if he’s being boiled alive.

In one single movement he snatches the doll out of the queen’s hands and throws it into the fire. “This ridiculousness ends now,” he spats at her. “I’ve had it with your dramatics.”

He’s not surprised in the slightest when Egeria springs into her feet a second later and strikes him across the face with all her strength. Laurent hardly takes notice of the blow.

“You.” she snarls, so much hate dripping from one word.

“Me.” he snarls back just as enraged. “You can beat me black and blue for all I care but I will not let you mourn him while he still breathes. I will not!”

Laurent takes a deep breath and prepares himself for Egeria’s next blow.

But suddenly, the woman’s entire face crumbles and she falls onto her knees. Her crying is so silent that Laurent doesn’t even register it at first.

Dumbfounded, he makes eye contact with Nikandros, who’s still standing frozen at where Laurent left him. He’s looking at Egeria like this is the first time he is seeing her.

It takes Laurent a few, long heartbeats to comprehend and when he does, he hurriedly drops onto his knees as well.

“My dearest lady,” he says shakily. “A little faith. I’m begging you.”

Through his blurry vision, he hesitantly reaches for her hands.

Egeria doesn’t push him.

-

“It’s ludicrous,” the queen whispers at midnight of the seventh day.

Damen woke up for the first time that day, albeit only for a handful of seconds. Still, it was enough for Egeria and Laurent to watch him like a hawk all day.

Egeria is carding her fingers through Damen’s curls while Laurent is grasping at his hands, squeezing occasionally. Despite their gentle urging, Damen remains asleep.

“What’s ludicrous, basilinna?” Laurent whispers once it becomes clear Egeria won’t continue.

“That I–” She stops and starts over, as if she can’t get her thoughts in order. “I don’t know if you are aware but Damen was an early babe. The only one I could carry a whole term and it was this squishy, red faced, tiny creature. I was also gravely sick and the physicians assumed none of us were going to be alive for much. Damen proved them all wrong.”

A burst of affection blooms inside of him so strongly that he lifts Damen’s limp hand and presses a kiss on it. “He certainly did.”

Egeria smiled faintly. “Even back then I knew he was destined for many great things. I knew he would go on his own path and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Not that I ever wanted to stop him. I knew he was going to grow up to be capable.” She gently tugs on one of Damen’s curls. “Yet now I have the silliest urge to wish he was still a babe in my belly again so I could protect him from the outside world. So he wouldn’t be hurt anymore.”

Laurent is silent for a moment as he plays with Damen’s hands. His eyes drink up Damen’s handsome face for a while before he gently sighs. “I’m afraid I’d miss him too much, my lady.”

-

On the morning of the eighth day, he wakes up to the prettiest brown eyes and a dimpled smile.

Damen says, “Hello, sweetheart.”

[rebelsofshield]

Star Wars: The Bad Batch: “The Crossing”  - Review

A slower, quieter episode of The Bad Batch succeeds in bringing some much needed humanity and intimacy to the series’ main cast.

The Bad Batch are tasked with retrieving the volatile but valuable substance, ipsium, from Cid’s newly purchased mine. However, things go awry after a stranger steals the Marauder leaving the team stranded on a hostile world. Together, the team must find a way to escape, but must do so without the help of one of their brothers.

At first glance, “The Crossing” appeared to be the series returning to its wheel spinning ways. Although we occasionally get a standout like “Tribe,” The Bad Batch’s standalone missions often make for some of the series’ least interesting episodes. As I’ve said before, without the weight given by larger events occurring in the series/franchise mythology or inventive action set pieces these more routine episodes often struggle to hold my attention. This is not to say that episodic television is inherently less interesting in serialized stories. I love being able to pick up an episode of Star Trek or Rebels regardless of when it falls in the franchise’s timeline. What makes these shows work where The Bad Batch still tends to struggle is that even in their most self-contained outings good episodic TV finds a way to make things personal for our characters. But the wonderful thing is, that personal edge actually arrives in “The Crossing.” It takes a second to poke through its dull as hell episodic plot, but this week’s installment makes for one of the series’ most personal installments.

It starts as a general feeling of awkwardness. The Batch have trouble delegating even the most simple duties and their general rhythm feels off. They make mistakes that would normally not have happened. Small tasks become big challenges. And slowly it becomes clear that Echo’s absence has unbalanced how the squad functions. This is a team that is stumbling on a basic level because a core member of their unit has stepped away.

Part of what makes Matt Michnovetz’s script work so well is that Omega seems to be the only one that is able to admit that Echo’s absence is why everything is going wrong. Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker all slip into roles that are familiar to  their programming to cope, but Omega has no special skill to fall back on. What has made her special has always been the affection and loyalty that she holds to her fellow squadmates. So of course, Omega is going to be the one that finally says what’s on every other clone’s mind. She misses Echo. And the squad doesn’t make sense without him.

In a way it’s nice to have The Bad Batch even acknowledge this shakeup. So often these sorts of ensemble change outs will happen in a television series without giving the remaining cast time to react emotionally to what has happened. Sure, Echo may not be dead, but he was a mainstay in this small family unit for quite some time. His absence is felt in even the smallest of ways.

“The Crossing” is at its best when it contrasts how our team are all processing this transition. To Omega, the hole left by Echo is unbearable, but others like Tech experience this hurt differently. Tech processes his own sadness through logic that gives him comfort. Echo has made a choice to undertake a different mission and the Batch was able to function fine before he arrived in the first place. His brother isn’t dead, simply doing something else, and he can look to the past for reassurance that he and his squad will be okay. To Omega though, Tech’s matter of fact and technical way of processing this change feels cold and uncaring. It leads to one of the first episode of The Bad Batch that actually feels driven by conflict between characters. Two siblings are processing the same life altering event in different ways and have to reconcile this while also addressing a larger problem at hand. For as much as Omega may insist that she and her squadmates are a family “The Crossing” is one of the first times in quite a while where they actually feel like one. These quiet moments of Tech and Omega discussing their emotions and trying to understand one another are great and testament once again to the fantastic voice work by Dee Bradley Baker and Michelle Ang.

On a different note, it does seem like things with Cid are coming to a breaking point. Our grumpy old lizard can only screw over our team so many times before they call it quits and take their talents elsewhere. Maybe next week’s episode, which presumably will address many of the lingering plot points left over from “The Crossing,” is when we see this relationship break down for good.

Score: B+

[gay-jesus-probably]

Okay hang on, what type of bear are we talking about here though, because that's very relevant to the question. The fact that it specifically says one bear is the only reason why bear is even a reasonable option imo, because if multiple bears are in play, one of them might be a cub, and that makes things a thousand times more likely to get dangerous. But just one means there's definitely no cub (or if there is a cub, the mama bear isn't present, so it's still fine), so we can negotiate the bear terms. There's a lot of flavours of bear though, so let's just consider the North American trio, since those are the ones I actually know about.

Black bear is the best option, they're the smallest (about 6 feet tall when standing on their hind legs, so roughly people sized), and their startle response is to run away and climb a tree; they're actually fairly timid, you're fine. I mean, don't surprise it anyways, they will attack if they feel threatened, but you're fine. Make lots of noise so it can avoid you, and hike out of that forest, no problem. I mean yeah, black bears are statistically the cause of most bear attacks, but like... their habitat covers most of the continent, while grizzlies are just in the rocky mountains, and polar bears stick to the tundra. So there's waaaay more chances for humans to encounter black bears, which means there's more chances for those encounters to go wrong. So you're more likely to find a black bear normally, BUT they're the least likely to get violent, so if you've gotta be in the woods with a bear, you want it to be that one.

If it's a grizzly... maybe ask some questions about the man option before you commit. Grizzlies are bigger (about 7-8 feet tall), stronger, more territorial, and their startle response is to charge the thing that surprised them. If you pick the grizzly, the second your boots hit the ground, start belting out a song at the top of your lungs and don't stop singing until you're out of that forest, because dear lord you do NOT want to surprise that bear. You let it know exactly where you are, and trust that it's not interested in starting a fight today. They don't go after people unprovoked, but like... there's considerably less room for error than with a black bear. If a black bear swats you, you're getting knocked down. If a grizzly swats you, it's taking your head off. So if it's a grizzly, 50/50 on man or bear, honestly, that's your call. It's more likely for things to go south with the man, but you've also got a fair chance of kicking his ass instead. A grizzly isn't as likely to decide you need a vibe check, but if it DOES, you're screwed. So both options make sense.

But if you're getting tossed out there with just a polar bear, you take the man option, no other questions needed. I don't care if the man option turns out to be getting duct taped to the goddamn Zodiac Killer, he cannot possibly be more of a threat than a polar bear. Blacks and grizzlies are omnivores, and stick to their specific diets, they're not really interested in people. Polar bears are carnivores. Opportunistic carnivores. They will not hesitate to hunt humans if a good chance arrives. If you're at a research base up north and you step outside for a smoke at about the same time every day, eventually a polar bear is gonna see you doing it, notice the pattern, and your first warning will be when you open the door to find a polar bear waiting for you. They're bigger than the grizzly, they're smart, they're vicious, and they'll eat literally any meat they can get their paws on, especially with global warming ravaging their habitat. The main reason they don't normally hunt humans is just because their habitat rarely overlaps with humans. They absolutely will not hesitate to pick off any lone human they find, so you never volunteer to be a lone human in the same area as a polar bear.

In summary, black bear? Take the bear, use basic safety precautions and you're fine. Grizzly? Consider the man, there's pros and cons either way, your choice, but be extra careful if you pick the bear. Polar bear? Always take the man. He probably doesn't want to kill and eat you, and even if he does, he's not gonna be nearly as good at it as the polar bear, so you're still safer. Man all the way.

There's a whole bunch of TikTok drama at the moment after someone posted a video asking "would you rather be alone in the woods with a bear or a strange man?"

And the men are *very upset* that nearly every woman replied with "....obviously a bear."

It's honestly wild (I think some of these guys think that bears are movie monsters, craving human flesh).

But it boils down to this- they want you to expect the worst from the bear and the best from the stranger, and they are deeply offended that this isn't the case. 🤷

[watchmegetobsessed]

Crash Course - Bucky Barnes

a/n: this one? im in LOVE with this fic and im not even ashamed of it. there is just something about the MC helping him get used to living in the new century and im a sucker for it. so please enjoy this fluffy piece!

pairing: Bucky X Reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: Bucky is a regular at the café where you work at and seeing him struggling with technology, you offer to help him, teaching him the basics while you are both thinking about taking it a little further than just a crash course.

masterlist

The time between the morning rush and lunch time is always quiet, the café is almost completely empty, that’s why Bucky prefers to go out during that time, tuck himself away in the corner of the small but cozy place, a black coffee steaming on the wooden table in front of him, his laptop or a book or his phone reserving his attention, whatever he decides to put his energy into that day.

Today has been a rainy day, therefore the morning was a lot quieter than usually, not many likes to make an extra trip for a coffee in the pouring rain, so you’ve been enjoying the calmness, the soft jazz music playing through the speakers as you are putting away the freshly washed cups behind the counter. As if he has an appointment, Bucky walks into the café with a laptop under his arm, his cap hiding part of his face, but you can still see the shy smile on his lips as he closes the door behind him, the little bell chiming for a second time at his arrival.

“Welcome back, the usual?” you ask as he heads to his spot.

“Yes please,” he nods, shooting you a thankful smile.

You try to ignore the little butterflies in your stomach at the sight of the man, it’s almost ridiculous how you still get nervous when you see him, even though he has been showing up every day at the same time for the past about two months. You just can’t help it, there’s just something in those ocean eyes and perfect manner he always treats you with, something you don’t often get these days. Not many take the time to ask about your day or wish you a good one after you hand them their coffee, but Bucky is different. The same question falls from his lips every time you appear at his table with his order.

“How has your day been going?” he asks when you place the cup next to his laptop that’s loading.

“Pretty quiet, the rain keeps people away,” you chuckle, hoping your blush is not as apparent as it feels. “What about yours?”

“Just the same as usual,” he smiles softly and you nod, though you have no idea what’s usual for him. He might be friendly and quite welcoming when he is sitting at the café, he often chats with you about anything and everything, yet still, you know near nothing about him and his life outside of this place. It’s clear he is the kind of person that prefers to keep things to himself, but sometimes you are so desperate for just the smallest crumb of information about him. With the lack of details, you often find yourself making up things about him, like what his favorite dish is, where he likes to shop, what shows he watches on the TV. You might be entirely wrong about all of these, but it’s all you have.

Moving back behind the counter you busy yourself with cleaning it off as Bucky’s attention shifts to the screen in front of him. There are only two more customers in there and they are quite locked away in their own world as well, a college student working on some kind of assignment on her second espresso and an old lady solving Sudoku at the table near the window, sipping on a nice latte.

You can’t help but glance in his direction every now and then as you move the muffins around on the counter. He seems deeply focused, eyebrows knitted together as he is clicking away on the computer. From the looks of it, he is solving some kind of enigma, but when you walk past his table you see that he has an email open on the screen, his cursor moving around kind of aimlessly.

“Not finding the right words?” you ask, stopping to clean the table next to his that was previously occupied by a young couple. His eyes snap up to you before he huffs shaking his head.

“No, I’m just… terribly bad at IT stuff and I’m supposed to “CC” someone on this email,” he explains, using his fingers to air-quote as he glances back at the screen. “But if I’m being honest I don’t even know what it means,” he admits with a nervous chuckle.

You find it amusing, even cute that he is like an old man with these stuff. You’ve seen him struggling to type in a text message before on his flip phone that’s from the last century for sure and now this.

Placing the tray of cups down on the table you move over to him, taking the free chair next to him as you reach for the laptop, but you stop before touching it.

“May I…?”

“Go ahead,” he gestures with a nod.

You turn the device towards yourself as you click a few times, bringing up the option to send a copy of the email to another receiver.

“CC means that more people get the same email. You can put their addresses here. But you can also BCC people, in that case, the original receiver won’t see if the email was sent to others as well,” you explain patiently. Bucky tries his best to focus on the screen and what you’re saying, rather than the way your lips are moving and how badly he wants to taste them.

You haven’t been the only one feeling flustered and like a giddy teenager and Bucky didn’t choose this café as his usual spot for nothing. He spotted you the first time he stumbled in and the way you smiled brightly at everyone and the sweet chiming of your laughter made him want to come back the moment he stepped out that day. So he returned the next day and then the next day again… and now he couldn’t even imagine a day without seeing your eyes light up when he walks in while he can only hope you are just as happy to see him as he is to see you.

You help him send his email and you cheer in victory once it’s done and sent.

“See? It’s not as hard as it seems,” you smile at him gently, patting his arm that’s covered by a hoodie and your eyes fall onto his gloved hands on the tabletop.

“Yeah, I just have a lot of catching up to do from the past seven decades,” he mumbles under his breath, though he immediately regrets not keeping his mouth shut.

Your eyes flicker to his hand once again, then up to meet his gaze and he knows he just outed himself. He is expecting the usual: disgust, disappointment, even fear. That’s how most people react when they find out who he really is. But as he stares back at you, scared like a little kitten, you just smile back at him softly.

It’s not that you haven’t heard of the Avengers, because it’s impossible not to know who they are. You were just not expecting one of them to become a regular at your working place. The few times you saw him on TV he had long hair and his face was covered with a mask, so you’re not surprised you didn’t put the picture together. But knowing now who he is, you don’t see him in a worse lighting. If anything, you feel a little sad that he had to go through so much in his extremely long life.

“Well, feel free to ask any more questions. I’m not an IT guy, but I can help you with everyday stuff,” you tell him and he is in awe at your very normal, very sweet reaction. All he can do is nod as you stand from the table and grab the tray you abandoned not long ago, moving back behind the counter.

When you glance up your gaze meets his as he is still staring at you, nervous, a little anxious, but definitely relieved by your smooth reaction to finding out his identity. You shoot him a bright smile before moving to the table of the old lady who asks for another latte and as Bucky follows your frame move across the room he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips.

Your offer doesn’t stay unused. In fact, Bucky shows up at the café the next few days with a handful of questions for you, genuine ones, and a few he already knows the answer to, but wants to hear you explain them anyway. And you help him with anything, sitting at his table whenever you have a few free minutes between customers. He asks you about the internet, social media, online data bases and sources, going through a list from the little notebook he always keeps with himself.

The times spent with him are your favorite part of the day. You always look forward to whatever issue Bucky is going to bring up, fearing that one day he might run out of questions, but that just never comes. And you don’t know it, but your little sessions are the highlights of his days as well, listening to your smooth voice as you explain even the smallest things to him with so much patience, he is convinced you should become a teacher.

He thinks about asking you out every day, the question is always on the tip of his tongue.

What are you doing tonight? Would you want to go out with me? Do you want to grab a bite with me after your shift?

However he just never gets to actually say the words out loud. He is growing impatient with himself, he used to have no problem with asking girls out, but seven decades and another life as a brain-washed assassin later, this task feels way too impossible.

You’ve been telling him to get a smartphone for the past couple of days and though he seemed adamant, one day he shows up with a brand new one, still in the box.

“Oh my God, is that what I think it is?” you tease him with a dramatic gasp. Chuckling to himself he nods as he places the box to the counter while you are making the order of one of the customers. Today has been a little busier than usually, probably because of the special offer of 10% off from the new Cuban coffee beans your boss ordered in.

“I need a teacher to show me the ropes though.”

“Oh, Bucky, I would love to, but today is a bit crowded,” you pout as you put the lid onto the paper cup and hand it over to the customer, another one already walking in, eyeing the offer written on the black board behind you.

He didn’t even think you wouldn’t say yes, it never occurred to him that the timing might not be the best. You see as his smile slowly disappears from his scruffy face and your heart breaks seeing him like this.

“Yeah, sorry. Don’t want to keep you up,” he mumbles feeling defeated, but before he could grab the box from the counter, you put your hand on it, your fingers brushing against his gloved one, the tiny touch making both of you flustered.

“But how about after work?” you suggest and his eyes immediately light up. Spending time with you without any customers interrupting? That sounds like heaven to him.

“Y-you sure? If you have something to do, I—“

“Nothing to do,” you smile at him. You grab a napkin from the counter and a pan from near the cash register, quickly scribbling down your address before handing it over to him. “I’ll be home by seven,” you inform him as he glances down at your handwriting, noting how well it fits your personality. He then looks back at you nodding, as if he was just handed the best Christmas present ever.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles gratefully before stepping away from the counter and letting you work.

 Five minutes after seven, Bucky is standing at your front door with a bag of Chinese food in his hands as he is trying to build up the courage to ring your doorbell. He found out that you live just a few corners away from the café, so he found your address easily.

“Come on, dude. Don’t be such a loser,” he mumbles to himself as he circles his shoulders before finally pushing the button. A short, buzzing sound is heard from the other side of the door and he stares at the 6B sign in front of you as he hears footsteps from inside. A few moments later the door swings open and there you are, still wearing the same clothes from earlier, a bright smile adorning your face as you beam at your guest.

“Come on in!” you gesture for him as he steps into the small apartment. “Tried to clean up a bit, but if I’m being honest I’m starting to grow out this place,” you chuckle as you push a box out of the way. It’s a small studio apartment with everything cramped into one space except the bathroom. You have a double bed pushed up against the wall in the corner, a small sofa with your wardrobe next to it, a TV, a tiny coffee table, a bookshelf and a dresser, a little dining table near the kitchen with three chairs and a pantry right next to the fridge that stands where the hardwood floor changes into checkered tiles. It really is a tiny space that holds a lot of stuff, but all the gadgets and clutter makes it cozy, lived-in, a place that’s so much like you that he feels like he is peeking inside your head as he walks farther inside.

“I brought dinner,” he shyly holds the bag up as you lock the door.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” you smile at him gratefully, because you didn’t really have time to buy anything on your way home since you had to make a quick trip to the post office after your shift, leaving you no spare time before his arrival.

“It’s the least I can do for all the help,” he smiles as you take the bag from him and bring it to the designated living room area of the place. Bucky joins you on the sofa and he thanks all higher powers your place is so small that you only have a loveseat, giving him the chance to sit close to you. Your thigh brushes against his as you hand him a box and make yourself comfortable as well, starting your feast while he asks you about your day, listening to your every word intently.

When the food is gone and you’ve grabbed two beers for the two of you, he pulls out the phone that’s the reason behind his visit. He bought a simple one, not at all one of the latest versions and it’s going to be the perfect model for him to learn the ropes on.

You help him put his SIM card into the new phone and then you set his account up before finally gaining access to the phone. You start with the basic features, showing him how to make a call or send a text before moving onto the different apps and possibilities while he listens to you as if you were talking about rocket science, but in a way, it feels like that for him.

“And here you can switch to the front camera,” you explain as you push the button and suddenly, the two of you come into picture on the screen. “Perfect for taking selfies,” you add with a chuckle.

“Oh, selfies. I’m not too good with those,” he huffs shaking his head.

“Because you probably haven’t found your angle!” you smirk. “Everyone has a good angle.”

“You think so?” you knits his eyebrows together.

“Mhm, look!”

Opening the contacts you go to yours, choosing the option to add a picture that will show up on the screen when you call him, and open the camera to take one instead of choosing from the empty gallery. Holding up the phone you position it so your good angle is in the picture before snapping the photo and saving it as your caller ID.

“See?” you smile at him before handing the device back to him. He just nods, even though he can only think about how all your angles are perfect to him and that now he has a picture of you in his phone. “Let’s take one together!” you beam and moving closer to him you take the phone once again, holding it up in front of you, trying to fit both of you into the frame.

Bucky tries his best to focus on the picture, but he can’t ignore how close you are to him, he can smell your shampoo and your cheek is almost pressed against his as you smile into the camera. The corners of his mouth curl up as his eyes fix at your reflection on the screen before you snap the photo. Opening up the camera roll you take a better look at it and it’s probably your favorite photo that has ever been taken of you. Mostly because he is in it as well, smiling so sweetly.

“It’s a good one,” you say and as you turn your head to the side you realize how close you really are to him.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, definitely aware of just the few inches separating the two of you.

“I-if you had an Instagram I would tell you to post it…” you stutter as your eyes flicker down to his lips, the urge to lean in and kiss him growing with each passing second.

Feeling a little dizzy, one of your hands fall to his lower arm, the one that’s made out of metal and your gaze drops to where you are touching him, a panic filled look flashing through his eyes.

He thinks that this is where the moment is ruined, where you realize the monster he really is and decide you don’t want anything to do with him. He almost starts to apologize for God knows what reason when you reach out and your fingers start to work on the straps of his gloves. It takes a few moments for him to realize what you are doing, and he tries to pull his hand back, but you grab it stopping him from doing it.

“It’s alright,” you smile at him softly, your eyes meeting his as you finish what you started and pull the glove off his hand revealing the metal underneath the leather. Then you move onto his other hand and do the same, dropping the pair of gloves to the floor as you take both his hands in yours, thumbs running across his knuckles, feeling the difference between his own hand and the artificial one.

You see his jaw flexing at the touch and reaching up you cup his cheek in your palm, making him to look you in the eyes. The strong and confident man you see sometimes is gone now, fear and hesitation taking over his expression as your other hand keeps holding his vibranium one.

“I’m sorry,” it falls from his lips as he closes his eyes for a second.

“For what exactly?” you ask with a soft chuckle. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t have to hide yourself around me.”

“You don’t find it… scary?”

“Not at all,” you assure him. “You can’t be held accountable for what happened to you. Anyone who thinks differently is just an ignorant asshole,” you add grinning and it finally breaks his fearful expression, planting a smile on his handsome face.

Keeping your hand on his cheek you lean closer, your nose touching his but you stop before your lips could meet, giving him the chance to pull back. But he never does. Instead, he closes the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours, finally making the fantasy you both have been daydreaming about reality. He starts off slowly, savoring each other gently, getting accustomed to the feeling, but it doesn’t take long before the kiss grows hungrier and your tongues meet in the middle.

Your hands rest at the base of his neck while his find your waist, pulling you closer until you swing a leg over him, sitting on his lap as you smile against his lips. His kisses feel delicate and soft yet very passionate at the same time, you love the dynamic you create, tugging and biting each other playfully, it feels like kissing him is the sole purpose of your life.

When it gets hard for you to breathe you pull back, eyes opening and finding his flushed face as he stares back at you with bright, joyous eyes, his lips slightly swollen, already making you want to go back to where you were just a moment ago.

“Who knew selfies could be so much fun,” he jokes making you laugh, his heart fluttering in his chest at the sound that’s so dear to him.

“I’m glad you liked my crash course on smart phones,” you grin down at him, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “Do you have any more questions?”

Smirking his hand, his flesh one, moves up your back as he presses you closer, your lips almost touching his.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty,” he chuckles before kissing you again eagerly.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[howtofightwrite]

Cat Weight and Why Understanding Reality is Important for Writers

When you say “lighter than house cat” what kind of cat do you mean exactly? Because just based on my cats it could be anything from 1kg to 4kg and that kind of makes a difference…

I think I’ve always specified weight before making that comparison in the past. For most domestic cat breeds, 10lbs is the average, healthy, adult weight. Somewhat obviously this will vary, with some breeds being potentially much smaller, and obviously, juveniles will be much smaller (and lighter) than their parents. The extreme edge of this are Siamese, which have some of the smallest kittens among domestic cat breeds, but then grow to be only slightly smaller than most other domestic cats. I’m not sure where you’re finding a 2.2lb adult cat, though that could certainly be an outlier.

The thing is, if we were talking about swords, yeah, that 4kg cat will be heavier than most greatswords. That 1kg cat will be heavier than most sabers, foils, and rapiers, with some other sword variants being slightly heavier.

I feel like a broken record sometimes on this topic. We have a lot of fantasy literature which looks at swords and thinks, “that must be really heavy, so it can hit really hard,” but, that’s not how you use the weapon. It doesn’t matter if it’s a “massive” greatsword or a rapier, swords are precision cutting tools. They are not long axes. They are not sharpened hammers.

Additionally, while a fight will be fairly brief, battles can easily last all day. It’s not a question of whether you can use a weapon once or twice, it’s something you need to be able to do for hours at a time. Swinging around a massive 40lb chunk of steel may be a great workout, but you’re not going to be able to do that for hours without rest, no matter how well conditioned you are.

This gets into another fantasy element. You have fantasy heroes that are outright superhuman swinging around these comically oversized (and more often over weighted) weapons. In some cases, this is technically fine, as the wielder is overtly superhuman, and in others it’s an error by the author.

As I’ve said in the past, there’s nothing inherently wrong with a fictional character having an impractically heavy weapon… if there’s a point to it. If it’s an indication that the character really is superhuman, and we’re supposed to understand that? Cool. If the weapon says something about their personality? That’s fine, it’s a legitimate venue of characterization.

Usually, we prioritize realism, because as the author, you have the choice of when you want to step away from reality to fit your story. However, it is important that you, as the writer, be aware when you’ve done so. You want to make these decisions as informed choices, not something you accidentally stumbled into because you’ve seen it before, and thought, “that’s how it is.” This can become a real problem for writers when they take elements of characterization from a story that inspired them and accidentally graft them into their work.

Another common example is the idea of weapon hyperfocus, where you have characters that only use one specific weapon, and are basically defenseless without it. It doesn’t make any sense from a realistic perspective. It’s not how people are trained. It’s now how these skills work. But, it can be a very significant statement about how your character views the world.

Similarly, in real history, soldiers would carry multiple weapons. That’s the real world, but even in emulating that, you’re informing your audience that your characters are more flexible, and better able to handle a variety of situations.

It’s up to you what you want to do with your characters, but the information is here so you can make that decision. So you don’t think that your character couldn’t wield a sword because they’re not a ‘roided up wall of meat, or don’t accidentally think that all melee weapons are comically heavy and massive, because they weren’t.

-Starke

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Cat Weight and Why Understanding Reality is Important for Writers was originally published on How to Fight Write.

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 26

part 1 | part 25

a/n: no matter how long you have been here, just know i'm extremely grateful for anyone who's read this fic. now here's the latest chapter.

Sometimes it felt like the days dragged on. Each and every hour was laid out just like the day before–the week before. It made time seem endless, even though Y/N knew it definitely was not. Sozin’s Comet was getting closer and closer each day. Y/N didn’t know if it was the anticipation for that long fated day or if it was some buried fire bender gene in her body, warning her of something to come. She could feel it deep within her bones. She woke up earlier and earlier each day, no matter how late her night ended up. And each day the sun greeted her with warm yellow light that made the air a little easier to breathe.

As they moved further south and into Fire Nation territory, Zuko made mention of Ember Island as a place to hide out. The island–or chain of islands, really–were close enough to Caldera City that it would be a good place for them to lay low and wait, as well as uninhabited by enough people that they could lay low.

Y/N thought it was a little risky to be living in the Fire Lord’s Ember Island house, but Zuko was probably right, this was going to be the last place anyone would look for them. Maybe Y/N was just unsettled about being back, so close to Caldera City, or maybe it was being back on Ember Island for the first time since she was 9.

Somewhere between the temple and the beach house, Y/N tired of training. It just added to the monotony, and so she just…stopped. Instead, she spent her days on the beach, sometimes alone–often with the others though–playing in the tide pools and skim-boarding on the sand. And sometimes, if she felt like she didn’t have enough time on her own to recharge, she’d leave in the night, either through her window or the front door to take a walk on the beach in the moonlight. Only to come back and wake up a few hours later, ready for sunrise.

Today was no different, though the sun was already peeking over the horizon and into her room when her eyes peeled open.

The wooden floors creaked under Y/N’s feet as she crept out of her room silently.

Each board was smooth under her bare toes, not well-worn by many little feet running across them year after year but made that way before they were even built into the house, for no doubt a hefty fee. The beach house was… cold, to say the least. It just felt like each pore of the house seeped something uninviting, reminding them that they shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t just Y/N who felt it, they all spent as little time as possible in the house.

She padded into the kitchen and struck their flint to start a fire under the stove–mostly unneeded since Zuko had joined their group–but wholly necessary when he wasn’t around to be their fire-starter. Y/N didn’t mind doing it this way, it felt nice being able to do something with her own hands for once instead of relying on the others to make clean water or heat up the food. She boiled just enough water for one cup of tea before heading out to the courtyard where she knew at least two of her friends would be awake.

Y/N didn’t like feeling optimistic. It was a terrifying feeling. There was so much riding on their success; she didn’t want to spend so much energy on hoping only to have it all dashed away if things didn’t go their way. It would be too heartbreaking. But watching Aang, she could. They weren’t even sparring and she could see the power behind every blast of fire. And she had hope for their future. She had to; she wasn’t going to lose her friends.

“You’re doing that one wrong,” Y/N said from the shadows on the porch. She held her warm cup to her chest, the breeze blowing in from the ocean was keeping the courtyard chilly until the sun could rise high enough to heat the island.

Aang didn’t seem too surprised to hear her voice. “Doing what wrong?” He asked, confused.

Zuko frowned up at Y/N from his seat on the steps but nodded to Aang. “She’s right, you have to dip further down so when you come up the fire creates more of an arc.”

Aang pushed through a few more poses before Zuko stood up and joined him. Y/N stole his seat and pulled her legs up to cross them. She watched as they moved in tandem, working though the most basic of firebending forms all the way up to a few advanced ones. Memories flooded Y/N’s head so fast it made her dizzy. She remembered sitting just like she was now, watching her two brothers work through their forms when she was younger. On chilly mornings, much like today, she would wrap herself in a blanket nest and sip on tea that was much too sweet as they worked well into mid morning. In a sudden rush of affection she realized she was doing much of the same thing, just years and years later.

Aang had learned fast. That was good. She set down her empty cup as the two boys headed back to her, both sweaty from their training. “Good job, Aang! You’re doing great!”

Aang beamed with pride. “Thanks, Y/N!

“Don’t be so encouraging, he’s still got a lot to learn,” Zuko grumbled, taking a seat on the ground next to her.

Y/N pouted. “He needs encouragement. That’s how he learns.” Y/N learned that from watching the differences between Katara teaching styles and Toph’s teaching styles.

“Speaking of firebending,” Aang kicked his feet against the edge of the steps and looked around like he was avoiding something. “How did you know about the firebending forms?”

Zuko leaned back on his hands. “I’d like to know that too.”

Y/N smiled softly. “I watched my brothers for years, religiously learning all the forms and practicing them on my own. I wanted to be just like them. I guess I still remember them.”

Aang frowned. “It’s not like you couldn’t bend on purpose.”

Y/N was surprised to see Aang look so sad. “I know.” She shrugged and looked away feeling her cheeks redden with both boys staring at her. “I just wanted to be normal so people would stop paying attention to me for the wrong reasons.” She mumbled.

“It made you a better sword fighter,” Zuko said suddenly.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“The discipline and movements. You do the same when you’re fighting.”

“I’ve never noticed, but you’re right, Zuko!” Aang exclaimed.

The thought made Y/N smile. “That was nice of you.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but let the smallest hint of a smile grace his lips.

She looked back to Aang, who still looked a bit hesitant. “Don’t worry about me. How about we go swimming? Before the others wake up!”

Aang perked up immediately. “That sounds great! Let’s go, Zuko!”

Y/N and Aang stood, both looking down at Zuko, who just stared at the ground between his feet. She could already hear him saying no, telling them that he needed to train more or meditate and didn’t have time to run off and play games.

Y/N opened her mouth to tell Aang that the two of them could still go but Zuko spoke up before her. “Yeah, okay.”

Sometimes even on those long, dragging days, it was the little things that made everything better; like playing in the surf with two of your friends.

---

That evening though, Y/N was back where she had started the day, and had decided that everyone in her group of friends, save for maybe Zuko, talked way too much. She craved those moments alone where she just had her thoughts to occupy her. Especially when she had a lot on her mind.

Y/N didn’t want to admit she felt stuck inside with Aang and Katara while everyone else was outside enjoying the evening, but she also felt guilty in turning down their request to help make dinner to just wander around on the beach until sunset. She didn’t help out much with making meals, and she felt obligated to help when she could.

So she was there, sitting on the dinner table, lotus style with a knife and a cutting board and a basket of carrots in need of chopping at her side.

“What else can I do, Katara?” Aang dumped some of the vegetables he was cutting into the stew Katara was currently stirring over the stove.

“Hmm, can you go out and get some more water to make the rice?” Aang grinned and nodded, before running out of the house towards the side of the house where there was a small barrel of collected water.

Y/N smiled to herself at the interaction and continued cutting carrots for Katara, trying not to let her mind wander, but it was hard with the monotonous work and the bad spot she was sitting in.

Just in front of her was the window where she had watched Zuko and Aang train while she made tea that morning, now it showed Zuko and Sokka doing their own training.

Y/N was struggling with more than just feeling like she didn’t belong on the Island. She didn’t know what she was going to say to Sokka, or if she was even going to say anything about her feelings at all. Without the constant traveling and the safety of a hideout, she was able to just stop and let those feelings and thoughts she had been holding back with a dam of fear wash over her.

It was all really confusing for Y/N. And hard to admit.

She didn’t want to face the awkward conversation of asking whether he could always be there for her. She didn’t want to beg him to never leave because she was so insecure. She was so afraid of losing everything and everyone that she was going to do just that because she was afraid of opening up.

What would happen if she never told Sokka she loved him back? Did she even love him back? What did love feel like?

Love with Azula felt like fire, sometimes it burned painfully, but in the good times it filled her with a warmth like never before. Zuko’s friendship felt the same, but it was less like sitting too close to the fire and more like sitting just in the right place where it didn’t dry out your eyes but didn’t make goosebumps grow on your arms. Sokka always felt like a cool breeze, one where you lift your face up to the sky and smile because it always feels like relief. But that’s not what Y/N is used to. How does she know if it’s love if it doesn’t hurt a little bit? How does she know that it's real if she doesn’t have to give all of herself until she is worn to nothing to make it work?

It wasn’t that she was afraid to care for him, she had made it clear that she did. It was just easier on her heart to keep him at a distance for now until she figured they were inevitably part ways. That’s how Y/N saw this all ending. Separated across oceans, back to where they came from, whatever the outcome of the war. Y/N wanted to dream of the possibilities and opportunities where they could be together in the long run, but those were just that, dreams for another lifetime. People from the Water Tribe didn’t marry people from the Fire Nation.

Everything that she learned over the last few months was that nothing was ever set in stone, so why should she and Sokka be.

Y/N stared out the window, pondering when it would all fall apart and sliced downwards on a carrot, but met nothing but the cutting board. She looked down where the knife was closer to her finger than to the carrots. She let out a little inward gasp.

“What?” Katara turned around and asked.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Nothing.” She motioned to the cutting board. “Do you want these smaller?”

Katara eyed Y/N and then looked to the cutting board. “They’re fine. But pay more attention, I don’t know how to reattach fingers yet.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave the wooden cutting board and her fingers until the others came bustling into the kitchen, all talking at once.

Y/N for the most part ignored everyone, until Sokka reached over and snatched one of the slices of carrots.

Y/N nudged his arm. “Can you wait?! I thought you didn’t like vegetables!”

“Aang got me to like carrots!” Sokka retorted, before quickly reaching around Y/N to grab another and popping it into his mouth.

“Why would you be sitting on the table that we have to eat off of?” Suki wrinkled her nose.

“Uh! Katara said I could!” Y/N stuck her tongue out.

Katara whipped around, hands on her hips. “I never said you could, I just didn’t say you couldn’t.” Katara turned back to stirring the stew before muttering under her breath, “Not like telling you no would have made a difference anyways.”

“Hey!” Y/N picked up a carrot and launched it at the back of Katara’s head.

Aang walked back inside carrying a bucket of water, to a kitchen full of chaos. Vegetables were being thrown across the room at one another, as laughter rang out. Sokka, Zuko and Y/N were sprawled on one side of the kitchen behind and under the table; with Suki, Katara and Toph only edging from behind the safety of the kitchen doorway to throw something.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N could hear the exasperation of a 112 year old monk in Aang’s usually cheerful voice.“Uh, guys, what are we supposed to eat for dinner now?”

---

Y/N was dozing against the headboard of her bed that night, when she heard the knock at her door. At first she thought she imagined it, that is until she heard a voice on the other side of the doorway. “Y/N, are you awake?”

Y/N slid out of bed and cracked open the door. She smiled and leaned against the doorjamb, a familiar feeling in her chest.

“Are you afraid that there are ghosts here too?”

Sokka grinned and nodded. “In this house? Absolutely. But I’m not here for that.”

“Oh?” Y/N raised an eyebrow.

“Come outside with me.”

Y/N chuckled. “Why?”

“Please, just come on. No questions.”

Y/N sighed and reached for an old silk robe she found in one of the closets, but her smile never left her face.

To be fair to Sokka, there wasn’t much to surprise Y/N with on an island she grew up on. But that night, the sky momentarily took her breath away.

Sometimes the simplest things were the most beautiful.

“I thought we could come out here; look at the stars a bit. I used to like doing that at home. Though it’s different. The constellations aren’t the same where I’m from.”

“I guess I’ll just have to teach you some.”

Together they laid side by side on the roof, and Y/N pointed out her favorites. The dragon, the jack-rabbit...

After Y/N had told Sokka the story of the Red Queen, some ancient fable of a powerful Fire Lady that was always one of Y/N’s favorites, they both grew quiet, Y/N asked the question that had been brewing on her mind. She worried that whatever she said would mess up the peaceful night they had been having. It felt like she was intruding on a secret that she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Hey, Sokka,” Y/N asked.

“Hmmm,” She looked over and Sokka looked about half asleep already. Maybe this would be good timing.

“Who’s Yue?”

Sokka’s eyes shot open and he sat up quickly. “What?”

Y/N could feel her face flush. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Yue.” The word sounded flat and foreign on her tongue. Maybe that wasn’t how you actually pronounced it? Some of the Water Tribe names and words were hard for Y/N’s mouth to form. If she could, she flushed deeper. “I heard you talking about them when I was hurt. I was in and out of it, so I don’t remember much, but I remember the name.”

Sokka suddenly looked very sad. Which was… odd because Y/N just thought that Yue was a Water Tribe spirit much like the Fire Nation had Agni.

“She’s the moon spirit,” Sokka whispered, his eyes cast down on his wringing hands.

Y/N eyes were wide. Why was he acting like this? “Oh. I figured she was a spirit or something. It sounded like you were praying to her, or something.”

“Yeah,” Sokka choked out. “Something like that.”

That’s when Y/N noticed there were drips of water on Sokka’s hands. Tears.

“Sokka?” Y/N said softly. She reached forward and–yup those were tears, dripping on their hands.

“She was a girl I met at the Northern Water Tribe when we first started traveling.”

“I thought she was…”

“She is.” For the first time, Sokka looked up. The pain in his eyes was unimaginable. “But she was still a girl when I met her.”

Sokka launched into a story that sounded more fantasy than real, but the look on his face, the sadness in his features, Y/N knew he was telling the truth.

“She was blessed by the moon spirit when she was born, it was the only reason she was alive. But when we were in the Northern Water Tribe—Zhao, a Fire Nation commander killed the moon spirit and all the water benders lost their bending, forever.” Sokka shivered. “It was scary, the moon was gone in the sky and we were helpless to fight the Fire Nation. It would have changed the tide of the war.

But she was selfless. She knew that she was the only hope for her tribe—for the world—and she sacrificed herself to save all of us. So now she’s the moon spirit…I guess. I don’t know, she’ll always be Yue to me.” Sokka’s voice trailed off with a sniffle. Y/N didn’t know how to respond.

Sokka sent a longing glance upward. The moon was just past full, waning in the far distance but still bright and round in the sky. “I think–I think she heard me that night. And she knew how much you meant to me, even then. And she saved you because…” Now it was Sokka’s turn to flush. “I don’t think I could live without you.”

Those words made Y/N’s chest burn. Her arms and legs tingled in relief as if all the tension in her body began to melt away. Y/N reached out, wiping a stray tear off of Sokka’s cheek. “Me either,” she replied instantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“’m not. Sad, really. I miss her, but it’s easier to always know where she is. She didn’t have a lot of choice in her life, but this was something she had control over. If she hadn’t become the moon spirit, the war would have ended right there. So her sacrifice meant that, you know, Zuko is our friend now and Aang has a chance at beating the Firelord and you have a place in all our lives. She made all of this possible.”

“Sounds like we have a lot more to be thankful to her for than just saving little old me then, huh?”

“You would have liked her.”

Y/N nodded and peered at the moon above them. “I do like her.”

No one else needed to know that after the two of them went inside and off to bed, that Y/N hung halfway out her window to get one last look at the moon. Y/N swore as her eyes closed and sleep overtook her that the moon shone a little brighter. Maybe that’s how the moon said thank you. Y/N’d never tell anyone that she whispered a small thank you too, to the girl who lived among the stars.

a/n: don't be shy, come talk to me in my askbox and tell me if you liked it

taglist: @myexgirlfriendisthemoon @reclusive-chicken-nugget @astroninaaa @aangsupremacy @beifongsss @crownofcryptids @welovediaaxx @littlefluu @lozzybowe @thebluelcdy @teenbiology @13-09-01 @riespage @davnwillcome @creation-magician @lunariasilver @francesciak @thia-aep @aphrcditeee @solarsuki @my--shitty--art @lovingcupcake51002 @loganrwebb @celia-not-cecilia @treestarrrrrrrr @izzieserra @salsasadd @nataliahaslosthershit @awkwardnesshabitat @lanie103  @im-the-galactic-starfish @charlotteisabella  @sugamonster22  @calumsfringe @whatsuphoesandbros @i-love-superhero @justasukisimp @grouchiest-hufflepuff  @euphoricmads @ivetoldamillionlies @fanficsformyperusal @mikxyu @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @someonekeepstakingmyusernames @earthtokace @justamessandahalf @perfectlyfadingmusic @atlafanforlife @iris-suoh @chilifrylizard2

[bostonbashers]

Hear me out.. How do mercs behave around a person they have a huge crush on?! :D

AAAAAA this one is so cute, i’m in love!! 🤩❤️

-

Scout:

literally a fucking DORK around you. tries to impress you constantly with anything and everything he has, ranging from his skill set to his appearance to his personal belongings and much more.

always finds excuses to spend time with you and it can be the most asanine ones in existence. oh? you have free time tomorrow? let’s go take a run down the street. you miss your puppy that got lost when you were a kid? let’s go to the ends of the earth to find it.

made you borrow his jacket/shirt once because he accidentally spilled a drink all over your shirt. once he saw you in it, he nearly died and didn’t want it back. takes it back anyway due to his pride and though he seems outwardly okay with it, he secretly doesn’t wash the clothing for a long while.

his flirtatious behavior around other people goes down immensely. scout becomes strictly loyal to you once his crush grows stronger and can’t bear the thought of talking with someone else, even if you don’t like him back. it just doesn’t sit with him right.

Soldier:

soldier is much softer and kinder around you. he restrains himself from using any harsh words that could hurt your feelings and tries to slow down on your training.

shows you his pets!! one of his prized possessions that he won’t allow anyone else to touch, like ever. he trusts you to love and take care of them the same way he does.

everyone has to respect you. if they even give you a slight problem, he’ll get on their case about it and probably give them hell before they could even mutter out an apology. you deserve respect and he’s gonna make sure you get nothing less.

lots of supportive comments from him! even if it’s something small, he’ll grin at you proudly and yell out a, “good job, cupcake! you did great!” while giving you a strong pat in the back or an approving nod.

Pyro:

pyro is usually sweet and kind with a certain crowd and tries to do the best they can for others, but with their crush? it’s a whole different story. they’re absolutely head over heels for them.

like a lovesick puppy; they will follow you wherever they go with a skip in their step. like, i mean they’ll follow you everywhere. “no, pyro you can’t follow me to the bathroom-!” they don’t really listen but patiently wait outside anyway.

one of the many mercs who won’t hesitate to show affection and sees nothing wrong in it. runs up to them and holds their hand firmly with a happy hum, hugs them more than usual, and just straight up gives you all their attention.

Demoman:

oh boy, if tavish has a crush on you, he’ll show it when he’s absolutely wasted. demo will literally smother you with affection regardless of where you both are and literally latch onto you every second he gets a chance to.

lots of drunk ramblings; he’ll lay his head on your shoulder or lap while he mindlessly slurs about how amazing you are, what his favorite thing is about you, and so much more.

it’s pretty obvious at that point demo likes you so you admit your liking to him pretty quick and it’s funny how shocked he gets. “ya knew i liked ya?!” yes, demo, they did.

when he’s sober, he’s much more shy with it and controls his actions a lot more. apologizes for his behavior while drunk. tavish exhibits more gentleman behavior, from opening doors to making you a decent dinner and just basically ensuring your comfortability.

Heavy:

heavy is very mature and will accept his feelings pretty quick compared to the others. it’s a 50/50 chance with him; if they feel the same, that’s great! if they don’t, then.. he’d have no choice but to move on. that’s how life works.

once he does accept it, be expecting a lot of mother hen behavior; he literally watches your every move to make sure you’re safe and healthy. even if you are, he goes out of his way to give you things whenever he knows you’re around; a homemade meal, a blanket, probably some candy. your smile is already more than enough to make up for the little things he does for you. 

no one will ever dare to hurt you around heavy (or just in general, really). he senses danger and issues pretty quickly, so it’s easy for him to detect any bad intentions. he’s like that scary bodyguard who looms behind you, glaring at anyone who radiates rancid vibes to scare them away.

Medic:

probably takes a while to accept or realize it cause he’s always so preoccupied in his lab, being busy and all. but once he does realize it, it’s sort of foreign to him at first, so of course, he goes to heavy to speak about his emotions. after being told it was a crush, he pays attention to you a lot more than usual, sometimes even without him noticing.

he gets all giddy when you’re around and although it’s not the jumpy, squealing giddy, it’s certainly one shown through happy greetings and continuous conversations that seem to be never ending. (you don’t mind though)

makes up random appointments and checkups for the smallest things just to see you and gets very, very excited whenever you decide to come to visit him without his knowledge. nearly drops everything just to attend to you.

he talks to archimedes so much about you that his precious pet basically knows who you are based off his owners reactions and automatically flies to you whenever you enter his lab. that bird is a lot smarter than you think. they get along with you pretty well and medic melts whenever he sees you talk to his birds like he does and play with them.

Sniper:

bless his heart, the poor man will literally faint around his crush. just the sight of them flusters him to his core, and don’t even get me started on their little habits and that godforsaken smile. [hes literally almost died when they grinned at him]

he’s already so reserved and quiet as he is, but around them, it’s even worse. he’s always so scared he’s gonna scare them away or say something stupid, but he eventually lets go of the fear and tries to muster up the courage to talk to you.

once he does, he spends a lot of his time with you, often inviting you out to drive around with him or just simply sit outside and enjoy the breeze. he talks a lot more than usual and though he doesn’t completely open up about his past just yet, he does indirectly hint that he trusts you more than anyone in his life.

lots of sleepless nights when he realizes he’s in love. he does everything to take you off his mind but all fails in the end and he’s kept wide awake thinking about what you two could be. from then on, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep his cool around you and silently begs you’ll confess one day or he’ll lose it.

Engineer:

sweetheart mode: activated. like it’s not a big switch up, since he’s naturally a gentleman but it’s noticeable enough. you’ll notice that your nicknames will start slowly forming to more romantic ones and how he blushes with a smile everytime it leaves his lips.

the other mercs can tell when dell has a crush; he blushes a lot more than usual and they catch him smiling more than once by himself. they realize it when you approach him and he automatically fixes himself to look presentable without a second breath. his voice also changes to a much happier and giddy tone, it’s so cute!

stares at you from a distance a lot or whenever you’re distracted with something. half of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing so but once he catches himself, he blushes and looks away, silently telling himself to quit it. often you’ll catch him staring at you, but you ignore it for his sake and laugh to yourself when he smiles back and waves shyly.

Spy:

takes a long while before he actually accepts the crush, seeing that he’s a very secretive and reserved person but once he does, you best believe you’ll be spoiled and loved by this man. lots of gentleman behavior!! opening doors, buying you gifts, giving you his coat, and all that fancy stuff.

teases you a lot more than he should; he enjoys your reactions. he’ll lean in close enough where your fingers brush slightly, tilt your chin up when he talks to you and makes intense eye contact while doing so. whenever he gets too close or the moment gets too tense, he backs away with a smirk and pretends as if nothing happens.

he listens to you and anything you have on your mind. his door is literally open for you 24/7 and even if you come knocking at 3 am, he’ll let you in and listen to what you have to say. you think he’s not listening cause he’s very unresponsive but when you’re finished and about to leave, he gives really good advice and tells you quietly that he’s there for you in an indirect way. depending how close he is to you, he’ll let out an experience or two about him to put you at comfort and as thanks for confiding in him. he then walks you back to your room with a simple nod and goodnight.

[storiesforallfandoms]

hearing it all ~ spencer reid;criminal minds

word count: 1655

request: no

description: after being shot and left in critical condition, she hears her colleague admit his feelings for her

pairing: spencer reid x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence

masterlist (one, two)

Spencer had to keep reminding himself that they had no idea they were sending (Y/N) to the unsub’s house as he rushed to the hospital. They thought he was just a witness, not a suspect. They had no idea he was the one they were looking for, that they were sending (Y/N) into a dangerous place without backup or any warning.

Someone should’ve went with her, he thought. I should’ve went with her. She shouldn’t have been alone.

They were working a case and (Y/N) volunteered to go talk to someone they believed was a witness. She had been gone for a short period of time when Garcia alerted the team that the “witness” had actually matched the profile they had placed on the unsub, down to the T, and he was likely the person they were looking for.

Hotch immediately tried to get in contact with (Y/N). Her phone rang for a while before going to voicemail. He immediately called her back and she answered after a few rings.

“Hey, sorry I’m at the witness’ house now,” she answered. “What’s going on? Do you have a match?”

“(Y/N), I need you to act calm and act as though I’m telling you something important about the case.”

“Okay.”

“(Y/N), are you in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Is the witness near?”

“Not at the moment.”

“I need you to get out of there if you can. He isn’t just a witness, he’s an unsub.”

There was a moment of silence on (Y/N)’s end and Spencer found himself holding his breath as he waited for her response.

“Yes sir. I will be back in just a moment.”

“Keep your phone on until you’ve reached the car. Try to stay calm. Don’t give him any indications that you know,” Hotch told her.

“Yes sir.”

There was a muffled voice in the background that they couldn’t quite make out what was said. (Y/N)’s voice was more clear as she responded, “No thank you! I have to go actually, that was our unit chief. Sorry to have bothered you, but someone else will probably be by later to - ”

A shot rang out, causing Spencer, Hotch, and Garcia to jump.

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said. “(Y/N), can you hear me? (Y/N)!”

The line went dead. Hotch immediately called Morgan and Prentiss, who had already been on their way to the unsub’s house. Everything seemed to blur for Spencer. His heart was racing in fear. Every second that ticked by seemed like an hour.

Finally, Hotch turned back to him and Garcia. “Morgan and Prentiss made it on time. (Y/N) is on the way to the hospital.”

That’s how Spencer found himself rushing to the hospital to check on (Y/N). Prentiss was waiting as he walked in, and stood to greet him.

“The doctors are with her now,” she answered his unasked question. “She lost a lot of blood, but we got there in time.”

Spencer nodded, although he didn’t exactly feel confident. He needed to see (Y/N) for himself, to know from his own eyes.

They waited together for a long time. Spencer watched the time tick away on a nearby clock, his unease growing with every second that passed.

He and Prentiss were out of their chairs quickly when the doctor tending to (Y/N) came from the ICU. “Are you the agents that were with Agent (Y/L/N) when she came in?”

“I was,” Prentiss confirmed. “How is she?”

“She’s still down, but she’s stable,” the doctor explained. “She lost a lot of blood, but we were able to stitch up the wound in time. She needs her rest, but if one of you would like to stay with her until she wakes up we would greatly encourage it.”

“Can we see her?” Spencer asked.

“You can. She’s in the first room on your right.”

Spencer was moving before the doctor had finished talking. He rounded the corner and stopped when his eyes landed on (Y/N). She looked so pale, any color in her face almost completely gone. He could’ve mistaken her for a corpse if he didn’t know she was okay.

He went to her side and sat in the chair next to her bed. He took one of her cold hands between his own and held it tightly.

“You really care for her, don’t you?” Prentiss asked, stood in the hospital room doorway.

“More than she’ll ever know,” Spencer responded.

“Reid, why haven’t you ever told her how you feel?”

Spencer shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Emily. We work together, and I know that basically means nothing now, but it’s still something I worry about. If she doesn’t have the same feelings for me that jeopardizes our work partnership.”

“You don’t think she’d have the same feelings?”

“That’s the thing, I tend to have even the smallest inkling on most things, but for this I have no idea.”

Prentiss put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and he managed to tear his gaze from (Y/N) to look at her. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

He didn’t have a response to that. Instead, he turned his attention back to (Y/N), wishing he could believe what Prentiss was saying.

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was out for only a day. Spencer opted to stay with her the whole time as her parents lived out of town. He tried his hardest to stay awake so he could make sure she was okay, but his eyes grew heavy and he eventually fell asleep.

He was awoken by the feeling of a hand gently caressing his face and a soft voice saying his name. He lifted his head to see (Y/N)’s eyes looking back into his own.

“You’re awake,” he said, smiling up at her. “How are you feeling?”

“In pain,” she admitted. “Was the unsub caught?”

“Yeah, Morgan got him. (Y/N), I’m so sorry we sent you there alone.”

“You guys had no idea, and I offered to go alone. Don’t beat yourself up over it. I’m fine, aren’t I?”

Spencer nodded, grateful that she was okay.

He noticed then that he was still holding her hand, but now their hands were laced together. He pulled his hand away, with a little resistance from (Y/N). She furrowed her brows together in confusion at this.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled.

“Why are you sorry?” she asked.

“It was inappropriate of me to hold you hand like that. I was just worried about you, I wasn’t thinking straight - ”

“Spencer, you can hold my hand. There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s an innocent gesture.”

Spencer sat back in his seat, longing to reach out and take (Y/N)’s hand again, but he knew it was wrong.

“Is it because you have feelings for me?”

His head shot up so quick that he almost felt dizzy. “Wh-what?”

She smiled slightly at him. “I heard you and Prentiss talking when you first came in. I’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past 24 hours, and that just happened to be one of the times I was conscious.”

Spencer’s face turned a light shade of pink as he tried to think of something to say. It was obviously too late to try and come up with some sort of excuse or tell (Y/N) that she had been dreaming. There had to be some way to get out of it, he knew there had to be.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” she asked before he could say anything. “If I hadn’t heard you, would you have told me when I woke up?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think so. I was honestly too afraid of what your reaction might’ve been.”

“What if it would’ve been a good reaction?”

Spencer looked back at his hands. “I didn’t want to seem too optimistic.”

There was a brief moment of silence before (Y/N) said, “Spencer, look at me.” He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “You downplay yourself so much. I wish you could see how amazing of a person you are and that any girl would be lucky to have you as theirs, even me.”

He smiled at this. “I think anyone would be lucky to call you theirs.”

“Well...do you think luck is on our side?”

“What do you mean?”

(Y/N) nearly rolled her eyes as she sighed and tried to sit up. Spencer quickly stood from his chair and helped her to sit up. She cupped his face in her hands and brought him closer until their lips collided. The gesture took Spencer by surprise and, without thinking, he pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” (Y/N) said, a concerned look on her face. “I...I just thought - ”

He cut her off by pressing his lips against hers again. He ran his hands through her hair as her soft hands held his face in place against hers.

Someone clearing their throat brought the two of them out of their moment. They turned to see (Y/N)’s doctor stood at the door, a knowing smile on his face. “(Y/N), it’s good to see that you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like I was shot,” (Y/N) responded. “Other than that, pretty good.”

The doctor chuckled and entered the room. “I’d just like to go over some things with you and make sure everything is alright before we make the decision as to letting you go.”

“I’m gonna go call Hotch and let him know you’re awake,” Spencer told her.

(Y/N) smiled up at him in a dreamy way that Spencer could get used to seeing. “Come back right after?”

“Of course.”

He gave her hand a slight squeeze before walking out into the hallway, a bigger smile on his face and a bit of a pep in his step.

[luimagines]

They react to you having a breakdown Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2 will include Time, Twilight, Wind and Four.

Content until the cut!

Time

Time... had an off feeling.

There was a charged energy in the group but he couldn’t pin point where it was coming from or how to break it.

It was just this looming mass of some metaphorical dark cloud over some of the group. There was a tense atmosphere and it was enough to make him uncomfortable- enough to make him feel like he was walking on eggshells.

As the group traveled, it grew in intensity and he was sure he was approaching the source of the tension.

It was you.

Weirdly.

Time was immediately concerned. He knew you to be the most calm and mild tempered of the group and typically in a good mood. If something was bothering you, it must have been beyond important and he wanted to help in whatever way he could.

He tried to maneuver what he could around the boys and single you out, taking you aside and staying at your side for a trail.

The mood of the boys lifted somewhat but Time could feel the intensity of your emotion now that he was right beside you. He moved the both of you to the back of the group and let the boys move ahead without the two of you.

Time had stopped and placed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you as well. “Are you well? What seems to be the problem?”

Your head fell, as if it was only being held by a string that had just been cut. “I’m fine.”

You, in fact, not fine.

Your voice was the smallest Time had ever heard, it was not as strong as you were trying to convey and it sounded only seconds from breaking entirely.

Time takes in a control and long breath.

“What did I say about the lying?” Time gently turns you around so that you’re face to face with him and places his other hand on your other shoulder.

“Only do it if you can pull it off.” Your voice cracks.

Time hums a bit, trying to not laugh too much at your answer. That is not what he said about lying. But he’ll let you have this one.

“Not quite.” Time dips down a bit so he can look in the eyes a little more properly. “If you have any grievances, now’s the time to get it off your chest. I won’t tell the others.”

You sniffle and try to continue to hold yourself together. But it’s in vain.

Within seconds you crumble and all but throw yourself into his arms, wrapping your around his torso with a vice like grip. Your sobs are quiet to even Time’s ears but the strength you use against him and to pull in your breaths is enough to tell him that perhaps you’ve hurting for a while.

He hugs you back without hesitation and places his head on top of yours while you cry.

Twilight makes a come back as Wolfie but Time’s quick to shoo him away.

The last thing you need an audience.

But it’s ok. He’s got you. Let it out. He’ll hold you until you’re done.

Twilight

Wolfie was patrolling the perimeter during his night shift when he sees you storm away from the camp. You’re breathing heavily and there’s an iron grip on your fists.

He pauses and watches you from the shadows.

You take a long breath and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You stay in that position for a moment before he hears you whine and fall to your knees.

He pads over to you quietly and steps on a twig or two to let you know he’s near.

You don’t react, so now he knows you’re in a state.

He whines quietly and pokes your hands with his nose. You sniffle loudly and pull your hands away. “...Wolfie”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Wolfie doesn’t know how he can fix this.

He gulps slightly and pushes your hands even further away with his nose. You pet him absentmindedly and gulp in a breath.

Twilight doesn’t like seeing you in pain but he has no idea what might have caused this. Nightmare? Bad memories? He was sure you were asleep earlier.

“I don’t know what to do Wolfie.” Your voice cracks and you break down into sobs. You’re not even trying to be quiet or hold back anymore. Twilight doesn’t know what exactly you’re talking about. You were fine ealier... But he supposes that this is merely an accumulation of built up emotions.

Twilight forces himself into your personal space and presses himself against the crook of your neck.

You’re quick to hug him with as much force as you can manage and sob into his fur.

Twilight feel his heart bleed for you and lets you hold him. You run your fingers through his fur and press your head into his with as much force as you need as you cry.

Twilight almost wants to transform back to him you properly but he holds back. He doubts that Twilight would get as much as an reaction as Wolfie would and he seen enough of Wild’s episodes that this is something only an animal would be able to properly fill the role for.

He stays in that position for what feels like hours and it takes him a second to realize that you cried yourself back to sleep.

He transform back to his human form on the spot and picks you up in his arms. You’re light and the tear steaks hit him differently than he thought it would when he gets back to the fire light. 

He gently puts you back on your bed roll and pulls your blanket up to your shoulders. Twilight makes quick work of tucking you in and makes sure that you’re still warm even if you were to shift in your sleep.

He stands up with a sigh and dusts his pants off.

He looks around the camp.

I’ll stay, he thinks to himself. 

The perimeter was secure anyway, he’s not sure if anyone else will wake up tonight and need a shoulder to cry on.

Wind

Wind was busy exploring the immediate area around the camp since Time said they were allowed to.

Which basically means that two thirds of the group split up and scattered.

He had a laugh on his breath as he dashed through the various trees and tried to not get too lost. Wind didn’t want to be too far from the group but he also found that there was too much just in the horizon that was calling to him.

That is... until he thought he heard something.

Wind instantly stops in his tracks and strains to hear through the environmental noises around him.

No, yeah, he wasn’t hearing things. Someone is nearby and crying

Where though?

Wind is a little, ok very concerned by the sounds. So he crept through the foliage towards it. He knew that Wild had told him of some Yiga people who tried to lure him by crying and getting him to ask them what’s wrong....and he didn’t feel very equipped to deal with them right now.

He crept closer and held his breath.

Only to gasp when he saw that it was you who was crying.

He bit his lip and thought about what to do. It was obvious that you came all this way to be alone and not be seen. But it didn’t sit right with him to leave alone now that he’s seen you. He knows that he’s a bad actor and there’s no way that he’d be able to pretend that he didn’t see anything.

He steps on a twig.

Your head shoots up and you manage to look directly at him.

“Oh.” You gulp and begin to wipe your eyes as fast as you can, as if that would change what he’s seen and get rid of the evidence. “Wind... I didn’t see you there. Does Time need something? Do we need to head back?”

He looks behind him in case anyone else is nearby. When he sees no one, he takes a step towards you instead and takes a seat next to you. “Not to my knowledge, no. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not-” You take a breath. It’s shaky and you can’t seem to complete the sentence before you curl into yourself again and let a whine. 

Wind feels awkward. He can see how tense you are from trying to hold yourself back, and he knows it’s because he’s there. He wants to let it all out and feel better but he’ll awful if he leaves you now.

Wind gathers his courage and maneuvers so that he’s kneeling in front of you. He puts his hand son your shoulder and pushes you upwards. You let him with a saddened but curious expression. There’s more tears on your cheeks and Wind nearly wants to cry from the sight of it alone.

He shoves his way forward and hugs you as hard as he can. It’s quiet between the both of you for a hot minute before Wind dips his head into the crook of your neck. “...It’s ok to cry... I won’t tell anyone.”

It breaks the dam and you hug him back. Not as hard as he’d be willing to let you or as hard as he thinks you want to, but he’ll take it.

His shoulder instantly begins to dampen and he holds you through it.

He doesn’t know what caused this and he doubts you’ll share it with him, but at least he can let you know that he’s there for you.

Four

Four has been walking by your side for a while and he’s been the edge the entire time.

He doesn’t know why he’s so uncomfortable and for a moment he thinks he’s imagining things. You’ve always been a source of comfort and a great conversationalist, there’s rarely a moment of silence when you’re around and it’s something he feels well acquainted with.

But now you’re silent.

Four wants to ask you something, anything, to make sure that you’re ok and that you’re not upset with him. But he doesn’t know where to start or how to not make it awkward.

“Hey.” Four says your name and pulls on your sleeve gently to get your attention. “What’s up? You ok?”

You nod and smile.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

“You don’t look like you’re ok.” Four gulps and grabs your hand before you can start moving away.

He can see your jaw flex for a second before you shrug and look away from him. you shake him off slightly and begin to walk away. “Stop looking then.”

“No, no, no, you’re not getting away from me that easily. But seriously, what’s wrong?” Four begins to chase after you. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It’s nothing Four. I’ll be fine. Drop it.” 

Well he doesn’t like that at all.

He only filled with concern and spite and he’s determined to be a decent friend even if it kills him in the end.

“Well... If you ever want to talk about it...” Four trails off and shrugs in return, keeping your pace with ease. 

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to.” You mutter to yourself. He’s sure that he wasn’t supposed to hear that but it’s too late.

Four leans over to look at your face through your hair over your eyes. “I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks Smithy, I know.” 

You both continue to walk in silence for moment longer before he sees that your pace is slowing down considerably. You’re beginning to curl in yourself and grip your belt tightly.

Four is concerned even more now and places his hand on your back. He’s at a lost for words at what’s happening to you. You don’t seem to be hurt physically given how long you’ve already been traveling but now he knows he’s right.

Something’s wrong.

“What’s wrong?”

“So much.” You choke up and fall to your knees. Four collapses with you and bring you against his chest. He’s quick to hold you tight as you descend in loud and unrestrained despair. Four can’t get any more words out of you even if your emotions are laid bare for both him and the heavens to witness.

He’s glad that the other’s aren’t around at the moment but someone’s going to come check on you eventually. Whether it’s one of the two pairs behind you or someone turns back to investigate the amount of nose you’re making.

It’s not looking good either way for a lack of audience but Four’s not inclined to rush you. It’s not good to rush these things.

So he lets you cry against him and he run his fingers through your hair, rubbing circles on your back at the same time to try and calm you.

It’s fine. You need a moment.

You’ll get your moment. Four will make sure of it. 

If anyone asks, they’ll answer to him and you can avoid people for as long as you need. 

[justhockeythings-blog1]

Who said I’m out of your league?

A/N: I wasn’t sure how to end this one so let me know what you all think! Feed back is greatly appreciated! Also I totally had to use this gif, his confidence is unmatched lol

Request:  Can you please do a William Nylander imagine where you meet the team for the first time and they tease him about you being out of his league or something. Thanks!

For the entirety of your six month relationship, you had always assumed that Willy was out of your league. He was a professional hockey player, the Swedish-Canadian version of Thor, not to mention that his personality could impress even the strictest mother on the planet. You were, for all intents and purposes, average. You had a normal job, normal friends, you considered your looks to be normal, and you had a normal, by your own standards, upbringing. Your personality was probably the one thing you were confident could hold a flame to Willy’s but even then, he had the ability to be so selfless at times you wondered if you were dating an angel. 

Willy on the other hand thought that you were the most amazing thing to ever walk this planet and he took every single opportunity to tell you just that. You did something different with your hair? “Wow babe, you look amazing.” You wore new clothes that you just got? “Damn baby you should model for that company.” There was never a shortage of compliments that came from him about you. 

Which was probably why you didn’t feel as nervous as you should about meeting his teammates for the first time. You knew that Willy loved you, there was never a doubt in your mind, so you figured even if today went horribly wrong in every aspect you still had that going for you. You also had heard wonderful things about his teammates, from Willy himself but also the fans. It wasn’t like you hadn’t interacted with them in some capacity, they had heard your voice over the phone or briefly over the headset when Willy joined them for video games. You were pretty sure Willy had talked about you to them, at least in some capacity, so really you should be set up for an easy meeting with all of them. 

That’s what you tried to tell yourself anyways, the closer you got to the bar you were meeting the team at the more you felt your hands beginning to sweat. You rubbed them on your jeans for the fifth time, reaching over to lace your fingers with Willy’s as he drove. You thought you were holding your nerves fairly well, you had assured Willy before you left that this was going to be a walk in the park.

Boy were you beginning to eat your words.

“What’s got you so worked up?” He teased, pulling his eyes away from the road momentarily before he returned them to focus on where he was going. “You’re never nervous.”

That was a lie. In fact Willy had seen you nervous on numerous occasions, including the first time you two had ever met. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find it cute. You had a number of nervous ticks that he had picked up on over the last few months. You would bounce your leg while waiting for an event that was causing your nerves to spike or you would bite your lip when deep in thought, as if planning out every option. Your cheeks would heat up, creeping up your neck, when someone called you out on any and you would wave your hand in the air as if physically brushing the nerves away momentarily.

 Right now you were expressing all of those ticks, right down to the heat climbing up your neck as you tried to wave your free hand absentmindedly, brushing his words out of the air. It caused Willy to smile, he knew you better than you thought he did. He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it before he focused back on the road again. You would never admit it to him, you liked to be a neutral front but he had seen your nerves spike randomly in the days leading up to today. You had grilled him about his teammates a few times, wanting to make sure you at least had the basics of their names, girlfriends who may or may not be there. It had made Willy laugh, comparing it to you taking notes as if you were about to write a paper on the leafs player. 

“You can hide it all you want, but you’re nervous.” He called you out again and you gave him a sharp look, sticking your tongue out at him childishly. 

“I’m not nervous, I’m just…” You trailed off, tossing around a number of emotions in your head before you settled on the one. “Worried. These guys are your teammates and your best friends. I know it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, because you love me and that’s important but it’s going to make things awkward if they don’t like me.” 

You turned to look at him, letting your words settle in the car as Willy parked, your stomach dropping to your feet as you realized you were there. Everything felt so much more real now that you were looking at the sign of the bar, peering in the front window you could see Zach and Rasmus, already surrounded by other players. 

“Hey..” Willy’s soft voice pulled your eyes away from the window and back to him. “It’s going to be okay. They’re going to love you, I mean it’s not like I haven’t hyped you up. Just be yourself, if you’re uncomfortable after like an hour then we can go, okay?” He assured you, giving your hand another kiss.

“Okay, let’s go.” You smiled a little, grabbing your purse and climbing out, stopping in front of the car to wait for him before you both made your way inside. Your stomach flipping once more as he held the door for you, following you inside and guiding you over to the table.

“About time, we were wondering if you got lost on your way.” Zach teased, causing Willy to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I get lost one time and you never let me live it down.” Willy laughed, pulling out a chair for you to sit down in before taking one at your side. “This is Y/N. Y/N, this is Zach, Rasmus, Auston…”

You followed his finger as he pointed to each player who was there, as well as their own guests, mentally trying to commit them all to memory. You were pretty good when it came to names and faces, but the nerves weren’t helping, you could almost feel your hands shaking a little. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you all.” You waved a little, smiling softly as conversation picked up, Willy holding your hand under the table. 

~

It was as though you had known these people your whole life, you fell into conversation easily, answering questions about your job, hobbies, and your family. Willy kept a close eye on you the entire time, making sure that you weren’t getting overwhelmed by the amount of people who were trying to get to know you all at once. He smiled a little as he watched you engage in a conversation with Mitch about puppies and which breed was superior. He hadn’t been worried about you meeting the guys, he knew you would get along well and they would probably end up liking you more than him. 

In his mind it was impossible to not like, you were the sweetest person he had ever crossed paths with, with the exception of maybe his mom. You were constantly doing what you could to help others, taking care of him in the smallest ways like putting his laundry away after a road trip, making his favorite dinner after a rough game, or making sure he followed the trainer’s instructions even if he tried to avoid them. Not to mention that you seemed to make friends everywhere the two of you went, you just had the type of energy that drew people to you. 

“Hey, I’m going to grab another drink with the girls, did you want anything?” You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts as you stood up and he smiled a little. “Sure, surprise me.” 

He gave your hand one more squeeze as he watched you branch away from him with some of the girls, making your way up to the bar to order your drinks. It was like a proud parent watching their kid go off to school for the first time, it was a sign to Willy that you really were comfortable around his friends now. 

“Dude, she is so out of your league.” Mitch snorted, taking a sip of his drink as he watched Willy look after you with that same lost puppy dog expression you had been describing about your own dog only moments ago. 

Willy felt his cheeks heat up as he tried to hide his face in the last remnants of his drink, he should have known the second they had him alone they would say something to him.

“I mean seriously, she’s like a walking angel. How did you land her?” Zach asked, joining in on the chirping of their young teammate. Everyone was happy that Willy had found someone who seemed to match his energy, knowing that the blonde deserved the best. 

“It’s my undeniable charm boys, maybe you should try it sometime.” He smirked a little, firing back at his teammates as they all erupted into chuckles around him. 

“Well if she ever wants a real man, let her know I’m always around.” Rasmus teased, reaching over to mess up Willy’s hair playfully as Willy smacked his hands away. 

“She wants a man not a man child.” Willy fired back before he felt a hand on his shoulder, another drink being placed in front of him. “Got your usual!” 

He smiled as he saw you sitting back down beside him, shooting a look to the boys to behave, he didn’t mind their chirping but he didn’t know how you would take it seeing as how this was your first time meeting them and while it was going well, he didn’t want it to ruin anything.

~

The rest of the afternoon continued in a similar manner, the conversation flowed easily, and any time you stepped away from the group Willy was hit with another round of chirping about how you were out of his league. It was all in good fun and by the end of the afternoon you had begun to pick up on some of the chirping that carried over into the normal conversation, firing back at the boys with a smirk. 

“I mean, at least Willy knows what he’s doing, when was the last time a girl came back to you after a night?” You shot back at Auston innocently, sipping your drink as Willy and the boys burst into a loud round of laughter, accepting the high fives and the fist bump from Auston. 

“On that note, I think we better get going, gotta get my girl home and away from you hooligans.” Willy smiled, throwing his tip money on the table as he helped you up and you waved your goodbyes to the group. 

“Bye Y/N! You know where to find us if you ever want an upgrade!” You heard the boys called, laughing as you and Willy made your way back out to the car. The ride home was nice, you were buzzing as you filled Willy in on the conversations he hadn’t been a part of. This continued when you got home too, jabbering away as you made your way upstairs, stripping out of your jeans and sweater, tugging a pair of his sweatpants from the drawer as he sat on the bed, staring at you. 

“Damn you are so out of my league.” He muttered to himself, smiling as he watched you glow in relief of his friends approving of you. 

“What? Who said I was out of your league?” You frowned a little, setting yourself between his legs and playing with his hair as you looked down at him, his hands resting on your sweatpant clad hips. 

“Just the guys chirping at me, don’t worry about it but they do have a point. I am dating a literal angel.” He smiled as he could tell that the heat was rising up your neck to your cheeks again, in an attempt to hide your blush you shook your head. These were the things you usually thought about Willy, not things you were used to him saying about you. 

“Oh please, have you looked in the mirror Nylander?” You hummed, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips so he couldn’t argue against you. “Maybe we aren’t out of each other’s leagues but just in a league all our own.” 

He smiled against your lips, giving your hips a gentle squeeze. “That’s a pretty elite league to be in, I must’ve gotten called up when I started dating you.”

“You’re running my compromise!” You laughed and pushed his shoulder, hardly enough to budge him. “Now, I had fun today but can we get pizza or something and just chill? My social battery is drained.” 

He smiled and stood up, now towering over you gave him the advantage to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Your wish is my command, Princess.”

[seungkwan-s]

second chances | thirteen

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pairing; lee heeseung x female reader, ft second lead jay park x female reader

warnings; one mention of blood from a papercut

genre; a little angst, some comedy and fluff

word count; 1.5k

taglist; @staysstrays @iminchaosnow @preciousdeerchild @fylithia @wooyoung-a @katyasrussianaccent @geminirules @lix-freckle3 @bluejayjay @blossomnct @shrutiajit @itsyaapollochild @witheeseung @seungstarss @meiinumaki @dreamyeyes26 @punneysushi01 @gtfovi @hrrhmay @soobnny @zhaixiaowen @leagreenly @grassbutneo @aurumness @minkyunheewon @milkycloudtyg @youreverydayzebra @liliansun @itsamemarioo (can’t tag)

a/n: yo this is the moment everyone has been waiting for. this was way longer than i intended it to be. i'll have the texts and stuff back in the next chapters ♡

as you step back into the cafe, the warm air and the smell of a freshly made cup of coffee hits you. you sigh, catching the attention of ryujin who's leaning against the coffee machine picking at her fingernails.

"y/n, are you okay. what happened?" you put your face into your hands, taking a deep breath and before you can say anything, the door opens and in walks heeseung, jake and sunghoon—the three boys soaked from the rain.

"do none of you own an umbrella?" sunoo blurts out, "i literally have two with me, do you want one?"

you see jake shaking his head, and mouthing a "no, thank you" to sunoo.

your mind is clouded with thoughts of the conversation you shared with jay earlier, was this related to that day when he asked you how you'd feel if you two were soulmates? or are you already overthinking this?

ryujin can sense something isn't right with you, she's noticed immediately that you're not your usual happy self; all smiles and laughter and you haven't greeted the boys as you normally do, in fact, you haven't even looked their way since they came in.

how are you supposed to start things over with heeseung? do you hold off for now until jay gets over you or do you just focus on working things out with heeseung and leave jay to sort things out himself? no matter what option you go for, you're going to hurt someone...

"y/n, what's going on?" ryujin puts her arms around you and leans her head on your shoulder, "i don't like seeing you sad, who am i kicking for hurting my favourite person?"

you shake your head, looking around the café before turning to her, "jay told me he's in love with me, and he reacted quite badly when i told him i didn't feel the same. and it's now put me in a position where if i start a friendship again with heeseung, it's gonna hurt jay. but if i hold off on things for now, i'm gonna hurt heeseung and i don't want to hurt anyone, and i feel like whatever option i choose, i'm gonna be made out to be the bad guy,"

"i'm sorry, y/n but you can't help how you feel. if you don't feel anything for jay, you can't force yourself to feel feelings plus the fact—and i really hate to say it, but non-soulmate relationships aren't destined to work out. they always fail, you read so much about them on the news, on social media. if you want my honest opinion, i think you should do what makes you happy. and i know there is absolutely nothing wrong with you working things out with heeseung. he is your soulmate after all. just give jay some space, he'll be okay,"

you let out a sigh of relief, you know she's right. you're only rebuilding the friendship you once had with heeseung, you're not just going to jump into a relationship, these things take time, and with time, hopefully you and jay can be friends again. you just hope he's okay...

~

a yelp from the back end of the cafe pulls you from your thoughts, "oh heeseung, you idiot, a papercut, really?"

"oh calm down, jake, it's just a bit of blood,"

"dude, you need a band aid, hold on—y/n! we need you," ryujin passes you the first aid box before whispering a "good luck" as you take it out of her hands. you're kinda wishing you didn't know first aid because not only do you now have to talk to heeseung, you have to touch him as well. baby steps first, you thought but no, destiny wants to throw you in the deep end.

you slide into the seat next to heeseung and place the first aid box on the table in front of you, "who's injured themselves now, hm?"

"your soulmate is an idiot, y/n, who cuts themselves on paper?"

"you'd be surprised at how many papercuts i've had to tend to in here, jake, especially with how thick people's books are and the amount of studying that goes on in here. they're the smallest of cuts and can hurt a lot but it's nothing serious," you pull out one of the alcohol wipe packets including the small box of band aids.

heeseung puts his hand out willingly and you're thankful you didn't need to ask, as the nerves are already creeping up on you. the last time you were this close to him was when you two were kids and it pains you a little. you really missed him...

"how did you learn first aid?" ah. you chuckle, thank god he initiated the conversation because you didn't know how the hell to.

"i took a course online, riki's always injuring himself, he's clumsy and because our mom and dad are always away working, i thought i might as well take up a skill that's going to be useful—that and cooking,"

he winces a little at the contact of the alcohol wipe and the cut on his finger, "don't be a wuss, hee," ...and there it is, the nickname you gave him when you two were kids. heeseung ignores that tiny little feeling in his stomach, he doesn't know whether it's guilt because he stopped talking to you or if he really missed the nickname you gave him. either way, he feels awful about how he's let this go on for so long.

"y/n, i'm sorry," you pause, you look down at his hand as it's now holding onto yours. the contact making you feel warm.

"it's okay, heeseung, we were kids—kids fall out over silly things, we can start over, it's fine," now you're rambling and trying to not look at him, fear you won't be able to look away.

"y/n, please, look at me," you can hear the sadness in his voice, you know he means his apology but you're not angry at him at all. if you did something to hurt him when you were kids, you owe him an apology. you raise your head and look at him, and it's a weird feeling you feel. maybe it's because the last time you looked into his eyes like this was that day you fell off your first bike and he tried to put a band aid on your knee and you were so thankful that he was there to help you.

"i'm so sorry, for ignoring you for basically most of our lives, it was over something so silly and i hate that i let this go on for so long, and i hope you can give me another chance to make things right between us. as each year passed, i just felt awful but i didn't know how to talk to you anymore, i thought you hated me. to be honest, it made it easier for me if i just pretended i didn't like you," his voice lowers to a whisper as you now hold his hand ever so gently.

"hee, i don't hate you, i never hated you, i just wondered what i did wrong. i wondered what i did that was so bad that you just pretended like i never existed. i won't lie, it hurt a lot but i- i missed you and i want us to be friends again but i need to know what i did so i can apologise,"

he lets out a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair, he's looking everywhere just not at you, "it's so stupid but do you remember when we were painting together? we were out in your garden and you were painting the sunset and i was doing a rainbow. i had it finished and you knocked over your jar of blue paint and it spilled all over my paper. i got so mad at you that i thought you did it on purpose because i told you it was a present for someone but instead of telling you the rainbow was for you, i just left you there alone, went home and that's why i stopped talking to you,"

"that's why you stopped talking to her, heeseung, oh my god, YOU GUYS WERE FIVE YEARS OLD!!??" jake snapped, slamming his hand on the table. heeseung turned to glare at him but the feeling of your fingers caressing his hand brought his attention back to you and his face softened.

"that was an accident, hee, i would never have intentionally ruined something of yours. i'm sorry i ruined your painting, and i'm sorry i made you think it was out of jealousy," you look up at him and he gives you a smile, "it's fine, i'll just paint you another one,"

"you don't need to paint me another one, hee,"

"i don't need to but i'm gonna do it anyway," he sends you a wink and you just about crumble to the floor.

~

as the clock hits 10pm and the lights go out in the cafe, you stand outside in the cold air waiting for the uber to come and pick the three of you up to take you home.

"so, y/n, how did it go with heeseung?" sunoo asks you, his arm linked with yours.

"it went really good, actually. better than i thought but i'm still nervous,"

"nerves are normal, my love, the two of you are going to be fine, just invite me to your wedding, okay?" you playfully slap ryujin, "shut up,"

[amateur-deductions]

Observation, Assumptions, and Biases

Note: This post is based on another post I made years ago and later deleted, I thought it could still be useful, so I updated it and here it is

I’m sure most of you have already read a lot of posts about observation, and are now thinking “God, not this again”. but I’ll try to make this one as different as possible, let’s go through the basics quickly.

Observation is the first step in the deductive process, and its purpose is to gather as much information about the subject being observed as you possibly can. It doesn't just consist of looking at something, but using all your senses, (yes, sometimes even smell and taste). Now most people tell you to focus on getting all the small details about everything and don’t get me wrong, this is very important and you should try to acknowledge any small detail you can find, but the important part of observation is realising that the smallest details are just as important as the big obvious ones

/B U T H O W ?

I know the frustration of being told to observe and not knowing what to look for, I’ve been there myself. The answer to that question is everything, and this is what people don’t tell you. Observing is as simple as noting qualities about a subject, the more details you can find, the more qualities you can point out, “clay” you have to build your “bricks”.

There’s nothing specific you gotta be looking for, this is just observation, this is just getting the clay for your bricks, and it’s as simple as thinking “what can I see?” (or smell or touch, etc.), it just consists of raw information. For example, statements like "the man has a red tie" or "the tie has a small coffee stain" both count as perfectly good observations, and that’s all you have to do while in the observing stage. 

My advice would be, don’t overcomplicate it, you have to observe, just do that, no conclusions, no deductions, nothing, just observing, just gathering data. But obviously, you’re not a computer, you can’t store unlimited amounts of observations and information all in 30 or 40 seconds. If you try to observe and take note of everything you can possibly see or smell or touch, etc. About a subject, you’ll end up very confused, and probably exhausted (unless you’re writing them down). So my advice is this: take it step by step, object by object, if you’re looking at a tie, stick with the tie, if you feel you can move to another section without getting mixed up and remembering all the things you took note of, then go ahead, but don’t mix more than 3 or 4 sections, this will come later on in the process of deduction. You should take it bit by bit

/A S S U M P T I O N S

When we observe we must remain impartial, there's no room for baseless assumptions or jumping to conclusions automatically, this may be quite dangerous as it they, more often than not, are wrong. Unfortunately, the human brain makes rushed connections all the time, it's almost impossible to stop it from forming assumptions, after all an assumption is simply an idea, and you can’t kill an idea, you can, however, disprove it. When faced with an assumption, don’t try to forget about it, it only makes you think about it more, like telling you not to think of a pink elephant. Instead try to look for evidence that points towards or away from said assumption, if the evidence doesn’t point towards it, just discard it, and mark it as incorrect.

An important thing to note about assumptions is that just like what we call "hunches", they're simply your brain making some kind of connection between something you’re seeing and a piece of information you already have. This means that while they can be dangerous if taken as fact without a validation process, the fact that your brain made a connection between two things might still be worth exploring as an idea, why did you come to said assumption? what triggered? is it wrong, and if so, why? could some other element of it lead you down a correct path? all things to keep in mind, but always with the intent to find evidence that proves your ideas, and if you fail to do this, discarding them

/B I A S E S

The nightmare of every deductionist, a bias is basically your emotions and opinions playing a part in the logical process. While there is a part of deduction that requires emotion, the logical aspect of it must be kept away from these.

The way to approach biases is similar to assumptions since you need to check the reasoning behind every conclusion you reach to see if your deduction or observation is being affected by a bias. If a purely logical train of thought cannot be followed from evidence to conclusion, in other words, if at any point there's an emotional or illogical explanation for an observation in your train of thought, the process is being affected by biases and should be discarded.

Following the example of the tie, if you think the tie is ugly you're forming an opinion. You have to check the facts: do people seem to have negative reactions when noticing or talking about the tie specifically? if you can read that on people (for example, through the use of micro expressions in specific situations), and it seems to be an existing trend, then you can integrate that as a fact, but if it's simply your opinion it has no value in deduction

And that's it for this very simple but quite essential topic, as always if anyone has any questions or comments feel free to send them over and I'll answer them to the best of my ability.

Happy Observing!

-DV

[luminescencefics]

fade in, fade out - part six

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A/N: Since this chapter is quite long, mobile viewing is probably not the best option because Tumblr can sometimes be finicky! I would recommend viewing in a browser. Happy reading, loves! x

***

The Climax

January 2013 

Marcus and Nora break up during the spring of her second year.

He wanted things to move much faster than they were, and Nora was far too comfortable with their normal—the normal in which Marcus lived a floor above her and they could wrap around each other in his tiny twin bed without worrying about things outside of their protective bubble. Because this normal was easy, it was simple, it was safe—and doing anything different, switching up their normal, would make it the complete opposite.

So when he tells her that he found a small studio apartment in the West Village one April afternoon underneath a budding black tupelo tree in Central Park, and he would love more than anything for Nora to move in, she immediately declines. She wasn’t ready for that step—wasn’t ready to not live with Ebony and switch up her normal and pop their bubble.

Breaking up wasn’t in Nora’s plan, but she knew that it was bound to happen. It was an amicable split, something that didn’t shake her world or leave her feeling lost at sea without an anchor in the unforgiving rough waters. And two months later, when she’s spending her final summer at home with her mother, Nora wonders if there’s something wrong with her heart when it still feels intact and the still-beating flesh isn’t ripping apart at the seams.

But life moves on, and so does Nora.

When she arrives back on campus at the start of her third year, Nora finds that she has room in her schedule for extracurriculars due to her influx of AP credits from Townbridge. On a whim, she decides to fill in the gaps with Film Study classes, and Nora finds that her heart is thumping in a way that it never has before—in a way that makes her feel that she’s finally found purpose, finally found her passion, finally found something close to unadulterated happiness.

Her favorite film professor is an older woman named Suzanne Davies who insists she be called Sue, or more radically, Suzy. She’s built of thin bones and worn skin, mahogany eyes that have seen almost everything that Nora wishes she could, with grey curly hair that twists at the nape of her neck and covers a brain that Nora wishes she could pry apart and indulge in every memory like a film projector reel on a thin hanging sheet.

She teaches Film Theory & Criticism, and when Nora listens to her thick British accent work through Apparatus theory and Structuralist theory, she can’t help but think of London—a city that feels an entire world away, and how badly she wishes she could visit, if only for a short amount of time.

One dreary November afternoon when Nora is the last one to leave the lecture hall, Suzy stops her and asks her what she wants to do with her life. Nora is instantly brought back to a time in December three years ago, in a different state with a boy she thinks about every now and then, who asked her this very same question as the snow was falling outside and they were laying down on concrete steps, eyes facing the cracked ceiling above. She was honest then, not even hesitating when spilling the words freely from her lips, because for some odd reason, she trusted him entirely in that small moment in time.

She feels the same now, and suddenly, she’s telling her professor about the pressure she feels of choosing a stable career, of how she needs her mother to be proud of her, of how she studies Communications but craves Film, of how she’s never been happier than when she’s watching old movies and dreaming up plots of her own. She tells Suzy how she’s never left the country, of how she wishes to see places that aren’t coastal Newport or rural Connecticut or bustling New York City.

When Nora sits in her usual seat in the middle row for her next class a week later, she finds an application for Columbia’s exchange program with University College London on her desk. She skims through the pages, finding that Suzy has filled in most of the basic information, leaving the personal questions for Nora to finish. And when she looks up at her professor just as she’s beginning the lecture, Suzy feels her gaze warm her wrinkled cheek and shoots her wink, going right back to discussing human nature as a fundamental theme in A Clockwork Orange.

Nora sends in her application right after class, and receives her acceptance letter the week before Christmas break. She feels as if she’s floating through thin air, and the only thing keeping her from floating into the stratosphere is the glossy folder from UCL with the words Congratulations! and welcome and 4 January 2013 printed on thick paper. Her mother might possibly be more thrilled than Nora, and when she’s back in Newport folding thick sweaters and knitted scarves and thrifted trench coats into her suitcases on New Year’s Eve, Nora can’t help but think that if moments could be bottled, she would pick this one to cherish forever.

Time seems to pass much faster for Harry. His first year meshes into his second year without hesitation, his afternoon’s at his internship with his father fall into nights spent with his mates almost thoughtlessly—and it’s only once he’s been doing the same thing for almost an entire year when he feels himself growing tired of it all. He’s sick of this routine. Sick of drinking himself into a place where he doesn’t have any feelings, doesn’t think of all of his past mistakes, doesn’t do anything else except simply exist for a few hours. And when he falls into his bed the next morning feeling his brain throb against his skill in agony, he comes to the conclusion that he’s completely and utterly exhausted from this meaningless lifestyle.

When his third and final year comes along, he decides to stop answering his mates when they call. He doesn’t show up to their penthouse parties anymore, he doesn’t frequent the same claustrophobic clubs he knows they’ll be at. Harry keeps to himself, and when he sees a flyer after his Business Ethics lecture about intramural football tryouts, he brings his old kit to the pitch the next afternoon. He’s a bit rusty, but Harry finds that most of the lads are, and that thought alone makes him start to feel something other than emptiness.

He makes the team and meets a boy named Niall. He’s from Ireland and drinks like a fish, but he’s kind and easygoing and doesn’t care that Harry’s surname is Styles—and it’s a refreshing change from the incessant partying and shallow people he wasted away with his first two years. Niall is warm and comfortable, and reminds Harry of slipping on that warm jumper he’s had for years in the back of his closet whenever the weather gets cold, and it’s nice having a real friend for once in his life.

As October changes into November, Harry feels a change within himself, too. It’s subtle, the smallest of shifts that allows his icy heart to thaw ever so slowly, and he finds that he welcomes it with open arms.

He meets Niall’s girlfriend just as the long stretch of autumn begins. Her name is Piper and she’s practically made for Niall, in the way that the top of her head reaches just under Niall’s chin so that he can rest it there whenever they’re talking to other people, in the way that his hand practically swallows her much smaller one whenever they’re walking from pub to pub, in the way that she instinctively makes him a cup of tea whenever she brews her own, knowing exactly how he takes it. It makes Harry a little bit jealous, because for the first time in years, he finds that he yearns to wrap a body part around another warm person just to inform them that he hasn’t forgotten their presence, yearns to swallow palms with his own, yearns to have another person think of him while doing the most mundane of tasks.

Yearns to have somebody want him in a way he hasn’t ever been wanted before.

Piper is in her third year at UCL, and she met Niall at a house party during their first year hosted by a mutual friend. They fell in love quickly and seamlessly, and after three weeks Niall told her that she was the one for him, and it all sort of made sense.

She welcomes Harry into their eclectic group, filled with a few lads from footie and a few girls from Piper’s dorm, and they’re the fastest friends Harry’s ever made. They spend their fall semester at a small pub in Camden on Wednesdays that plays live music and is filled with seemingly normal people like Harry’s new mates, and busy house parties hosted by UCL students on the weekends, with the occasional club sprinkled in between.

As autumn trickles into winter, Harry finds that he’s quite sad to watch Niall leave for Ireland for the holiday break. He’s not sure how time passed so quickly, and as December fades into January, Harry’s counting down the days until his loud brown-haired mate is back in London, showing up on his doorstep to drag him to the pub around the corner for a pint.

When Nora exits Heathrow during one of the coldest days of the year, she finds that not even the weather can dull her perpetual shine. She barely slept the entire flight, her excitement of being on a plane for the first time and receiving her first official passport stamp keeping her wide awake throughout the entire seven hour journey.

During the car ride from Heathrow to her residence hall in Central London, Nora’s face is glued to the window pane, her eyes taking in every sight that flashes by. Her mouth is close enough to the glass that her humid breaths are causing the window to fog over, but she can’t even think about how rude that probably is. All she can think about is the fact that she’s in another country, in a brand new city, experiencing all of this for the very first time.

When the black car finally pulls up to a brick building, Nora clutches her two suitcases in each hand, her leather backpack strapped tightly against the wool material of her trench coat, and makes her way to the sixth floor.

Nora’s room is small but homely, a single twin bed against one wall with a wooden wardrobe on the other. A white desk sits underneath the decently-sized window straight against the back wall, and when she looks around and takes everything in, she feels herself breathe properly for the first time since stepping on English soil.

Her floor is quiet, but before Nora can begin to explore, she decides to be smart and starts unpacking, knowing that the longer she puts it off, the less inclined she’ll be to put her clothes away properly. 

After about an hour, she decides to venture down the hallway into the common room where a small kitchen and lounge area reside. Nora notices a few coats thrown over the back of the couch haphazardly, and before she can build up the courage to turn down the other adjacent hallway and meet her new floormates, she decides to brew a cup of coffee to push past the jet lag attempting to invade her insides.

When she turns the kettle on and rummages through the cupboards to try and find some instant coffee, Nora discovers nothing but various tea flavors. Disgruntled, Nora plucks a package of Earl Grey and places it inside a mug she grabbed from the shelf, moving the plaid tea towel a little bit further down the countertop as she waits for the hot water to boil.

Nora leans her right hip on the counter while she waits, drumming her fingertips against the laminate material as she tries to remember if she even likes the taste of tea to begin with. She drank chamomile tea once after studying for finals so that she could sleep, and whenever she was sick with a cold, her mother would make her a cup with a dollop of honey to soothe her scratchy throat. She wonders if she’s allowed to put milk inside so the color isn’t a deep murky brown, or if sugar would help with the bitter taste.

Suddenly, Nora detects something that smells distinctly of burning. She springs upright, wondering what on earth she could have possibly done. Water can’t burn, right?

But before her fuzzy brain can start functioning properly, she looks down to her right and notices that the edges of the plaid tea towel have charred, and when she blinks, Nora realizes that the red light on the hot plate has been turned on.

“Shit!” Nora squeals, flicking the switch off that she must have accidentally turned on when she lazily rested her hip against the edge of the counter moments ago.

Just as she makes a reach for the burning tea towel, she hears a high-pitched accented voice behind her shriek, and suddenly, freckled arms are appearing in her periphery, snatching up the ruined tea towel as she yells, “Oi! No tea towels on the hot plate!”

With a flick of her wrist, the girl throws the tea towel into the sink, turning the cold water on while Nora’s cheeks burn bright. “I’m sorry! I didn’t even realize—Christ,” she splutters, tearing her eyes away from the wet fabric inside the steel basin and focusing them on the smaller girl in front of her.

“Ah, you’re the new American exchange student.” The girl says it in a way that makes Nora wonder if it’s a good or bad thing, as if her identifier explains why she nearly burned their residence hall down a mere three hours after being allowed in the country.

Before Nora can apologize or worse, make an even bigger fool of herself, the pretty girl in front of her chuckles in a way that makes Nora breathe in a deep sigh of relief. And before she can even realize what she’s doing, Nora starts to laugh along with her—loud enough until her cheeks feel bruised from smiling so brightly and her ribs hurt from the lack of air pumping through her lungs. The kettle starts to whistle, forcing them to break their eye contact.

Just as Nora reaches over to turn it off, the girl’s freckled arm beats her to the punch, knocking her hip against Nora’s with a bright smile, “Let’s keep you away from any more potential fire hazards, yeah?”

The lightness in her tone makes Nora believe that she’s being genuine, and when the girl begins to pour the hot water into the mug and shoots a kind smile over her shoulder, Nora takes a step back and feels a bit more at ease.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” Nora announces, watching the pretty girl with auburn hair dunk the tea bag exactly seven times into the water.

“I’m Piper. How do you take your tea?” she asks, looking over her shoulder again. Nora gets a bit distracted by the smattering of freckles covering the bridge of her nose and falling onto the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes are the brightest shade of green Nora’s ever seen, and when the girl tilts her head to the side in question, Nora shakes her head, realizing that she has no idea how to properly drink tea.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” she admits sheepishly. Piper gives her a soft smile, before reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing a small carton of milk.

“You’ll take it like me, then. Reckon I’ll convert you into a proper tea drinker by the time your exchange is over, Rah,” Piper calls out, pouring a dash of milk and plopping one sugar cube inside the cup, stirring it another seven times. Nora wonders if that changes the taste or if it’s just a little quirk her new floormate does.

Nora’s eyebrows furrow at the unfamiliar name that falls from Piper’s pink lips. “Rah?”

Piper hands over the mug with twinkling eyes. “Gotta give you a nickname if we’re meant to be proper mates, right?”

It’s a question that seems to not need an answer, because Piper is the type of girl that says things with an air of unbridled assurance. Piper could tell you that the glowing star in the sky wasn’t the sun, instead, it was a dripping egg yolk that warmed everything underneath, and you would believe it. So when she calls Nora by her nickname, she doesn’t even bat an eye, because if being called Rah means she has a new friend in this unfamiliar place, then Nora will accept it without hesitation.

“Let’s get you all settled in then, yeah? I’ll have my boyfriend bring us some dinner. I think you’ll like him,” Piper says, grabbing Nora’s hand and dragging her into her bedroom at the other end of the hall.

A few hours later, when a brown-haired boy with matching blue eyes and a thick Irish accent shows up with two bags of Thai takeaway in one hand and a twelve-pack of Fosters beer in the other, Nora finds that Piper was right—she likes him quite a bit. They seem to get on like a house on fire, and when he cracks open a beer for her and tells her that he thinks she has a funny accent, Nora laughs and throws his comment right back in his face. The three of them end up eating too much food and drinking too much beer, but Nora doesn’t mind the bellyache when she falls into bed later that night, thinking all of it was worth it, because she made two new friends on her first night.

The next evening, Piper swings open Nora’s door without knocking, and begins rummaging through her wardrobe and pulling out her nicest pair of blue jeans, a cute sweater she got on the clearance rack at some New York City boutique, and one of her thrifted trench coats. She tells Nora to get ready because they’re going out tonight, and before she can decline, she hears Niall yell over from the common room, “Get yer arse dressed, Rah! It’s pub night!”

Barely thirty minutes later, Nora finds herself sandwiched between Niall and Piper in the cold January air, heels stomping against the pavement as they zigzag their way through the crowded streets of Camden Town.

Niall’s phone begins to ring, and before Nora’s head can snap in his direction, the sleek black device is already pressed against his ear as he begins speaking loudly into the night air. “Curly! How’re ya, mate? What? Yes, of course we’re goin’ to the pub. It’s Wednesday! Late? What d’ya mean, late? Oh. Yeah, sure, take yer time, Pipes and I have our hands full breakin’ in Rah over here. What’s that? Rah? Pipes and I adopted her. Yer gonna love her. Right, see ya later!”

He looks over at Nora as he slides his phone into his back pocket. The question is at the tip of her tongue, but when she takes in the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and finds that Piper’s are matching, she just shakes her head softly before muttering, “Do I even want to know?”

Niall flings his arm around her shoulder and Piper’s much smaller one wraps around Nora’s waist. “Best not to know anything,” Piper whispers into her ear, giggling as they make their way around the corner to the brick-faced pub at the end of the street.

When they finally pull Nora inside, it takes her a few moments to get adjusted to the unfamiliar setting. She’s only been twenty-one for two months now, and even though she knows the legal drinking age here is eighteen, she’s still only been inside a handful of bars in her short existence.

Bars in New York City are nothing like the place Nora currently finds herself in. She’s used to proper lighting, sleek bar tops, upholstered seating, and fancy liquor bottles lining the mirrored walls. Instead, she finds herself surrounded by chipped wood, sticky paneled flooring, and string lights fastened to original crown molding. The bar itself has more beer taps than she’s ever seen another place have before, and instead of ornate tequila bottles on thick glass panes, Nora finds numerous bottles of dark liquor haphazardly placed on oak shelving. It’s all wooden stools and high-top tables and stained rims on old surfaces, and when she notices an elevated platform along the farthest wall with musical instruments placed a bit too close together to make up for the lack of room the space provides, Nora finds that she likes this place a little bit more than the ones back home.

Instead of asking Nora what she’d like to drink, Niall just bends down and speaks into her ear, “You trust me, right?” And when she nods and finds that she surprisingly does trust this friendly stranger after only twenty-four hours, he grins and smacks a kiss to the crown of her head, prancing over to the bar with a giddy smile on his face.

Piper just shakes her head with a chuckle, grabbing Nora by the hand and dragging her over to a high-top closer to the empty stage. “Come meet the gang, Rah,” she says, squeezing her palm a little tighter when she notices the nervous look washing over Nora’s features.

With her palm in Piper’s, Nora is happily introduced to a group of five people clutching pint glasses with two plates of chips in the middle of the table. She recognizes two of the girls from her residence hall, and smiles when they compliment her boots and coat. The rest are names Nora tries her hardest to file into her memory, and when she slips into a stool with Piper sliding into the one on her right, she finds herself feeling much more comfortable.

Niall appears with a black tray covered in spilled beer and shorter glasses filled with a deep brown liquid Nora can only assume to be whiskey inside. She gulps, attempting to alleviate her dry throat, mentally preparing herself because she did tell him moments ago that she trusted him. And when she slides the liquor down her throat and feels it burn her insides, she chases the warmth with cold beer and hears Niall’s loud cheer across from her.

“Way to go, Rah! Yer a natural!” Nora feels Piper squeeze her shoulder affectionately, and before Niall can slide another shot glass in her direction, Nora watches his eyes lift over the top of her head to something behind her. His blue eyes suddenly widen and his teeth rip through his skin, grinning widely as he calls out, “Curly! Just in time, mate!”

Nora hears a deep chuckle behind her, and for some strange reason, it sounds all too familiar. 

She’s instantly brought back to a time three years ago in the dead of winter, the rolling green Connecticut hills covered in thick white blankets of snow, in which a boy and a girl spent ten days together without any interruptions. She heard that chuckle enough times in those ten days to permanently have it imprinted in her memory, and suddenly, Nora feels her stomach clench uncomfortably, because how, after all of this time, can Nora still remember that sound?

But then she hears it. His voice—much deeper now, but still gravelly and throaty, forming words slowly with his accent tilting at the end of specific phrases. It’s much thicker now, no doubt from his time spent in his home country, and all at once, Nora feels her face pucker with discomfort. She wonders if anybody else can notice the inner-turmoil wreaking havoc underneath her skin, but then he speaks again, and it’s close enough to cause her to momentarily forget how to breathe.

“What do we have here, then?” Nora can’t bring herself to move. She feels as if her bum is glued to the wooden seat, the soles of her boots are transfixed to the legs of the stool, and her upper body has lost all proper motor function. Nora is almost certain that she’s panicking, but then she’s brought back into focus when Niall’s cheerful voice echoes off the walls of the crowded pub surrounding her.

“This is our Rah! Came all the way from America on exchange, so don’t go and scare her off,” Niall calls out, his grin faltering a little when he notices the alarmed look covering Nora’s face.

“Came all this way and the first person she meets is you? Well, let me formally apologize for that disappointment—” Nora gulps one last time and swivels around in the old stool, finally revealing herself, causing his words to fall flat.

When their eyes finally meet, Nora’s relieved she isn’t holding the pint glass in her hand, because if she were, she’s certain that it would fall to the floor below her, breaking with a resounding crack when she finally faces Harry Styles for the first time in three years.

It feels like everything is happening in slow motion. Sea green eyes widen in shock, and Nora watches as his neck pushes his face outward, as if his body was forcing him to take in every inch of her face to re-familiarize himself with it. He’s a bit taller now, still wearing an expensive dark-colored trench coat, still choosing an inappropriately thin t-shirt underneath. He seems to have grown up in every sense of the word—with the way his chest is a bit fuller and his arms are a bit thicker and his stomach is a bit tighter. His jawline seems to be more pronounced, the bone practically slicing through his skin with the way the lines effortlessly sculpt his face that is still annoyingly perfect. She notices that his hair is pushed back into a low bun, the curls escaping the thin hair tie just kissing the nape of his neck. She can’t help but wonder what the tendrils would look like if she pulled the knotted elastic from his hair, allowing them to fall freely down his back.

“Nora Priestley?” Harry barely calls out. He feels as if he’s hallucinating.

Because the last time he saw Nora Priestley in the flesh, she was all blonde hair and skinny limbs and knobby knees. There’s no denying that this is still her, considering her blue eyes are practically tattooed underneath his eyelids whenever he tries to fall asleep at night, and nobody else can steal that shade. She’s practically a fully-blossomed woman sitting in front of him—all slender legs and tiny waist, long torso that has rigidified over time, undulating hips that truly show a level of maturity that didn’t exist three years ago back in Connecticut. Her face is still angular, her nose is still buttoned, her lips are still pouty, her cheekbones are still high on her face and tinted pink. But when he looks at her hair, he notices that the blonde is gone. In its place is a deep shade of brown, nearly black, flowing over her shoulders and down her back languidly. Her fringe is still there, all messy strands framing a face that she’s finally grown into, and Harry finds a calming sense of familiarity in that.

She’s beautiful—she’s always been this effortlessly cool type of beautiful, and Harry can’t actually believe that she’s sitting in front of him. Can’t actually believe that her lips are moving on her face, forming his two-syllable name. Can’t actually believe that he’s been staring at her hearing white noise flood through his ear canals, blocking whatever else is falling from her mouth.

“Your hair. It’s different,” are the words Harry chooses to say once he realizes her mouth is closed, mentally berating himself for being so wrapped up in this New Nora that he seemingly forgot how to hold a normal conversation.

She seems to be on the same page, with the way she slowly tears her eyes from his own, staring blankly at the wall over his shoulder when an odd sense of déjà vu clouds her vision, before nodding absently.

“Yeah,” she finally voices, bringing her forlorn gaze back to his. “I could say the same for you.”

He smiles a bit, wondering how to maneuver through these unfamiliar waters with her. But before he can even properly locate his mooring, Niall interrupts, causing Nora to swivel back in his direction so that her back is once again facing Harry.

“I’m confused—have you two met?” Niall asks, observing the two with wide eyes, a crinkle in his forehead as he tries to dissect the interaction unfolding across the table.

“Uh, yeah. We went to boarding school together,” Nora explains, filling in the gaps. She sees the pint glass in her periphery and grabs it tightly, bringing it to her lips and gulping three heavy swallows of the bitter liquid to slow down her erratic heartbeat.

“Wait—here? I thought you said you’ve never been on a plane before, Nora!” Piper calls out from Nora’s right side, her auburn hair flicking back and forth when she notices the tension radiating off of their bodies.

“No, in America,” Harry answers for Nora when he realizes her mouth is preoccupied with downing her entire pint in one go. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are darting in every direction that isn’t the blue of Niall’s eyes or the bright green of Piper’s, and Harry can conclude that Nora is uncomfortable.

“Well, that’s a plot twist I didn’t see comin’,” Niall says through a chuckle, moving his eyes away from Nora’s as he takes a long swig of his drink, shaking his head at the uncanniness of it all.

The whole group seems to be a bit shocked by this revelation, and before Nora can suffocate under the unnatural silence surrounding the table, Piper asks the rest of the group a question about the new band performing tonight, and just like that, all is forgotten.

Nora can feel the body behind her disappear, and when she sees black wool material flutter past her eyesight, she breathes in a sigh of relief when she notices the only chair available is the one diagonal from her, almost conveniently out of her line of vision.

She looks up when she sees a fresh pint glass being pushed in her direction, and when her eyes lock with Niall’s and she realizes that he’s given her the second beer he originally saved for himself, she smiles appreciatively before bringing the cool glass to her lips, swallowing deeply with her eyes shut tight.

If Nora’s meant to endure this entire evening, she’s going to need all of the liquid courage she can muster. Because the universe must be playing some sort of sick-twisted game with her, giving her the opportunity to travel to a new city while simultaneously thrusting the boy who almost broke her heart right in the epicenter of it all. She wonders if this is her karma for ending things with Marcus, for not agreeing to move in with him and take the next steps in their relationship.

Nora sighs, wanting so badly to laugh at her situation, but knows deep down that she can’t. Because London is supposed to be a big city—filled with nine million people and her chances of potentially running into Harry were meant to be astronomically low. The numbers should have been on her side—considering Oxford University is sixty miles away from UCL, and Oxfordshire is an hour and a half away from Central London, and out of the three hundred pubs in all of Camden, the probability of running into him at this very one in this exact moment in time is far too outstanding to even be considered a possibility.

But it is, and it’s happening all around her, and suddenly—Nora needs to leave.

She can’t be sat so close to him after all this time and act like everything’s okay. Because it’s not okay and she’s not okay and this whole fucking scenario will never be okay, and in order to be okay, Nora needs to locate the closest escape route and disappear.

Her head is swivelling and she’s not listening to any of the conversations happening around her, and as if the gods were pitying her, sensing her panic attack all the way from the heavens above, they send her a sign in the form of Niall grabbing Harry and bringing him over to the bar with the guys for another round.  

Once they’ve left, Nora abandons her half-emptied glass and grabs her coat, flinging it on her body without even buttoning it properly. Piper looks over, realizing that Nora’s face is flushed and her eyes are a bit widened, and before she can get too far, she asks, “Rah, you alright?”

Shit, Nora thinks, I forgot about Piper.

“Uh, yeah. Just need a smoke,” Nora lies, teeth forming a barely-there smile to try and prove to her new friend that she’ll be okay and doesn’t need to be followed.

Piper warily falls for it, and when Nora watches her freckled face turn back towards the girls at the table, Nora sighs in relief and hurries over to the front door, flying out into the cold January air as she tries to navigate her shaking feet back towards the Underground.

She doesn’t make it very far, barely rounds the corner of the street before she hears her name being roughly called from raspberry lips she’s too terrified to face. But his legs are longer than hers and his strides are more purposeful, because just as Nora’s identified the Underground entranceway, Harry’s large palm wraps around her tensed bicep and suddenly, she’s spinning on the heels of her boots, officially caught trying to run away in the middle of a busy sidewalk surrounded by throngs of people.

Nora immediately flinches, shaking his hand off her body before she becomes familiar with the warmth that encapsulates the fabric adorning her skin. Harry gets the hint and dejectedly brings his hand back down to his side, shuffling in his brown suede shoes as he tries to form the correct words to say to her.

“You don’t have to leave,” he starts, trying his hardest to identify the wary look in her eyes. Because he’s never seen her look like this—so completely and utterly defeated, and Harry almost wishes she would lash out instead of continue to look at him the way she is doing right now.

“I do,” Nora says, moving her eyes down to the cracked pavement. She can’t bring herself to look at his face anymore.

“Piper said you were having a smoke. I didn’t think you did that.” Harry’s words cause her head to lift abruptly, and she’s not sure if it’s because his voice sounds so broken and dejected, or if it’s because he’s insinuating that he still knows things about her.

“You don’t know me anymore, Harry,” Nora spits out, leveling her blues with his greens in a standoff that she doesn’t feel ready for.

Harry frowns, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck, choosing to back down. “I know.”

It’s sad. The whole situation is terribly sad, because suddenly, Pandora’s box has been ripped open—the lid practically flung across the pavement as feelings that have been buried underneath the surface for so long are unforgivingly being unearthed right in front of their eyes.

Nora turns away, knowing there’s really nothing left to be said between the two of them. Not until she’s properly processed it all. Not until she’s dealt with her emotions the right way instead of screaming in his face and never looking back.

“Nora,” Harry tries, his voice pleading with hers. He waits until she turns around before saying, “My birthday is in a few weeks. The first. Niall’s throwing me a party and all that, and uh—” he takes a massive gulp, his entire body riddled with nerves, “I’d really like for you to come.”

“I’ll think about it,” Nora says after a moment’s pause, offering him a shaky smile in hopes that it’ll be enough for him to allow her to enter the Underground without another interruption.

“And Nora?” her eyes find his one last time before he says, “It’s really great to see you.”

The next Wednesday pub night, Nora decides to stay home. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang out with everyone, because she does—she just knows that Harry will definitely be in attendance, and she still isn’t really sure how to feel about everything. The last thing Nora wants to do is make things awkward with this new group of friends she just met, so staying in was the easiest option.

On the Wednesday after that, Harry decides to skip out. He doesn’t want Nora to feel like she has to avoid her new friends because their relationship (or lack thereof) is stuck in limbo. Traveling to a new country, especially for the first time, is never fun to do alone—and Harry would hate himself if he made her feel that isolating herself is the best option. So he stays home, and tries not to text Niall and ask him if Nora decided to show up (even though he stalks his mates’ social media and finds that she did, in fact, go).

Niall and Piper try not to ask the invasive questions that are dancing on the tip of their tongues, because it’s so blatantly obvious that Nora and Harry were never “just” mates from school. Nora never explicitly tells her new friends about what happened, but Piper can figure it out, because she’s a girl, and girl’s know what Nora’s eyes mean when they twinkle and break at the mention of Harry’s name. Harry, on the other hand, drunkenly spilled anecdotes to Niall in the past about a girl who deserved so much better than what he could offer her, and with one look at the bruised skin underneath Harry’s vacant eyes in the days that follow their reunion, Niall understands then that the girl in question is none other than his special Rah.

The first of February comes along with a dip in temperature, and before Nora can mull over Harry’s birthday party invitation any longer, she decides to throw caution to the wind and go. She shops for a pretty dress with Piper, and when she finds a discounted Topshop number that pairs excellently with the only pair of heels she stuffed into her suitcase, she purchases it without a second thought.

The girls get ready together and Nora lets Piper curl her hair, and when the rest of their friends make cocktails in their tiny shared kitchenette, Nora feels her worries wash away with each sip of fruity liquor that slides down her throat.

When they arrive at the club Niall organizes all their mates to meet at, Nora barely has time to try and locate the birthday boy. Because suddenly, she’s meeting a handful of new people and being dragged to the dancefloor against her will, and after her second (or third?) Sex on the Beach, she’s in that perfect state of drunkenness in which she feels light and airy and nothing but happiness radiates off her sticky skin.

Harry, oppositely, is in that state of drunkenness in which his words are slurring together and his eyes are glossy. He feels airy, practically lightheaded at this point, and his teeth stretch the skin around his mouth wide as he laughs along to whatever his friends are saying.

He’s barely had time to make the rounds, because people kept approaching him left and right with birthday praises and a shot glass filled with pungent liquor for him to shoot back. Niall finally rejoins him at the U-shaped leather booth in their corner of the club, and when Harry asks him something that sounds like Piper, Niall points in the direction of his girlfriend twirling around the dancefloor with a group of her friends.

When he refocuses his blurry vision on the group, Harry instantly notices brown hair floating through the air. The curls seem to have fallen a bit as the night dragged on, and when the girl turns around to mouth the lyrics of the upbeat song to Piper, Harry grins when he recognizes the pouty lips that are painted a refreshing shade of sherbert. Her cheeks are tinged and Harry wonders if it’s from exertion or alcohol, and when she spins back around to shake her hips to the beat of the overplayed pop song, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s only once her hands scoop the hair at the back of her neck, pushing it upwards to let the prickling skin underneath breathe for a bit, when Harry notices the new etchings of ink on her body.

Three equally-sized birds are tattooed on the back of her right shoulder, swirling on her ivory skin whenever her arms move above her head as she dances. Harry can’t seem to look away—suddenly wondering if there’s anything else about her that has changed in three years. He finds that he wants to know everything about her within the time period when they weren’t in each other’s lives, and it’s that startling realization that causes him to ignore the advances of the yellow-haired girl sitting across the table from him.

“Y’alright, Curly?” Niall asks after Harry waves the girl away, and he nods distractedly, bringing his whiskey and ginger to his mouth to gulp back heavily. Niall shakes his head and tells him that he’s going to go dance with Piper, and Harry just watches idly as his friend saunters away.

For some reason, Harry doesn’t get up. Instead, he pulls more sips from the liquor at his table, watching in curiosity as Nora mingles with his mates and dances with Niall and Piper. He thinks it’s fascinating, thinks that in a parallel universe he and Nora would be doing this every night, and instead of random girls vying for his attention, Nora would undoubtedly have all of it.

With that thought running through his head, he sloppily gets up from his seat, drunkenly hobbling over to his group of friends on the dancefloor near the bar. When he approaches them, he flings an unsteady arm around Niall’s neck for extra support, grinning widely when everyone calls him the birthday boy and pinches his cheeks in drunken adoration.

“Mm, think ‘ve had enough, mate,” Harry slurs in Niall’s direction, resting a good portion of his weight on his shorter friend who has to tighten his grip around Harry’s waist.

“I’ll call a car, have ‘em bring you home. Need me t’come with?” Niall asks, and when Harry looks at each of his mates in their small circle, he shakes his head cheekily and smiles in Nora’s direction.

“No, I want Nora to.” It’s innocent in the way that he just wants to spend time with her, because he hasn’t even had the chance to speak to her tonight, and all he can think about is how much time has passed between them and that he misses her in a way he didn’t think was possible.

Nora watches Harry whine in Niall’s ear, and even though the music is too loud for her to make out everything he’s saying, she somehow manages to hear the words want and Nora and please. Niall looks over in her direction, and when he asks her if she’ll take him home, she considers accepting for some odd reason. Because he’s drunk and needy, and she’s never seen a needy Harry Styles before, and as if the time frame has blurred right in front of her, Nora finds herself in the backseat of a fancy town car driving off into a quieter part of the city.

They sit on opposite ends of the car with the middle seat unused between them, and after a few minutes of silence, Harry decides to break it by saying, “‘M really happy you came tonight.”

Nora’s not nearly as drunk as he is, and she finds it quite adorable the way his deep voice cracks over the slurred syllables, and his lips are bright red from his teeth gnawing into them, and his cheeks are almost a deeper shade from the alcohol surging through his veins.

“It’s your birthday. It would have been mean of me not to,” Nora says softly, watching as Harry tears his eyes away from the blurred streets and onto her face.

He grins. “I don’t think y’know how t’be mean, Nora. Not sure there’s a mean bone in your body.”

Nora just smiles back gently, unsure of how exactly to respond. Thankfully, the car pulls to a stop on a quiet street just in front of a white stucco townhouse. There’s a small iron-clad gate on the sidewalk that comes about waist-high, and when Harry unlocks it and begins his wobbly trek to the navy blue front door, Nora can’t help but look around his neighborhood in slight awe.

The jostling of keys breaks her out of her reverie, and when she finds Harry struggling to place the correct key into the lock, she calmly pushes him out of the way and flicks her wrist to unlock the door, pushing it open and allowing him to step in first.

She barely gets a chance to take in the interior of his home before he’s grabbing the keys from her hand and dropping them loudly in the bowl on the hallway table, unsteadily stepping out of his shoes and leaving them haphazardly on the floor, reaching for her hand and dragging her up the stairs to the loft bedroom above.

Before Nora can even comprehend what Harry’s doing, he’s suddenly flinging his clothes across different surfaces of his room—starting with his trench coat over his desk chair, his belt on the shoe rack in his closet, his wallet on the bureau nearest to the door. It’s only once he starts fumbling out of his jeans when Nora turns around with a squeak, feeling a bit awkward watching him drunkenly scramble out of his clothes.

“What’re you doin’?” He slurs, the sound of his feet struggling to get out of the tight material ceasing abruptly.

“Giving you privacy,” Nora explains, finding herself counting the knobs on his dresser instead of hyperfocusing on the fact that Harry is undressing behind her.

She can hear him chuckle a bit, and then the sound of a body flopping onto a mattress takes over. Harry grunts in frustration, and it’s only once he’s called Nora’s name when she peeks over her shoulder timidly, finding Harry lying flat on his bed with his shirt still on, his feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor as his jeans seem to be stuck around his knees.

“Can you help me?” He doesn’t seem to be making a pass at her, because his voice is whiny and his neck is strained, and he really seems to be struggling taking off his tight skinny jeans.

Nora laughs a bit before walking over, grabbing his jeans by his knees and forcing him to straighten his legs as she pulls. Harry watches, leaning up on his elbows as he wiggles the material off of his skin, gleaming proudly when they’re off and discarded into his hamper.

With her back to him, Harry reaches for a pair of joggers and shuffles them on, swapping his wrinkled dress shirt for an old band tee that he wore the night before. When she hears him trying to untuck his duvet from underneath the throw pillows on his bed, Nora turns around and places her palm on his back in the place just between his shoulder blades, causing him to freeze.

“Go brush your teeth. I’ll do this before you fall on your face,” Nora says through a giggle, and Harry does as he’s told, watching her through the reflection of his mirror with wide eyes as she delicately places the throw pillows on the bench under his window and pulls back the duvet and sheets pristinely.

After he spits out the mint toothpaste and waddles back into his room, Nora pats the spot on his bed that she’s left untucked for him, smiling softly as she says, “C’mon birthday boy.”

Harry grins sleepily, pushing himself on the mattress and burrowing into his pillows, chuckling when Nora pulls up the sheet and duvet until it’s tucked underneath his chin. She checks his nightstand to make sure that his phone is plugged in, and after confirming that everything seems to be put into place, she tries to wish Harry goodnight before he interrupts and asks, “Will you stay?”

Nora attempts to shake her head, telling him that it isn’t a good idea, causing Harry to try an alternative approach. The whiny, annoying kind, that usually works magnificently on the likes of Niall and Piper.

“Please, Nora! ‘S my birthday. ‘S all I want, and you didn’t get me a gift!”

Nora pauses, reading Harry’s face and finding the ghost of a smile hidden underneath his lips. She admires his tactic and decides to play along, stubbornly adding, “I didn’t know what you’d like! Not quite sure I can compete with all of the nice things your friends already got you.”

Harry scoffs indignantly. “I would’ve loved it anyway. ‘Cos it’s from you.”

“Harry—”

“—Please stay,” Harry interrupts, causing Nora to frown as she’s torn. “We can watch a film! Like we used to! I know y’love films, Nora. I even ‘ave a bunch in a drawer over ‘ere, look—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nora rushes out, placing her hands gently over the duvet covering Harry’s chest, forcing him to lie back down on his bed. “No need to get up. It just took me ages to get you tucked in!”

“You’re right, ‘m sorry. ‘S over there.” Harry aimlessly points in the direction of his television stand at the far end of the wall. Nora nods, turning on her heel and beginning to walk in that direction, bending at her knees as she opens the drawer in question.

As she scans over the movie titles, she’s surprisingly impressed at his collection. They span across multiple genres, although Nora does note that he owns a decent amount of romantic comedies for a twenty-two year old boy. She almost chooses Ferris Bueller’s Day Off to reminisce, but those memories are jaded now, and she hasn’t seen the film since she sat thigh to thigh with Harry in his twin bed all those years ago, so instead, she plucks 10 Things I Hate About You and places it into the DVD player.

When the title screen loads, she checks on Harry over her shoulder and finds that he’s grinning from his position tucked snugly in his bed.

“Did y’know this was based on Taming of the Shrew?” he asks suddenly.

Nora pauses her act of getting up from the floor, shocked at the fact that Harry is willingly giving her film trivia that she used to provide. And when she stands up after a beat, looking down at him from the end of his bed, she smirks and asks teasingly, “Have you been studying film trivia?”

Harry just shrugs, a shy smile covering his face as his cheeks bloom pink.

She turns around then and hits play, and once the opening credits begin to roll on the screen, she rounds his king-sized bed and lays beside him on the other end, making sure to lay on top of the covers in her dress to keep a safe distance between them. Harry tries his hardest not to pout at the absence.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” Harry whispers just as the opening scene flashes onto the screen.

With her eyes trained on the screen, Nora just nods quietly, trying her hardest not to look over in his direction. And around halfway through the film, just after Patrick belts “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You” to Kat on the staircase, Harry looks over to find Nora sound asleep on the other side of the mattress. Without waking her up, he grabs the blanket at the end of his bed and throws it over her body, watching as she welcomes the warmth as she snuggles into it.

It’s far too early when Harry wakes up. The sun has barely started to stretch its sunbeams outside of his window, and when he blinks through the dimness of his room, he finds that the first thing he sees is Nora Priestley. They’re both lying on their sides facing each other, a little bit closer than when they first dozed off. Harry can feel their bent knees brushing against the other’s underneath their respective blanket layers, and when Harry focuses on the hand that isn’t buried under his pillow, he realizes that his fingertips are ever so lightly grazing Nora’s much smaller ones. He smiles to himself, and just before falling back asleep, he hooks his pinky finger around Nora’s.

When he wakes up a few hours later, Nora is gone. He looks around his room to see if she’s in the ensuite or banging about downstairs, and finds himself frowning when all he’s met with is silence. Just as his eyes sweep over his nightstand, he finds a note near a glass of water with two paracetamol tablets on top. He scoops up the medication in one hand, and brings the note up to his eyes with the other.

Happy birthday, Harry. Here’s the best I could do on short notice. -Nora

He glances over to his alarm clock and realizes that it’s not even noon yet, and without really thinking, he reaches for his mobile and rings Niall to ask him for directions to Niall and Piper’s residence hall.

“Curly? What’re you doin’ up before noon?” Niall’s loud voice asks through the receiver.

Before Harry can bring himself to respond, he hears a giggle that sounds almost identical to Nora’s in the background, and suddenly he’s asking, “What’re you up to?”

“Hangover brunch, mate. Sunday tradition,” Niall responds easily, the sound of the late morning air ruffling through the speaker.

“Since when?” Harry asks, straining his ear to see if he can try to hear Nora again.

Niall laughs loudly, breaking his focus. “Since always! Yer dead to the world until the afternoon, so Rah always third-wheels with Piper and I—oof! I’m just messin’ around, Rah! You know we love yer company!”

Suddenly, Harry’s springing out of bed, running into the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash cold water onto his face to wake him up. He asks Niall the name of the restaurant, and just as the words leave his mouth, Harry hangs up and throws on the first clean pair of jeans and jumper he can find, shoving a beanie over his mangled hair and flying out the door.

He arrives just as tea gets brought to the table, and when he finds that the only open chair at their table of four is the one across from Nora, he grins and slides right in, watching the way her cheeks blush as her eyes burn holes through the plastic menu.

“Any particular reason why yer up and at ‘em this mornin’, Curly?” Niall asks, a knowing look on his face as his eyes dart between Harry’s and Nora’s accusingly.

“Just felt like waking up, I suppose,” Harry says in Niall’s direction, ordering a cup of tea from the waitress as she passes by. When he realizes that Piper and Niall are indulged in their own conversation, Harry leans forward over the table and asks Nora lowly, “So, what’s good here?”

Nora’s eyebrows dart up in surprise, asking, “You’ve never been here before?”

Harry shakes his head, smiling when he coaxes a pretty giggle out of Nora’s mouth. He finds that she looks cute in the morning, all sleepy eyed and puffed out cheeks. He almost wishes he caught her before she snuck out of his flat. He would have loved to see what she looked like buried in his pillows.

“I usually get a full English and give Niall my tomatoes,” Nora explains, sipping her tea generously.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks.

Nora scrunches her nose. “Not a fan of them.”

Before Harry can say anything else to her, the waitress pops over to take their order, and when their plates arrive and the first thing Nora notices Harry does is eat a bite of his grilled tomato, she pierces her fork through the two on her plate and drops them on his own instead of giving them to Niall.

If anybody at the table notices, they choose not to say anything.

After that Sunday morning, Harry finds that he can’t stay away from Nora. He remembers lurking through her Facebook page a year ago and finding that she has a thing for coffee shops, and after asking Piper for her class schedule, he waits for her outside her lecture hall one dreary Tuesday afternoon and brings her to his favorite café a few miles away from her residence hall.

It’s called the Muddy Cup and Nora’s surprised that it’s a place Harry frequents, considering it’s the complete opposite of his personality. It’s all bright colors and mismatched furniture, uniquely shaped mugs with bluesy, light jazz music playing in the background. It smells of coffee grinds and a hint of vanilla, and after their third trip there, Nora finds that this version of Harry is just like the one she remembers enjoying during their ten days together back in Townbridge—except, it’s heightened here in London. He tells her things without hesitating, he seems to have recognized how wrong his actions were, he seems to have a plan for his life. It’s a lot all at once, but Nora takes it all in stride, constantly reminding herself not to hold grudges and to try to remember that people are continuously changing and evolving, and that if Harry is trying his hardest to let her see this side of her, then she should at least give him the opportunity to allow him to do so.

But she’s not naive. She knows that she can’t just hand him her heart without precautions all because he’s trying to show her how much he’s changed. Because underneath all of her strong walls, all of the barriers she’s constructed to ensure that she doesn’t feel pain again, she knows that if anybody has the power to weave through all of her booby traps and decoys and rattle the infrastructure, it’s him.

Harry knows this, too. Knows that even though this New Nora in front of him changed her hair and grew up a little bit, she is still guarded, and he really can’t blame her for being overly cautious of him. He’s trying though—really trying, because if there’s anybody in this world that can bring out the best version of himself, it’s her.

After a few more coffee dates and a walk around his campus, Harry finally comes up with a plan. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it sooner, because he’s almost positive it’s going to be the best first date Nora Priestley has ever been on. And he wants that for her—so badly, because she deserves it.

Harry schemes with Niall and Piper to make sure that Nora is free on a rare sunny late February afternoon. He shows up outside of her residence hall in his black Range Rover, watching the way she smiles bashfully at him when she notices him leaning against the passenger door of his car, posture nothing but attractive confidence with the way his jean-clad left leg is bent resting on the steel door, the way his emerald green jumper stretches across his chest due to his arms being crossed over the thin material, the way his long hair is free flowing down his shoulders as the wind ruffles the tendrils in the cool air. He weaves his sunglasses atop his head when he sees her exit her building, giving her a one-armed hug as he simultaneously opens the car door with his other hand, allowing Nora to fall into the warm leather interior.

“Where are we going?” Nora asks after they’ve merged onto the motorway. Harry looks over at her then, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the other pushes and pulls at the skin covering his lower lip nervously. He offers her a shy smile, before muttering, “A surprise,” causing Nora to blush immediately.

Once the colorful pastel townhouses flood into view, Nora isn’t sure how she didn’t realize it sooner. The streets are winding and her nose is practically glued to the window as she takes in the flashes of raspberry, lilac, peach, coral, and mint lining Notting Hill. She can’t wipe the aching grin covering her face, and when she whips her head around to look over at Harry and finds that he’s already looking at her, it’s almost instinctual when she slips her hand into his and squeezes it in gratitude.

When Harry has to park the car, he almost whines at the fact that the moment he removes his key from the ignition, Nora’s hand will leave his own.

They spend the afternoon weaving through the crowded streets. Harry leads her through Portobello Road Market and watches as Nora’s eyes flick through racks of clothing and tables filled with various antiques and collectables. She notices Harry eyeing a gold ring from a jewelry stand towards the end of the market, and when he offers to buy them a cup of coffee from a small café across the street, Nora sneakily purchases it for him as a way of saying thank you (and maybe for another reason entirely, too.)

As Nora sips through her warm styrofoam cup of hazelnut coffee, she notices a string of bookshops across the street. She laughs to herself, her memory immediately reverting to three years ago in her tiny twin bed at Townbridge when she and Harry were cuddled up underneath her mom’s handmade blanket watching Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant meet for the very first time. She wonders if Harry is thinking about the same thing, too, but she doesn’t dare ask him. Instead, she links her hand with his and drags him to the first shop she sees, pushing the door open with her hip and letting the smell of old books and worn leather fill her senses.

Harry isn’t sure if Nora is doing it intentionally, but as they scan through the spines of books resting on dusty shelves, her hand never leaves his own. It warms his insides up in a way he’s never experienced, and he feels as if he’s floating through air, and the only thing that’s keeping him grounded is her small hand squeezing his ever so lightly.

Once they’ve rounded the end of the store, Nora looks over and asks him, “Do you have any suggestions?”

Harry’s heart thumps a resounding string of three beats, and he can’t help but wonder if she felt the same whenever he asked her to pick out her favorite films for him three years ago back in her tiny dorm room. From the smile coating the lower half of her face, Harry can assume that she most likely does, and without slipping his hand from her own, he drags her to the classics section and peruses through the titles.

Nora watches as he somehow maneuvers three paperbacks into one hand while keeping her own nestled tightly in his, and when he brings her to the front of the store and easily grabs his wallet from his back pocket, she tries to wriggle her hand from his grasp to stop him from paying for her. Harry doesn’t allow this though, and instead, shushes her by squeezing her hand tighter, looking down at her with his chin resting on his shoulder as he shakes his head with a coy smile covering his face. Nora isn’t sure how to respond—mainly because she’s mesmerized by the turquoise twinkle in his eyes, or the way his large hand wrapped around her own makes her feel overwhelmingly safe, or the way she can’t seem to look anywhere else but at the profile of his structured face. The realization strikes her straight into her heart, an electrical current causing the beating flesh to vibrate almost erratically, making her skin prickle with warmth and her stomach twist and turn with giddiness, and she finds that she never wanted her hand to leave his in the first place.

Before they even realize it, the afternoon is over. Harry intentionally slows his gait so that he can do everything in his power to extend the time he has with Nora’s hand nestled in his own and the left side of her body sidled up to his. But unfortunately, not even Harry has the ability to slow down time, and sadly, they’ve approached the car in despondent silence.

He turns her around just as they’ve reached the passenger side door, Nora’s back resting on the cool steel as she lifts her head up. Harry’s eyes are focused on their tangled hands, toying with her fingertips as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I got you something,” Nora says after a beat, waiting until Harry’s eyes are on hers before she slips the hand that isn’t knotted with his inside her jacket pocket. He watches as she removes the gold ring from the paper envelope and drops it into his palm gently.

“Nora—” Harry starts, pausing as he stares at the thick gold band with dancing bears engraved in the middle. The sun makes the metal twinkle in the light, and when he shifts his eyes into Nora’s blue pools, he isn’t sure which is brighter.

“Put it on me?” he asks. Harry knows that he’s fully capable of putting it on himself, but that would require removing his other hand from her own. Also, he selfishly wants to feel Nora’s smaller digits tickling his skin, and when she obliges with a gentle smile and grabs the ring from his opened palm, Harry tries to conceal the shudder shaking his body when she obeys his request.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry whispers into the small space between them when Nora’s fingers push the gold ring past his knuckle.

She just shrugs, looking up at him timidly. “I wanted to.”

While Harry’s eyes are focused on the newest addition to his growing jewelry collection, Nora decides to be brave and reaches up onto her tiptoes with the intention of planting a kiss on his cheek as a way of saying thank you without having to properly vocalize it. But, Harry notices everything she does, and when he watches her body shift towards him in his periphery, he lifts his head up at the last moment in question, causing Nora’s plump lips to land on the corner of his mouth.

The contact only lasts a measly two seconds, but it’s enough to cause them both to freeze. Nora’s eyes widen, and before she can let her body fall into his own, she springs back and places a generous two foot gap between them.

Harry’s not even sure what to think. He’s almost positive that he’s frozen to the pavement, his thick boots stuck in sludgy cement as he tries to bring them to move forward so that Nora doesn't feel so far away. But he can’t move—the neurons in his brain aren’t connecting to the muscles in his legs, and he has no fucking idea why.

Nora stares at him, trying her hardest to force her mouth to form the words “sorry.” But when she really stops to think about it, she finds that she isn’t sorry at all. The smallest feeling of his mouth on hers was enough to cause her body to zap with excitement, and when she looks up at him underneath the curtain of her eyelashes and find that his pupils are dilated to the fullest degree, she decides to forego her apology and leans in, pressing her lips to his with reckless abandon.

Instinctively, Harry’s arms wrap around her waist to support her body as their lips re-familiarize themselves with one another. The sigh he breathes into her mouth is nothing but relief—because ever since he left her dorm room three years ago back at Townbridge, all Harry’s been thinking about is feeling her lips on his again. And now that it’s finally happening, he feels as if he can’t breathe.

Nora’s hands clutch the lapels of his woolen jacket over his chest to bring him closer to her, because even though his body is flushed with hers, it still isn’t enough. Harry brings his right hand up to cup her jaw ever so delicately, his thumb pulling her chin down so that her jaw falls slack, allowing him to slip his tongue inside to meet her own. The moan that springs from the back of her throat almost causes Harry’s mouth to still, but when her fingertips wrap around the ends of his hair dusting his shoulder, tangling until she pulls at the roots on top of his head, he can’t help but reciprocate the sound.

When Harry’s neck starts to ache from leaning down to meet her lips, he trickles his palms from her temples to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her thick dark hair until they clasp together just above her neck, allowing him to tilt her head backward and kiss her properly. Nora hums inside his mouth, wrapping her arms around the middle of his back so that she can pull him closer to her in order to feel his heartbeat against her chest through all of their warm layers, his heart thrumming against her skin as if the fleshy organ was screaming at her own “I missed you! I missed you! I missed you!”

Eventually, they break apart, sucking in deep inhales of cool February air to try and quell the lightheadedness caused from their second first kiss. Harry rests his forehead on her own, his eyes shut tight as he tries to permanently ink that memory into the pink pillows of his brain. His warm hands are cupping her jaw in order to keep her as close to him as possible, and Nora can’t help but squeeze the fleshy parts of his arms, keeping their fronts pressed together so that the warmth that emanates from his skin continues to stay wrapped around her.

“Go to dinner with me,” Harry whispers against her skin once his eyes blink open, the fuzziness dissipating when he notices the pinkness of her swollen lips and the tinge of red coating the apples of her cheeks. He missed this. He missed her.

“When?” Nora asks, her voice hoarse from the lack of oxygen ripped from her airway.

“Right now, tonight, tomorrow. Don’t want to let you go just yet.” Nora leans in, her nose resting on his warm cheek as she giggles against the smooth skin. Harry brings his hand to rub soothing circles against her back, wondering if they could stay in this position forever.

Harry can feel her smile against his cheek, and when she moves her head to press two subsequent kisses against his ripe lips, he knows that he’s fucked. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley—it’s probably always been Nora Priestley—and she’s here wrapped up in him nodding against his skin at his outrageous request, and Harry’s never felt this complete in his entire life. It’s like flying and falling, searing warmth and bitter coldness, being too close but still not close enough—a paradoxical rush of adoration shooting to his heart with a loud cacophonous pang that sends his brain into overdrive.

They have dinner together that night, and the night after that, and if not for Harry’s evening lecture, they probably would have gone for a third consecutive date. He takes her to tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants that serve the best food Nora’s ever tasted, and although a small part of her was expecting him to go all out and take her to outlandish posh eateries, Nora finds that Harry knows her much better than she originally thought, and he’s constantly full of surprises.

On the next Wednesday pub night, Harry and Nora show up together. Nobody says anything, but Nora can practically feel the scorching looks Niall and Piper are shooting at her from across the table warming her cheek. And after her third beer, just as the band starts to play their first song, Niall saunters over to her side and wraps a heavy arm around her shoulder, whispering excitedly into her ear, “Knew you were special, Rah.”

Harry's insides are buzzing, whirring to life with each sip of bitter beer that falls down his esophagus. The liquor seems to make Nora a bit looser, and once she’s developed a thin layer of drunkenness that causes her cheeks to flush and her guard to falter, Harry practically explodes when she brings her body to rest against his, her back leaning on his front as she allows his warmth to envelope her as they listen to the band playing on the far side of the room. He wraps his arm around her shoulder so that his right hand is splayed out against her collarbone, holding her close in a protective stance as she lets her head fall back on his shoulder comfortably.

After three songs, Nora finds that she’s had enough. Harry’s hand feels too hot pressed against her chest, his hair feels too silky tickling her exposed neck, his chin feels too heavy sitting atop the crown of her head. She wants more, finds that she suddenly needs more, and when she twirls around abruptly and finds that his green eyes are practically black, eagerly searching for her own, she doesn’t hesitate before whispering in his ear, “Can we get out of here?”

Harry’s pretty sure his pants have never felt tighter around his waist. He doesn’t even care about the unfinished pint in his hand, doesn’t even care to make the rounds and properly say goodbye to his mates, doesn’t even care when he hands Niall too much money to pay for their drinks that are absently left on the sticky high top table, doesn’t even care about the looks he receives when he slips his hand in Nora’s and drags her through the front door and into the Underground so that they can reach his flat before her confident streak runs out.

When they’re both standing in his loft bedroom, hands tangled in each other’s hair and lips pressed to warm skin and clothes strewn against hardwood flooring, Nora finds it easier to forget about all of her past hurt. Because his hands feel that good, and his mouth tastes that good, and his warm body looks that good. But when she backs away to pull off her sweater so that she’s left standing in front of him in just her bra and underwear, she suddenly hesitates to move forward.

The memory hits her like a bullet to the chest. It’s of her, standing in her Townbridge dorm room wearing a sports bra and sleep shorts, her arms wrapped around herself protectively as she tries to stifle the rib-racking cries shaking through her body as she watched Harry disappear right in front of her face, leaving her alone to try and wrap her head around what he had done to her and what it all meant. Because he was her first real sexual experience, something that Nora didn’t necessarily place on a high pedestal, but still ultimately was a big deal for her. It took a lot of trust to allow Harry to take that from her after ten days of unassuming happiness, and just as quickly as he showed her a different side of herself, he simultaneously ripped it away when he left her alone and confused barely eight hours later in the early morning light.

It’s as if the memory is being broadcasted in Harry’s bedroom, Nora’s blue eyes the screen and her bruised heart the projector, because suddenly, her lips are trembling and her hands are shaking and her eyes are staring blankly at the wall over his left shoulder—and he knows right then and there that her walls are now ten times thicker, constructed with stronger material that will no longer allow him to seep through the cracks. Not without an explanation. Not without an apology.

“Nora—” Harry starts, taking a tentative step forward. The small motion of his feet approaching hers is enough to break Nora out of her daze, her head shaking violently as she takes three more steps back, reaching for her sweater and throwing it over her head without a second thought.

“Please, I—” Harry is panicking. He doesn’t want her to disappear, but he also doesn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He wanted to talk to her without the cloudy sexual energy suffocating them, without her dreamy silhouette obstructing his vision, without her sudden desire to escape more prominent than her desire to stay and listen to him.

“I need a minute, we shouldn’t do this, not when—”

“—Just please listen to me. I can’t let you leave, not like this. Not when you’re finally here after all this time. And I’m not saying this because you’re standing half-naked in my bedroom, it’s just—fuck. I should have said this three years ago. I should have said it when I sent you a friend request on Facebook. I should have said it that first Wednesday pub night. I just got distracted and—”

“—Harry—”

“—I’m sorry, okay? I’m truly so fucking sorry.” Harry seems to have taken the breath trapped in Nora’s throat, because suddenly she’s staring at him wide-eyed and frozen in place, whereas Harry’s chest is erratically shifting up, down as he struggles to contain his uneven breathing pattern.

“I fucked up. I was a dumb, stupid kid who hurt you—and you didn’t deserve it. Not one second of it. I thought about what I did all the time in the aftermath, it fucking ate me alive, Nora. And I’m not saying that for you to pity me, because you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t even be here giving me a second chance, because I don’t deserve it. I never deserved your kindness to begin with. You’re too good for me and I just, fuck. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life if I have to. I just want to be good enough for you. And I’m so sorry—”

Nora shushes him with a collision of her body into his, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she buries her head into the crook of his neck. Harry’s response is inherent; strong arms encapsulating her smaller body, wide palms spread out evenly along her upper back for support, warm cheek nestled into the velvety waves resting at the top of her head.

“It’s okay, Harry. I forgive you. You’re enough, you deserve kindness too,” Nora mutters into the skin of his neck like a mantra of self-love and acceptance. Because even though Harry nearly broke her heart and made her resent him, she never wanted him to feel hurt, too. Not when it’s self-imposed. Not when it can be dealt with in a different way.

Nora thinks the phrase “an eye for an eye” is ineffectual. Just because you hurt somebody else, does not mean the same fate should be bestowed upon you. Humans are constantly changing and evolving, and pain and acceptance are a part of the long and winding battle in figuring out who you are as a person. If Harry is finally realizing that now, all Nora can do is hug him tighter and forgive him. Because that’s what any decent person would do.

Without unlocking their tangled bodies, Nora slowly steps forward, causing Harry to shuffle backward, until they’re both lying horizontally on his king-sized bed. She turns them over so that his back is flat on the mattress, her leg hooking over his hip as she rests her head against his beating chest, rubbing soothing patterns against the warm skin until he finally calms down.

They spend that night talking for hours. Harry wants to know everything she’s done in their three-year absence, and Nora doesn’t hesitate to give him the details of her new life in New York City. She tells him about Ebony, her roommate-turned-best-friend who supports her without question, who she misses practically every waking moment she’s not with her. She tells him about Marcus, the boy she had more firsts with, who she never found herself loving completely, but still appreciated him for helping her grow up and feel new things. She tells him about the tattoo shop in Brooklyn she went to after her twentieth birthday where a girl with pink hair and purple eyes etched three identical birds on the back of her shoulder.

He doesn’t tell her about the drinking and drugs and blank-faced girls he wasted his time with for the first two years during their time apart, because he’s aware that she already knows—considering his Facebook page holds a track record of every Nadine and Scarlet he toyed around with to fill in the empty hole Nora unknowingly carved into his heart. He doesn’t tell her that hearing about Nora’s ex-boyfriend causes the green monster who has been dormant inside of him for years to suddenly wake up, his blood laced with envy as he thinks of how somebody else got to see her in a vulnerable position he stupidly took for granted.

Harry realizes that this is a bit unfair, considering Nora lived her life without thinking about how it would affect him. And if Nora is jealous of the girls he slept with two years ago, she never shows it. Because she’s much more rational than he is—the calmness to his angst, the mooring to his shipwreck, the comfort to his unease.

They talk until the inky sky turns into an aegean blue, signifying that dawn has begun to break. Nora muffles her yawn into Harry’s neck and he wraps his arm tighter around her body, bringing her against his chest as he closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of having her close again after so much time apart.

When Harry wakes up well into the afternoon, he can’t stop thinking about Nora’s body, considering she shed her sweater sometime in the middle of the morning when they were sleeping, leaving her in just her black bra and underwear as her warm skin suctioned to his own. He hasn’t felt this close to somebody in so long—probably ever, if he really stops to think about it—and before, when he was mindlessly fucking girls to cure the loneliness aching inside of his chest, he never cared about the act of intimacy surrounding sex. But now, with Nora’s body wrapped around his own and the swells of her breasts moving up and down with each languid sleepy breath she takes, the curve of her ass bending whenever she cuddles deeper into his chest, the stretch of her legs winding whenever she coils them around his sinewy hips—Harry feels like he’s in a fucking trance.

He never pushes it, but it’s practically all he can think about in the weeks that follow. He finds that when they’re together he always chooses a new part of her body to hyper-fixate on—whether it’s the angular cut of her jaw, the long arch of her neck, the thin layer of skin covered in gold necklaces on the top of her chest, the fleshy part of her hips that connect to her thighs—Harry feels completely and utterly famished.

Nora feels it, too. Feels that if she has to stand so close to him on Wednesday pub nights and feel the warmth of his body enveloping her own without him moving any closer, she’ll burst. Feels that if she has to observe the coiled strands of his long hair weave down his neck without her hands tangled at the root, she’ll explode. Feels that if his raspberry lips mouth her two-syllable name followed by his infamous smirk without her own swallowing the last vowel, she’ll shatter.

It finally happens as springtime infiltrates the streets of London, melting any remnants of snow and bringing forth longer stretches of sunlight on the horizon. Nora spent the week studying for a major exam in her Emerging Media Studies course, causing her to miss out on Sunday brunch and Wednesday pub night. Her absence hit Harry the hardest out of everybody, and when she walks out of her lecture hall Thursday night after she handed in her exam, she can’t help but catapult into Harry’s arms when she sees him waiting for her.

They drive to his flat and he cooks her a hearty pasta dish and when he suggests watching a movie tangled in his sheets afterward, Nora finds that she has no interest in absorbing the content on his television screen. She’s made Harry wait long enough, and it feels like the month after his birthday has been a continuous long stretch of unbearable foreplay that Nora can’t wait to act on.

Before Harry has even made it back to bed after setting up the film, Nora’s already pulled his borrowed sleep shirt over her head, leaving her in the matching navy blue lingerie set Piper encouraged her to purchase at Selfridges last week.

Nora’s never seen Harry move faster in his life at the first sight of her. She can barely make out his pupils darting from the exposed skin above the waistline of her underwear to the swells of her breasts uncovered by the lacy underwire bra before he’s jumping on the bed, her entire body shaking with the mattress as he plants searing kiss after searing kiss all over her flushed skin.

He dotes on her body, mumbling praises in between each suction of his lips as he works his way from the top of her forehead to the tips of her toes. “Christ, look at you Nora,” he whispers into the skin underneath her jawline, “All for me? How’d I get so lucky?” he mumbles into the tight skin between the valley of her breasts, pausing to dart his tongue underneath the lacy fabric covering her nipples, pulling a delicious moan from the back of her throat, “You’re fucking perfect,” he purrs into the thicker skin covering her upper thighs as he noses his way teasingly around the edges of her underwear, making her wiggle in want and need.

And when she finally allows him to slowly peel each piece from her body, leaving her bare in front of him as her dark hair fans against his charcoal-colored sheets, Harry’s almost positive he’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s never wanted somebody this badly before—needed somebody this badly before, and when Nora leans up on her elbows and urges him to come closer to her with a slow drag of her fingertip, he almost bursts at the sudden rush of his heart thrashing against the walls of his chest.

All because of her.

“I’m done for,” Harry whispers against her lips before slotting them together with fervor, gripping the skin at the back of her neck tightly to keep her close to him. Nora doesn’t mind, in fact, she absolutely loves his roughness—loves it so much that she can’t help but reciprocate when she wraps her legs around his waist and flips them both over so that their positions are switched and she can be the one to run her lips and teeth down the front of his body in domineering adoration.

Where everything with Marcus was simple and easy, Harry is the complete antithesis. He is everything new and exciting, complex and invigorating, compelling and beautiful. Nora didn’t think it was possible to feel this starved and fulfilled at the same time—but when Harry’s naked body is hovering over her own, his teeth sinking into the fleshy part of her shoulder blade, one hand gripping her ankle and the other holding her hip close to him, she finally feels fireworks burst underneath her eyelids when he enters her for the first time. Her skin feels as if it were bubbling, her heart pumping blood as if it were working in overdrive, and her brain fills with fluttering images of Harry’s chiseled jaw, his matted hair, his supple mouth, his hungry eyes.

It’s everything and more—Harry is everything and more, and when they’re spent and the white noise in Nora’s ears has finally subsided to a gentle hum, she can’t believe that she waited this long to experience this. She wonders if her first time was a dud, a faulty scenario in which her partner didn’t understand how to satisfy her properly. Or maybe, just maybe, it had nothing to do with Marcus at all. That the feeling of her heart exploding and stars bursting through her vision and fireworks cracking in the air above were solely caused by the boy lying beside her, his heart seemingly entangled with hers.

Nora wonders if it's fate or if she’s magnificently cursed for the rest of her life.

As March fades into April, Nora has never felt closer to another person before. It’s incredibly new—this feeling of freefalling off of a cliff into the rocky waters below with nothing but Harry’s strong hand holding hers to remind her that this is all new for him, too, and there’s nobody else he’d rather experience this with than with her.

Harry’s never been the best at giving himself completely over to another person, considering vulnerability is a difficult construct for his mind to wrap around. And when he lies awake at night while Nora sleeps soundly beside him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her head rising and falling with the scattered breaths escaping his lungs, he wonders what’s holding him back. Wonders why it’s so easy for her to talk about family and the future and everything that falls in between—because for the first time ever, Nora is the one that’s completely sure of something in their relationship. Harry, on the other hand, is hesitant. Apprehensive. Scared.

Because it’s so much easier to hide certain aspects of his life from her. Harry has enough skeletons in his closet to fill an entire graveyard, and they all tend to orbit around his shitty relationship with his parents and his innate desire to fall apart whenever he succumbs to the inordinate amount of pressure his father places over his head.

Nora doesn’t deserve to see that. Nobody does. So Harry does what he thinks is right and hides this part of his life from her, lying straight through his teeth whenever she questions where in the world his parents are, and instead of them being in Hong Kong or Indonesia or Dubai, they’re just a forty-five minute drive away. But that’s far too close for Harry to manage, so refocusing her brain on something else is the better option.

Because while Nora was falling hard, giving Harry the directions to make it through the labyrinth to claim her heart, she figured he was doing the same. Letting her in unconditionally and trusting her with this new feeling. But, unbeknownst to Nora, he was shielding her from the life he’s always dreaded being a part of. She was just in too deep to fully realize it.

The first lie starts at the end of April. Harry doesn’t even realize he’s lying in the first place when it falls from his lips that he has to skip out on Wednesday pub night to stay on campus and prepare for a group presentation the following Monday, but once it’s out he can’t force it back into the depths of his being. So while Nora texts him that she misses him and things aren’t the same without him there, Harry’s pushing the lie deeper and deeper inside of him until he’s swallowed the lump whole and it rests heavily at the bottom of his stomach.

Because while his mates are drinking in Camden, Harry’s only eight kilometers away in Knightsbridge wearing a navy blue suit sipping gingerly at a glass of bourbon and initiating small talk with his father’s stuffy work friends. It’s some charity event his father had mentioned in the past, and although Harry’s mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Nora, he suddenly becomes alert when his father introduces him to the only other person that is relatively close to his age.

Harry remembers her from one of the events he was forced to attend during his internship at his father’s office. He doesn’t recall much from meeting her nearly a year ago, considering he was a bit of a dickhead and was more focused on plotting ways to dip out early without being caught to meet up with his mates than trying to mingle with other guests, but now—now that she’s standing in front of him wearing a pretty mauve dress with expensive strappy heels, hair perfectly in place as her almond-shaped eyes gaze into his own, Harry doesn’t hesitate to shake her hand properly.

Her name is Jacqueline Van-Doren, and although she’s the type of beautiful that people can’t help but gawk at, Harry finds that he’s subconsciously comparing her to Nora. Her eyes have more of a greyish tint to them, and while Nora’s sparkle whenever any trace of light reflects off of her irises, Jacqueline’s are more lackluster in comparison. Her cheekbones are higher than Nora’s, but they lack the subtle shade of pink that always appears whenever Nora’s in a close enough radius to Harry. And while she’s much taller, much more confident, much more put together than Nora and all her mumbling and stuttering and clumsiness—Harry finds that he would indubitably pick Nora over a girl like Jacqueline any day.

The second lie happens in the middle of May just as the temperature is rising and the trees are green and blooming. Harry had plans to take Nora on a day trip to Bath so she could tick off another destination on her travel list, but unknowingly, he double-booked himself as his father reminded him he had a familial obligation to attend that same day in the form of an elaborate wedding at The Savoy.

He tells Nora that he has to attend a networking dinner in Oxfordshire, and somehow the lies get easier and easier to tell the more he spews them. Harry’s grateful that Nora doesn’t fact-check his excuse with Niall, but then again, she has no reason to suspect anything, right?

Harry spends the entire reception sitting in the back of the room in his charcoal Louis Vuitton suit with a sick feeling settling inside of him. It grows stronger with each candied sip of whiskey that falls down his throat, and when his father approaches him with a familiar blonde-haired grey-eyed girl practically matching his ensemble, Harry tries his hardest not to laugh. Because his father obviously is not shy in trying to set the two of them up, and although Jacqueline is still undeniably gorgeous after four whiskey neats, it’s not what he wants. She’s not what he wants.

But the pressure of displeasing his father is too much to bear, so he kisses her cheek cordially and allows her to sit with him. They talk the rest of the night but Harry genuinely has no idea what the content was, and when his father tells the pair of them that they’re required to attend an intimate work dinner at the end of the week, Harry just nods and goes along with it.

As May reaches its end, Nora can barely think straight. Her time in London has been nothing but an absolute dream—a whirlwind of newfound friendships, acclimating to her second favorite city in the world, and falling in love with somebody she never thought she would find solid ground with. She’s never felt this way about anybody before—not with Connor, not with Marcus, not with anybody. Nora isn’t even sure if her heart can feel this way about someone ever again. Not after Harry.

She’s hyperaware that her time in London is coming to an end, and reluctantly, she doesn’t want to leave. Not when she’s decided that she’s in love with Harry. Not when he can give her a reason to stay.

Nora has never unexpectedly shown up at Harry’s place before, but after rewriting the conclusion to her final essay for the fourth time and it still not making any sense, she grabs her jacket and oyster card and makes her way to the Underground to head towards Hampstead Heath.

She doesn’t bother calling or texting to alert him that she’s on her way, because in her mad rush to leave her residence hall, Nora forgot to grab her phone that was charging on top of her duvet. Nora’s never been impulsive or brash before—but it’s Harry and she’s in love, and she needs to tell him.

The white townhouse and small iron-clad gate come into view before Nora’s even figured out the words to say to Harry when he opens his navy blue front door. She figures that when she sees his face she’ll finally figure out how to explain what her feelings are, but when his green eyes meet her blues in trepidation, Nora wonders if she made the wrong decision in showing up unannounced.

In the tense silence that follows, Nora pauses for a minute, taking in Harry’s crisp white button down shirt tucked into a sleek pair of slacks. He seems to have been in the process of finishing fastening them, considering Nora can still see the tops of his butterfly tattoo and the swallows underneath his collarbones almost perfectly.

“Nora? What’re you—did we have plans?” Harry’s cheeks are blushed and he’s fidgeting uncomfortably in his fancy brogues and for the first time in months, he looks like he doesn’t want to let her inside.

“No, I uh—” Nora’s confidence is crumbling, and she’s suddenly not sure if this was a good idea at all. Maybe being brash and impulsive is a thing protagonists only do in the movies. “I had to tell you something. But this obviously isn’t a good time, so…”

Before she can turn to leave with her tail tucked between her legs, something inside of Harry clicks into place. He quickly opens his door wider and lets her in, ignoring the warning bells ricocheting inside of his brain as his brain fights with his heart for control over the situation. His heart ultimately wins in the end, and once Nora takes her first few steps inside his home, Harry can feel his insides quiver with nerves.

Nora barely makes it past the foyer, standing just at the cusp of his living room when she notices the expensive blazer thrown over the back of his leather sofa, his crisp black wallet on the fireplace mantle, and the heavy cardstock with cursive script that seems to be an invitation of the utmost importance lying parallel on the surface.

Why didn’t he tell her he was going somewhere? Was he hiding things from her? Was he ashamed to bring her to his gaudy work events? Does she really look that unappealing on his arm? Why has this all of a sudden become too confusing for Nora when just minutes earlier, she was unquestionably sure that she was in love with him?

Harry’s playing with the links on his shiny wrist watch nervously, attaching it with fumbling hands around his inked skin when Nora finally decides to break the silence. “Where are you, uh, going?”

He looks up at her, a bewildered expression on his face, and suddenly, his mouth has gone bone dry. Nora grows more and more skittish with each quiet breath that passes between them, and she’s never felt more unsure about their relationship.

God, when did things get so awkward between them?

“My dad’s back in the country, and it’s just this stupid event he’s making me go to. I tried to get out if it, honest, but it didn’t work. So, uh, I didn’t think it was a big deal to mention it to you,” Harry says quietly, feeling his lungs begin to constrict in the most agonizing way.

This lie feels worse than all the others he’s told her, because for the first time, there’s a crack in his resolve. Harry knows then that he’s done something very wrong, and he immediately regrets it all when he notices the hurt expression clouding Nora’s vision.

Nora knows this, too, because his chest is moving up and down from the thundering beats of his heart inside of his chest, and his hands are shaking against the smooth material of his pants, and his eyes are blown out so wide that Nora can make out all of the different shades of green hidden inside. And when his tremulous pupils finally focus on her own, Nora can see that Harry looks completely panicked in front of her, and she isn’t quite sure what to think.

“Oh,” Nora lets out in a soft exhale. It sounds defeated and she’s not entirely sure why, because nothing has even happened between them yet.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s why she feels so low all of a sudden. Because it’s  been months of almost something’s—of days spent exploring different parts of the city and nights spent exploring different parts of each other. All without a label. All without a conversation. And now, standing in the front room of Harry’s home with shaking hands and trembling lips, Nora doesn’t understand how nothing can be said.

When her blue eyes fall to the floor, Harry springs into action. He’s in full recovery mode, approaching her slowly until the tips of his brogues bump the white of her trainers. His hands find purchase on her shoulders, gently kneading the skin until she finally looks up at him.

“I’ll only be there for an hour. We can do something afterwards, yeah? Just, uh, stay,” he pauses suddenly, eyes wide when he realizes what he’s saying before swallowing deeply, squeezing her soft skin a bit harder. “Stay here while I’m gone. Please.”

“You want me to stay here?” Nora echoes, blinking once, twice, a winsome dumbfounded expression gracing her features.

Harry nods, moving his right hand from her shoulder upwards until his warm palm is cupping the underside of her jaw tenderly, his thumb offering soothing strokes against the pink skin covering her cheekbone.

“Yeah, I do.”

Nora’s doubts are finally subsided, because how can he not feel anything towards her if he’s allowing her into his space for the first time without supervision? He obviously trusts her, and he obviously needs her—and that’s all the confirmation she needs to quiet her racing head and settle her thumping heart.

Her small hands settle on Harry’s waist and he instinctively brings her closer, cupping her jaw with his other hand so that he can angle her head back gently and press his lips against her own. It’s soft and sweet and soothing, and how can he not feel the same way when he kisses her like this?

Before they can get too carried away, his doorbell buzzes and Nora giggles when she feels him groan against her lips, shaking his head softly and backing away, looking down at her with a childlike pout on his lips.

Nora can’t help but trace the protruding flesh with her thumb, causing Harry to shiver. He’s dreading this event even more now, because all he wants to do is drag Nora upstairs and lock her in his room and turn their clock off for just one night.

But the doorbell buzzes again, and he sighs, knowing he can’t do that.

“That’s the car. I’ve got to go,” Harry whispers, giving Nora one last kiss before shrugging his blazer on and grabbing his wallet, keys, and invitation in one fell swoop.

Nora nods, a bit breathless at the sight of him. Harry opens the door, and before he can fully retreat, he peeks his head over his shoulder, long hair tucked behind his ear as he gives her one last small smile.

“One hour. Don’t miss me too much.”

As if she doesn’t miss him instantly when he leaves her.

True to his word, Harry comes back an hour later with a slice of red velvet cake he nicked from the dessert table before sneaking out undetected. He finds Nora burrowed in the thick sheets of his bed wearing the same Rush band tee he wore earlier in the day, her eyes lifting from the movie on the screen to the green of his eyes.

“Hey you,” she says softly, sitting up taller on his bed so that her back is flushed with his headboard and the tops of her thighs are poking out from underneath his duvet.

“Hi,” Harry responds, toeing off his shoes and walking over to her languidly, “Got you a present.” He drops the takeout container on her lap, grinning when she squeals and dredges her pointer finger through the thick frosting.

“Mmm,” Nora sighs, licking her finger dry as she smirks mischievously at Harry, watching as he undresses mindlessly. He isn’t sure if she’s doing it intentionally or if she’s always been a secret seductress, but when she repeats the action and swirls her tongue along her sticky digit, Harry snatches the box from her lap and slides his arms around her waist, switching their positions effortlessly so that she’s on top of him as he falls easily back onto the mattress.

“Someone’s feeling cheeky,” Harry says against her lips, his nose bumping hers repeatedly as she giggles against his skin.

“Can’t help it. I missed you,” Nora explains, adjusting her knees so that her weight is evenly distributed along his lower half, her backside resting against his front as her hands twist in between the curls along the crown of his head.

“Yeah?” Harry coaxes, his fingertips sneaking underneath his shirt as he plays with the lace material covering the bottom of her underwear.

“Always.” Nora seals her response with a fiery kiss, bringing her lips to his and pressing her entire body against his searing torso. She wonders if it’ll always feel like this—white hot electrical current shooting up her veins, warming her entire body up with just one simple press of his lips to hers.

Once Harry starts nipping at the skin of her lower lip, Nora responds by grinding into his lower half, the thin material of their underwear leaving little to the imagination as they garner enough friction to cause Nora’s knickers to dampen and Harry’s briefs to tighten.

They kiss until they’ve reached their very last breath, and when their lips depart, Harry uses this time to throw his shirt off of Nora’s body, leaving her sitting against his lap in just a nude pair of lacy underwear that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

With his head resting back against his neck, Nora decides to attach her lips to the column of Harry’s throat, causing his entire body to shudder as a carnal moan rips through his throat and settles between them. Her fingers draw a tantalizing path down his chest and abdomen until they’ve settled along his waist, red lines marking the path Nora’s fingernails greedily traced.

Her small palm cups his growing length trapped inside the strained cotton material, rubbing and squeezing as her teeth bite into the sharp cut of his jaw. Harry hands grip the skin of her waist in anticipation, and once Nora’s decided that he’s had enough teasing, she rolls the band of his briefs down, freeing his length in the stifling air of his bedroom.

“Christ,” Harry whispers, his eyes shut tight as he breathes through the feeling of Nora’s bare hands on his newly uncovered skin. She shushes him with gentle kisses, lapping her tongue against his own once he’s finally calmed down a bit more and begun reciprocating her tenacity.

Before he can take control, Nora makes the decision for him as she slides her underwear down her legs, flinging the thin material against his floor. Harry’s eyes snap open as he takes in the sight of her naked against his lap, the moonlight flooding into his bedroom outlining the curve of her body, the shape of her breasts, the valley of her stomach, the stretch of her legs.

No matter how many times Harry’s seen her like this, he never fails to stop and appreciate her. Because he’s taken it for granted too many times in the past, and every time he sees her exposing herself to him in the most vulnerable way there is, he can’t help but feel his heart grow in his chest, hammering against his ribs as he marvels in the fact that Nora Priestley chose him.

“What?” Nora asks shakily, shrinking into herself when she realizes Harry’s been staring at her for a beat longer than necessary.

“Nothing,” Harry admits, bringing a hand up to her face and tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re just beautiful.”

Nora responds with a smile, pressing her lips to his tightly. “I want you like this.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, his hands tightening against her waist as he watches her scoot up higher on his lap so that her core is lined up with his aching length.

Nora nods, her teeth sinking into the plushness of her lower lip as she wraps her arms around his neck. Before he can say another word, she begins teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock, watching the way his eyes widen almost cartoonishly and the vein in his neck starts to pulse.

“Nora, fuck, baby, wait. I need—fuck. Need a condom,” Harry stutters, holding her tightly in his grasp as she hovers over his tip.

“It’s only been me, yeah?” Nora asks, the muscles in her thighs straining as she holds herself in the position over his length.

“What? Why would you ask me that? Of course it’s only you,” Harry says quickly, a look of bewilderment gracing his features.

“Then let’s not use one. I want to feel you like this,” Nora whispers, her hands holding his face tightly so that he has no choice but to stare into the blues of her eyes.

Harry feels his stomach bottom out, constantly amazed at the girl in front of him. “Are you sure? Have you ever done this?” he asks, disquietude lacing his every word.

Nora shakes her head. “Have you?”

“No,” he answers, much to Nora’s surprise. “I haven’t.”

“Well, Harry Styles,” she whispers, rubbing her palms over Harry’s hands that are gripping her waist, signalling that she wants him to loosen his hold, “There’s a first time for everything.”

Harry’s teeth widen at her quip, remembering the way she uttered those same exact words to him three years ago when he was experiencing another first with her. Before he can say anything back, Nora gives him one last kiss before sinking down on his length, causing his brain to forget every single thought rushing through his head other than the fact that he’s inside of her with no barrier between them, and it’s probably the closest he’s ever (and will ever) feel with another person.

They both seem to be in the same headspace, with the way Nora freezes on top of him, her throat pinching when she realizes she can feel every ridge and curve of his length from this position, and it’s only once he asks her his standard question of, “Are you okay?” when Nora starts to lift herself on her knees, before sinking back over him once more.

“Oh my god,” Harry exclaims, wrapping one arm around her lower back and the other gripping harshly at the back of her neck, holding her as tightly and as closely as possible so that he can feel every shudder of her body and every thump of her heart against his own.

Nora angles his head back so that she can crash her lips to his, swallowing his moans as she swivels her hips against his own, feeling his tip bump against the spongy spot inside of her walls that causes her toes to curl. When he expertly hits it for a third continuous time, Nora’s neck falls back as she cries out into the stuffy air.

Harry noses at the clammy skin of her neck before pressing his lips to the spot near her jaw, licking and sucking until she’s whimpering above him. “Feel so fuckin’ good,” Harry whispers against her skin, sinking his teeth deeper into her flesh when he feels her clench around him.

“I’m close,” Nora says through an exasperated breath, weaving her fingers through his long hair until she’s wrapped the strands around her wrist in a makeshift ponytail, pulling just enough to cause Harry to groan against her.

“Fuck, baby. Me too. Do that again,” he instructs, feeling himself lose control when Nora obeys his request.

Nora’s never been on top for this long before, and while her thighs are burning and her lungs are losing air the closer and closer she gets to her release, she’s never had sex feel this good before. The knot inside of her stomach is tightening with every thrust Harry meets her with, and when his right hand sneaks down between them and rubs at her swollen mound, it only takes three rotations until the knot is uncoiled and Nora’s careening towards her end.

She stills on top of him, trembling with the aftershocks as she comes down from the most intense orgasm she’s had yet. Her body doesn’t even feel like her own, with the way she’s vibrating all over and her skin is dampened and her hair is knotted. It’s only once Harry’s pushed her backward, hovering over her as she’s horizontal on his sheets, when the fuzziness finally dissipates from her vision. She’s thankful that she can finally see clearly, because when her blue eyes meet his, she watches as he slips out of her, pumping his length until white ribbons coat the skin underneath her belly button.

They’re both staring at each other with heaving chests and dotted irises, coming down slowly as they realize what had just transpired between them. When Harry finally catches his breath, he whispers, “Shit, I’m sorry I probably should have asked—”

“Shh,” Nora coos, always the one to calm his racing heart and wild thoughts. “It’s okay. That was amazing. You’re amazing. C’mere, please.”

He smiles before crashing his lips to hers, kissing her soft and slow, a thousand words spilling through their lips without their voices ever speaking them. They break away softly so that Harry can grab his discarded shirt from the floor to clean Nora’s stomach, his arm reaching for the article of clothing without getting up so that he can keep her underneath him for as long as humanly possible.

As he dotes on her ever so delicately, Nora’s convinced that he feels the same way. She argues over how to tell him in her head as he wipes at her stomach and in between her thighs, before throwing the shirt into his hamper across the room. She debates the wordage as he wraps his arms around her gently, heaving them up the bed until they’re tangled together underneath his sheets. And just when she’s about to say it, he mumbles against the skin of her neck in his throaty voice, “I wish time could stop and we could stay like this forever. Just you and me.”

Nora freezes. Because suddenly, her heart pangs with the startling realization that she’s leaving London in four days. Moments like these with Harry are dwindling away one by one, and she really needs him to give her a reason to stay.

She needs to hear him say it.

And just as she’s built up the courage to whisper her declaration out into the air, Harry’s soft snores whistle against her neck. So she pushes it down, and waits for another day.

Nora wakes up in the middle of the morning with a nervous knot lodged inside her throat. She’s not even sure what spurred this on—considering she fell asleep tucked underneath Harry’s arm feeling safe and warm, her head lulling against his chest as his sleepy breaths ruffled the brown strands of hair falling against her cheek. But now, at six forty-three in the morning, Nora feels completely unsettled.

Her skin feels hot but she’s shivering for some strange reason, and when she’s reminded of the weight of Harry’s arm wrapped around her waist, she suddenly feels weak under the heaviness of it. She doesn’t feel comfortable, and all at once she feels the urge to get out from under the stifling duvet and get some fresh air.

She sneaks away from Harry’s body, tip-toeing towards his bedroom door with nothing but her cardigan on from the night before. Just as she’s closing the door, Nora makes sure to peek at him one last time, smiling to herself when she watches him flop onto his stomach and clutch the pillow she was just using tighter into his grasp. Nora wonders if he sleeps like this when she’s not with him.

She wonders if he’ll sleep like this when she leaves in three days.

Sighing, Nora makes her way to the sliding door connected to his kitchen, plopping herself down on the brick steps of the tiny porch overlooking his back garden. With her thighs pressed to her chest and her chin resting on the oversized knitted material of her buttoned cardigan over her knees, she despondently watches the blues and oranges and yellows of the early morning sun paint a picture of this piece of London she’s grown to love almost as much as the sleeping boy upstairs.

Nora’s not sure how long she sits out in the cool June air contemplating what the uneasy feeling was that forced her out of bed, but it’s long enough for her to notice the sun rising with the rest of Harry’s neighborhood. Her stomach begins to grumble then, and the thought of making coffee and toast urges her legs to carry her back inside the flat and into the small kitchen.

Just as she’s distractedly buttering her toast, Nora feels two strong arms lock around her waist from behind. She jumps at the feeling of it, even though there’s no other person it could possibly be besides Harry. Nora’s not sure if it’s just a residual effect from this morning, but still, she leans into him when her pulse decides to go back to normal, and she can feel Harry’s nose bumping against the side of her neck.

“You’re up early,” Harry mutters in that raspy morning voice of his that never fails to make Nora’s thighs clench together. There’s just something about him in the mornings.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Nora explains, her teeth ripping a small piece from the corner of her toast before bringing it over her left shoulder for Harry to try.

He hums in appreciation. “Don’t like when you’re not with me when I wake up,” he admits, tightening his arms around her as he swallows so that her backside is fully flushed with his.

“I know,” Nora whispers, the knot suddenly reappearing in her throat without warning. The half-eaten toast in her hand is no longer appetizing to her, and when she places it on a paper towel with trembling fingers, Nora comes to the conclusion that it’s now or never. She needs to tell him—because holding it hostage deep down inside of her is causing her to feel physically ill, and she’d rather face the consequences than always wonder what could be.

Harry notices her switch in demeanor almost instantly, and before Nora can even gather her bearings, he’s spinning her around, one opened palm cupping her jaw with his thumb rubbing her cheekbone delicately while the other tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear as he observes her closely.

“Everything alright?” he asks, nervously watching the way her eyes seem to focus on everything but his own, her hands seem to shake erratically against her sides, her lips seem even darker due to the incessant nibbling she’s done to them throughout the morning, and Harry suddenly wonders if she’s finally caught up to all of his lies.

Nora takes one last breath before bringing her eyes to his own, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Now Harry’s the one that’s panicking.

As if his brain is no longer controlling his body, his hands suddenly disappear from Nora’s face. He takes a tentative step back, leaving a cold space where his warm body was just flushed against her own. Nora watches as his skin turns an uncomfortable shade of pale, and as if they had completely swapped roles, Harry’s now the one who can’t seem to hold her gaze.

“Wait—what?” Harry unnecessarily asks. He mainly utters it as a placeholder, considering he’s let an awkward wave of silence wash over them both with his inability to say anything of importance.

Nora breathes through her nose, concerned. “I said, I think I’m in lo—”

“Why?”

Nora wonders if he’s joking.

“What do you mean, why?” Harry can feel her slowly losing her patience, her arms wrapping around herself slowly, creating a layer of armor that she’s used in the past to protect herself from his callous words.

“I mean—are you sure?”

“Are you serious?”

Sure, Harry knows that he cares for Nora with everything in his being. And sure, a part of him understands that when his heart speeds up and his chest tightens and his cheeks bloom pink whenever he’s around her, it’s all due to his feelings for her.

But even though that all stands true—Harry can’t help but be wary. Because how are you supposed to know how to love somebody when you’ve never properly been loved yourself?

His best times with Nora are always a dream-like trance Harry finds himself reliving over and over again. They’re always short glimpses of time, weeks or months with an expiration date looming over their heads because Harry can only allot himself momentary feelings of bliss and vulnerability before he realizes that his heart has the capacity to break in half if he continues on any further.

While Harry’s heart and mind battle with one another, Nora decides that she’s had enough. There’s only so many minutes she can stand in front of him watching as he silently stares at the linoleum flooring of his kitchen instead of explaining his reasoning to her. It’s only once she feels the pressure of tears welling at her waterline when she ends up slinking around him, gathering the rest of her clothes and belongings in record speed so that she can leave his home before the first tear falls.

Harry’s frozen in place. He’s still staring at the spot Nora once filled, hearing the sounds of her slipping her shoes on by the door and twisting his door knob, but none of it is actually registering in his clogged mind. He’s not sure why—he’s completely and utterly recalibrating the entire inner-workings of his head, body, and heart.

It’s only once he’s heard the navy blue door slam shut when he snaps out of his catatonic state, realizing then and there that even though he hasn’t figured out how to explain his warped outlook on love to her, he still owes it to her to acknowledge her declaration.

But he’s too late—he’s always too late when it comes to Nora Priestley. Because while he’s approached the iron-clad gate wearing just his black briefs, Nora’s already rounded the corner of his street, leaving a flurry of dark brown hair and tears staining the pavement in her path.

Harry knows that his immediate reaction should have been to chase after her, but instead, he decides to grab the first bottle of liquor he could grasp from his bar cart, slinking down onto his couch and bringing it to his lips without an ounce of food in his stomach.

This is where Niall finds him hours later, a nearly-emptied bottle of whiskey at his feet while Harry stares at the black screen of his television with blank eyes, still wearing his briefs from this morning. He’s replayed the conversation so many times in his brain that he can recite Nora’s staggered breathing patterns by heart, and Harry knows that Niall is privy to this because instead of yelling at him, he sneaks off into his bedroom and throws a clean set of clothes at his bare body.

“Up you get, Curly. Time to dilute all that whiskey with some greasy food.”

In hindsight, Niall probably shouldn’t have brought Harry to the pub down the road from his flat. But he couldn’t carry his deadweight any further, and he figured the only place that would be okay with serving somebody who was already drunk was the ancient barman that knows the two by name at this point.

“Where’s that pretty girlfriend you’re attached to?” Said barman asks the moment Harry and Niall fall into the creaky barstools. Before Niall can try and alleviate the situation, Harry’s already ordered a pint of Carlsberg and a shot of Jameson, ignoring Niall’s pleas of trying to urge a burger and chips down his liquor-ladened throat.

He’s rang Nora at least six times now, currently going for a seventh after Niall returned his stolen mobile when Harry refused to put something in his whiskey-sloshed stomach. He obliged, only because he really wanted to get a hold of her and apologize for being an absolute twat. But she’s ignoring him, and he knows deep down that she has every right to, because she trusted him with her feelings and all he did was shut her down in the worst way possible.

Harry’s not sure how Niall agreed to it, but after they’ve closed out and Harry’s capable of standing on his own two feet, they’ve somehow ended up outside of Nora and Piper’s residence hall. Harry knows that Piper has to let Niall in, so in his drunken convoluted mind, he comes up with the plan to sneak past them both and head up the stairs to beg for Nora’s forgiveness.

What he didn’t account for was Piper’s protectiveness over her crying friend upstairs.

“Harry, I can’t let you do that,” Piper says, closing the door a bit so that only her face is poking out from the glass paneling.

“Piper, please. I’ve got—’ve gotta talk to her. ‘S important.” He tries entering the building again but somehow Piper’s much smaller body blocks the entrance, her arms holding the door frame in order to keep Harry out. Niall sighs from behind her, conflicted. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

“Harry, you’re pissed. I can’t—”

“No! Piper, please. I need t’go upstairs. I’ve rang ‘er and texted ‘er and I know—I know her, Piper. Fuck, it’s—” he pauses, breathing in deeply and trying his hardest to straighten out the jumbled thoughts causing his entire body to shake. “It’s Nora. Please.”

Before Piper can close the door on her friend one last time, she feels Niall’s hand on the middle of her back, and she calms almost instantly.

“Let ‘im try, Pipes.”

With a final sigh, she opens the door and Harry sprints up the stairs, nearly tripping over himself as he tries to get to Nora’s door in one piece. He knows he’s drunk, knows he’s probably a mess, knows that she has every right to send him away—but he needs to talk to her or he’ll fucking explode.

He knocks about eight times on the wooden door before Nora appears behind it, eyes puffy and skin pale. Her hair is a knotted mess and her fringe is frizzy and Harry feels his chest crack in half when he realizes that he’s made her cry again.

“Harry—”

“You lov—” he hiccups loudly, causing his words to cut off the moment his body shakes abruptly. He pauses, tries to remember what he was going to say, before starting again, only to fail to pronounce the godforsaken word appropriately. “You lo’ me?”

He knows his mouth can barely utter the word, and his voice comes out a bit more squeaky than he would like, but he can’t help it. That word has always felt foreign coming out of his mouth, and he’s never understood the magnitude of its meaning. Not dead sober, and especially not after drinking the entire pub’s collection of whiskey.

Nora doesn’t say anything, but she does look into his glassy eyes and realizes that it’s from alcohol and not sadness. His hair is somehow knottier than hers and his part is amok, and she knows it’s because he ran his fingers through the tendrils one too many times. His cheeks are flushed, and before she can respond, his mouth is already opening.

“‘Cos I panicked. And ‘m sorry, but it’s just—nobody’s said that t’me before and properly meant it. Like my parents. They don’t lo—. Yeah. They don't. And me, I don’t even think I feel that way about m’self, either. ‘S just—it scares me, and I don’t know how to lo—”

“—No,” Nora says softly, interrupting Harry’s drunken monologue with a sad shake of her head.

Harry blinks once, twice, his blurry eyes trying to focus on her frame as the tears begin to bubble along her waterline. “No?” He’s confused, feels as if his life is completely off-kilter with the short utterance of a simple, two-lettered word.

“I don’t love you like this.”

Harry wonders if Nora can hear his heart begin to rip inside of his chest. “Nora—”

“You can barely even say it! Even when you’re piss drunk, you can hardly say the word love, let alone stick around long enough to hear somebody say it to you!” Her voice echoes through the small hallway of the sixth floor, and Harry stares back at her, flinching with each raise of her voice. “I can’t do this, Harry. I’d rather have you not say it sober than try and spit it out when you’re drunk. I just—I deserve better.”

“Nora please, I—you don’t understand—”

“—No I think I do. Quite clearly, actually.” Before Harry can try to force himself through the door one last time, Nora’s already begun to close it on him. “I think it’s best you go.”

“Nora! Please!” Harry calls out against the heavy wood, but it’s no use. She’s already flicked the lock, already sunk down to the floor with her back resting on the other side of the door, already begun muffling her sobs with trembling hands. And every time Harry bangs on the door with clenched fists and Nora can feel the wood shake, she just clenches her teeth on her bottom lip harder, praying with everything in her that Harry can’t hear her cry.

Harry’s not sure how long he’s stood there pounding on Nora’s door, repeating the word please enough times that it’s somehow lost its meaning. It’s only once he feels Niall’s hand on his back, ushering him out of the hallway and down the stairs, sticking him into the back of a cab when Harry feels the weight of his mistake rest heavy on his shoulders.

The only reason Harry gets any semblance of sleep that night is because he forces himself to swallow back five generous sips of whiskey before collapsing onto his mattress.

When Harry wakes up the next morning, his head isn’t the thing that hurts the most. Somehow, it’s his heart—and even though he’s suffering from the worst hangover he’s had in a very long time, it pales in comparison to the ache resonating through the inside of his chest.

But he can’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Because the longer he sits wallowing in his own self-induced misery, the more Nora drifts away from him. Feeling sorry for himself isn’t going to fix this. He needs to own up to his mistakes, find Nora, and beg for her forgiveness—because even though he doesn’t deserve her, he can’t make her feel horrible anymore.

Just as he’s rummaging through his wardrobe trying to find the cleanest shirt he owns, he hears his mobile ring for the third time that morning. When he looks over at the screen he realizes that it’s his father again, and although they aren’t very close, seeing him try to reach him a handful of times is enough to be worrisome. And just as he’s about to slip his shoes on, his father rings again. Harry begrudgingly answers, wondering what the hell is going on.

“Good to see you know how to answer your mobile,” his father says instead of a normal greeting, his voice filled with sarcasm. Harry almost hangs up the phone on him, his head filled with much more important things than dealing with another ribbing before noon.

“What’s going on? Did someone die?” Harry asks, flying down the staircase in order to locate his trainers that he remembered throwing across the floor in his drunken stupor last night.

“Very funny,” his father retorts, the sound of an unamused chuckle floating through the receiver. “Surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Seen what?” Harry asks, tying the final lace as he begins the search to locate his wallet and keys.

“Page Six. Lovely spread of you and Jacqueline leaving the work event from two evenings ago. That’ll definitely make for some good press surrounding our merger with the Van-Doren’s. Well done, son.”

Harry didn’t think it was possible to feel worse, but somehow, after hearing his father congratulate him for being photographed with the girl he’s been trying painfully hard to set him up with, Harry feels as if everything around him is falling apart.

He doesn’t even respond to his father. Instead, he hangs up the call, typing his name in the Google image search bar. Sure enough, a picture of him and Jacqueline standing close enough to each other for it to be a story is covering his screen. Harry’s never felt more enraged, because he suddenly realizes that if his father has seen it, then Nora definitely has as well.

This can’t be happening to him.

She leaves tomorrow. He can’t let her go like this, not when he wants her to stay. Not when the words are practically at the tip of his tongue, ready to be shouted out into the sky. He’s ready to tell her.

He needs to tell her.

But before he can walk down his front steps and through the iron-clad gate, Niall is standing there blocking his path, a sullen look covering his face.

“Mate, she’s gone.”

*** A/N: I’m sorry times infinity. I know it must seem like I’m torturing you, but I promise I’m not! Everything will make sense in time, even though it’s a bit painful to read. My inbox is open for all complaints/theories/ill-wishes.

Sadly, the time has come that I no longer have completed chapters already written. I've tried to keep up, but real life got in the way. I have like barely half of the next part written, so I’m not entirely positive if it will be posted next Friday. I want to give you guys the best I can offer, and if it feels rushed I know it’ll be quite disappointing! I’m aiming to have it up by Friday, but if it isn't, I will surely keep you posted. Thanks again for sticking with me and this story, please be kind to each other and I’ll see you (hopefully) in one week!

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[popurikat]

Trying to make sense of parts of Future (Mystery Skulls)

Since my last analysis went so well I thought I’d make this post as well, especially because Future really did confuse me and I know others might be lost as well; so lets discuss this together! It will be lengthy as I am basically spewing my thoughts out right on the videos immediate release date (there will be a read more option after my first thought to avoid long positng). Well first things first, I wanna address that I've been curious about what kind of spirit Arthur's arm could be (since I am not too well acquainted with any canon on its background part at least) and I think I have concluded that the closest thing to it could be is a Tenome; which is a Yochai that possesses a man's body and moves the eyes to the palms. "found lurking in cemeteries, hands outstretched, as if he has only recently lost his vision and is searching for something. Get close enough, and you’ll find out in quick succession that a) he’s not blind, but looking with eyes embedded in his hands, and b) what he’s looking for is a snack." (fyi, most of my mythos information is coming from Wiki just as a heads up)

And sure enough he found a great source for his hunger. Something he has been EYEING since the start. Which now leads me to my next points on the video...

At first watch I was convinced that each strand found on Mystery’s heart represented a singular soul bond, I thought that blue was for Vivi, Green was for the hand, pink for Lewis, purple for Shiro, Yellow for Lance, Orange for Arthur, and black and white were unknown. Which, didn’t settle right for me. SO I went in and re-watched the clip a couple more times and saw this:

Vivi’s (blue created after she got hurt) and Shiro’s (white created after she died) strands were connected to the strands located next to them. A start and an end. Mystery’s promise to Vivi to stay at her side for generations as he was spared upon prior defeat of Mushi. And then of course we have the promise of power and sustenance for Shrio as they held a symbiotic relationship for most of their lives that was only severed due to an interference. These double strands of fate are especially clearer in the scene with Shiro in Future. As the black strand gets clearer the more she gets injured or emotionally hurt, it eventually leads to the leak of the white strand on her death. Meaning; Black/white=Shiro; Purple/Pink=Lewis; Blue/Green: Vivi; and Orange/Yellow: Arthur. And why am I inclined to believe Lewis and Arthur are apart of Mystery’s heart? Well that's because those two were the only ones fully streaming before Vivi’s and Shiro’s appeared. We know that Arthur lost an arm to Mystery and discovered his identity (ergo losing most of his trust in him) insinuating both strands to arise early on of his color scheme, as well as with Lewis’ death occurring under the protection of Mystery when they were grouped and having his soul go restless/ in pain. It wouldn’t make sense to add family members or side characters not included in the mainline story to this grouping unless they would play an important role in the finale, which isn’t likely since we have only one more video left as Ben stated it was going to be a 5 video series. I am also inclined to believe each person has two strands because of Kitsune lore: “ Kitsune keep their promises and strive to repay any favor. Occasionally a kitsune attaches itself to a person or household. They follow their word of honor. They become self-destructive if they break a promise, and when someone else breaks a promise, they become deadly enemies.” Plus, It would make sense as to why in this short battle Mystery sprouted his last 3 tails when it came to Vivi and Shiro and how their connections affect his power. (more on this in a bit) But, furthermore; if anyone else notices, the Band-Aids on the heart are also remotely located on the sections of Vivi’s and Shiro’s strands specifically because for both, Mystery has vowed to protect them and has failed. 

Now then lets talk about a few things on Mystery’s ultimate form shall we? The final form of a Kitsune, its celestial form as shown here is called a Tenko. (yes I am aware of the Kumiho, but that is a fully evil, flesh eating, 9 tailed fox that specialize in illusions and well Mystery has never been portrayed as human). The Tenko makes even more sense when taken into consideration that Mystery’s third eye (typically a form of wisdom connected to overpowering the mortality of ones self) opens. So how was this done in such a short amount of time? “Kitsune do not accept aid from those who are not willing. they do not ask for help, and as such, most aid must come from another's initiative. Kitsune are emotional and very vengeful. Kitsune will lose their temper at the slightest provocation. Once someone has earned a kitsune's enmity, the kitsune will begin enacting revenge that can become quite extreme. On the other hand, those who have earned a kitsune's trust and loyalty will see a friendship that can last through many trials. Freedom is very important to the kitsune. They do not accept being forced into something they do not wish, and do not like being bound or trapped. Doing so weakens the kitsune.” Mystery as we know is very much controlled by his emotions, going head first into things constantly based on reaction and his inability to control his power under distress. His tails arose in the fight sequence every time he fulfilled his oath AND used 100% of his form/power. Therefore, his tails grew because he wasn’t holding back anymore, not his grievances, not his appearance, nor his hesitance in his evident distress of being bound to two entities that both required his aid.  My last note on these images comes from a tumblr user’s reverse audio clipping (https://nebulous-rain.tumblr.com/post/633555549749952512/ok-so-yknow-that-one-reversed-part-of-future). The rewind of the clip of Mystery’s transformation plays “When I’m With You”, which yes, cool a possible Easter egg to the next song! BUT what is this song about? Let me just bring up the first line of the song: “You got me hanging by a THREAD...I wish I could turn back time...I wish I could rewind life...” and before the chorus “I’m gonna make it right”. We know that this can refer to rectifying the wrongs of Lewis’ death, but more accurately to do so we need to defeat the evil inside this mutt that is pulling the strings of this whole fiasco. And this might just be the intro portion of the next mystery skulls mind you as we’ve also gotten many false starts with the previous two videos where hellbent used “every note” and future used “enemies” alongside the main song. BUT WE HAVE TWO YEARS ANYWAY, WHY BABBLE ON ABOUT THIS. LETS MOVE ON!

Hearts in this series have not been just for identifying the dead or for aesthetic purposes, they are the life force of each powerful legend. I am actually surprised to see Shiro have a heart as she started off as a creation from Mystery and therefore her lifeforce is just his blood and without it she is nothing. I am curious about her color pallet though, her heart is purple and pink. Lewis’ is gold/yellow with touches of orange. And Mystery’s is just red, but it has a mix of everyone’s essence within it to keep it tied and whole. Shiro’s could be colored this way in reference to Lewis’ aid to help find her creator; which would explain why Mystery surrounds himself by color as he required outside help and how Lewis’ heart is yellow in reference to how recently Arthur helped him remember his friends/hidden memories. One thing we have learned about hearts is that they can be broken repeatedly and can be ripped apart from the body, but they can be repaired too through resolution/hope. Lewis restored his heart in hellbent by using Vivi’s flower petals and finding hope that he will get revenge, only for his heart to be repaired again through Arthur’s touch. Shiro may have withered away, but her heart is essentially not broken, she’d need Mystery to restore it as it was flung into space (and that again relies on Mystery finding his sanity and finding it in himself to even bring her back). And as for Mystery himself, he’s gonna need the whole gang to reach out to him to extract the parasite within and restore balance. I really want to know more about the heart properties and how they give their users their powers as well Vivi is able to summon her strength through a material connection (bat) that function in its own way as the vessel a heart does since its connecting her to her ancestry.

NOW to finalize, I offer you two queries:

WHO IS ARTHURS HAND REACHING FOR!? I know it seems like Mystery, but that would be counter productive for the hand demon if he has Arthur interfering with his control. Is it still after Lewis as we’ve seen previous times where his arm acts up only in Lewis’ presence and when specifically other “magic” is at play? If so, is the goal to ward off Lewis and Vivi from defeating Mystery? Is Arthur gonna use the arm to find his own power as we’ve seen when he is able to momentarily cease control of it he kinda ruins anything electrical he touches and well, electricity is currently running rampant in there.

and lastly, I am really curious how touch sensitive hearts are, We know that even the smallest of brushes can detect memory/links to the person holding it (as seen with how Shiro managed to get soul flowers in hellbent), but the fact that Lewis was so in touch with the feeling of Arthur EVEN THOUGH ARTHUR GRABBED HIS HEART THROUGH HIS METAL HAND MIND YOU!, that he still managed to feel the disturbance instantly. So my question is, is the touch sensitivity reliant on how close someone is to someone? I would like to say yes cause when Shiro touched his heart he didn’t react instantly, he felt her rummaging his memories and was awoken, but he didn’t kick her butt by fully reforming until after she had long since stepped on his heart and then forced the memory of Mystery to arise. But yeah, its a nice little detail.

Either way, thanks for reading! Feel free to add on, comment, or even dm me about more Mystery Skulls information and theories! Love to hear them!