#I really need to learn how to tweak something and not rewrite it

[wiseabsol]

Chapter Summary: On Prince Mewtwo's birthday, Queen Mew gives her son a gift he didn't ask for. Mewtwo disapproves. Sabrina is confused.

Or: My "revising" old fanfiction to the point where it's something new continues. So if anyone is curious as to what a different take on the opening of Unwanted looks like, here you go!

[jezebelblues]

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 | 𝐇.𝐒 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬—𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞.

𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 ��𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭, 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐂𝐖: smut18+ fingering, penetration (p in v), a smidge of spanking, mommy issues, 2016!harry, angst, i guess. all in upper case if that gets u goin. fem!reader, unedited cause i fell asleep writing this. gn. mwah :*

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 17k

❏ burning hill by mitski teehee !! was the main inspo for this

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

It’s been fifteen months since the group announced their hiatus.

Phone calls became scarce, and so many words were left unspoken, drifting into that space where they might never find their way back. For the first time in years, he felt free—untethered from the rhythm of living intertwined with three other lives. At first, the quiet felt unbearable, like the silence after the crowd fades and the lights go down. But slowly, the loneliness began to feel like home. A strange sort of comfort in the quiet. He found a semblance of privacy—at least a bit more than he had in the band.

Harry felt that, since the hiatus, the fans had grown older with him, their wide-eyed fascination dulled by time and reality. There were fewer frantic moments, fewer desperate hands pulling at him. Now, on a good day, he could stroll through his hometown, maybe get stopped for a polite photo. Occasionally, there were still shadows trailing him—paparazzi or a fan trying to be invisible but failing, always just out of reach. He didn’t like it, not really, but he’d learned to live with it. It’s what came with the territory, a price he thought he’d long accepted.

But it was the writing that kept him grounded. Kept him real. The one thing that still felt like his own. His debut album was close to finished now, though the mixing, the rewrites, the constant tweaking—it never felt like enough. There was this tightness inside him, a knot of anxiety that refused to unravel. Would anyone like Harry styles, the solo artist? Or would they always only care about Harry, the boy in the band?

He wasn’t ungrateful, not for a second. But deep down, he craved something more. He needed the space to finally figure out what he wanted, to break free, to become something else entirely. Something new.

It’s been eight months since he met YN.

It was happenstance, through his manager—though sometimes Harry liked to imagine it was fate. It was one of those coincidences that felt too deliberate to be real, like something out of a half-finished song. She was Jeff’s goddaughter, on the periphery of his world, but until then, she’d been just another name mentioned in passing.

YN started her internship at the recording studio in the beginning of April of this year. She moved to New York with a close friend shortly after her twenty first birthday, saving up for what felt like forever, and Jeffery instantly had the idea of corroborating with the studio about an internship. He knew of her uncertainty about the future. He knew about the interest in music YN had, and he wanted to give her a chance.

Jeff had told her it was a paid internship, though it really wasn’t. He was the one who was paying her through check, under the guise of the studio. She would freak if she found out, turning it all down—Jeff knew that all too well.

Her first month was moreso about passing time. She’d work on any logistics, learning about the soundboard and how it worked hand in hand with the recording aspect, not to mention the process of remastering, mixing, finalizing. Harry was in and out those first three weeks, still finishing up a few interviews and whatnot. YN talked to him a few times when he’d pop in before taking off again, he was sweet. Still, she needed something to do until he was finally able to settle down to focus on one of the last stretches of the album—and giving her busywork was just that.

She wasn’t supposed to be at the office that day in May, but Jeff made her come along before they would continue their constant work at the drawing table, in the booth. It was the day he decided to cut his hair—and there she was, sitting quietly on the edge of the room, trying not to be seen, caught up in the swirl of conversations she didn’t quite belong to yet. There was something about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on. The way she observed everything, but didn’t feel the need to make herself known. A quiet confidence, maybe, or just a complete lack of pretense.

When she offered to help with the cut, everyone laughed, but he said yes. He didn’t know why, maybe because she didn’t treat it like this big, defining moment. The whole world was making such a fuss about his hair, like that was all he was, all he’d ever be. But YN? She just smiled, grabbed the scissors, and got to work. No ceremony, no theatrics—just a few careful snips, and suddenly he was lighter, like he could breathe again.

Afterward, they’d joked about how she should switch careers. But she’d only smiled that same quiet smile and said she was more interested in being on the other side of music. She was learning everything she could. At first, she was just there, hovering at the edge of things. But before long, she was everywhere. Quietly slipping into conversations, offering up ideas that stuck with him long after she’d left the room.

She wasn’t like the people he usually worked with. She wasn’t starry-eyed, wasn’t afraid of him or the idea of him. YN spoke to the brunette like he was just a guy making music, figuring things out. And maybe that’s what drew him in, slowly at first, then all at once. She didn’t see Harry Styles, the soloist. She saw Harry—the restless, uncertain man who wasn’t sure if he was running from his past or trying to carve out a future. He was human, an equal, not an enigma.

He caught himself thinking about her more than he should, replaying their conversations in his head when he was alone in his flat, the silence pressing in around him. She had this way of getting under his skin without even trying, making him wonder if he’d been doing everything wrong up until now. Or maybe, just maybe, she was the first person to make him feel like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

There was something magnetic about her, a pull he couldn’t quite shake. He’d see her in the studio, headphones on, scribbling notes on a track they’d been working on, her brow furrowed in concentration. She cared about the music, really cared, and he respected that more than he could say. In the rare moments she’d look up and catch him watching, she’d smile—soft and unassuming, as if she wasn’t at the center of this storm he was slowly getting lost in.

He’d thought about it, late at night when the studio was empty, and all he had were his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was the music that kept him coming back, or if it was something else entirely.

But the truth was, ever since she walked into his life, the world didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

YN had a quiet way of carrying herself, something light and untouchable, like she’d mastered the art of being present without ever fully giving herself away. It was part of what made her so magnetic, Harry thought, but it also kept her at arm’s length—just out of reach. The more time he spent with her, the more he sensed there were pieces of her story she wasn’t ready to share, things she held onto with a grip so tight, it almost hurt to watch.

Her father had been older when she was born, older than Jeff was, at least—a man who had already been through his share of mistakes and regrets by the time he met Jeffery in college. YN’s dad had been trying to start over, to build something solid for himself after years of wandering. They clicked right away—two guys who didn’t have much in common on the surface, but who understood each other in the ways that mattered. Jeff was young, still wide-eyed and ambitious, while YN’s father had lived a little longer, seen more of the mess the world had to offer. They bonded over that, and when YN was born, Jeff had been right there, practically family.

YN’s mother had left when she was just a baby. No warning, no messy custody battle, just gone. Her dad was the moon, always there—faintly during the day when he worked, but always present by night. Her mother was a solar eclipse, popping up in certain areas every now and then, but never staying. Maybe she’d call and wish her a belated happy birthday, or send a card for Christmas that year. She was always fleeting. And YN thought herself the stars, always there, always ever connected to the two despite time and space.

So, her father had raised her on his own, doing his best with what little he had. Jeff had been named godfather not long after her birth, and though he didn’t say much about it, YN knew he’d always carried a quiet kind of guilt. Like maybe if he’d been around more, her life might’ve been different. She never blamed him, of course—she adored Jeff, looked at him like he was some kind of anchor in her life, a second father figure, someone she could always count on. But there was no denying that a part of her had been shaped by absence, by the cold reality of her mother’s abandonment.

She didn’t talk about her mother much. When they’d first started getting to know each other, Harry had asked her once—offhandedly, without thinking—and the way her expression shifted, the way her walls shot up so quickly, he knew not to push. He’d seen it before, in himself, the instinct to hide away when the past felt too close.

Harry didn’t know much about her. They hadn’t talked about personal things, not really. Her past wasn’t something she talked about, not with anyone, and especially not with people like Harry—people who had the world’s attention, people who might think she was just another girl with a tragic backstory. But he knew she was Jeff’s goddaughter, that she was interning at the studio, trying to figure out if music was the career she wanted. He knew her favorite artist and color, knew her favorite subject in school and her best friend’s name—Marisol. He knew she preferred sunsets over sunrises, mountains and forests over beaches. But it felt superficial, barely scraping the surface. He wanted to know more. She seemed talented, driven, but there was something else—something in the way she held herself back.

There were moments when he’d catch her smile, but it was always soft, fleeting. Like she was offering a glimpse of something deeper but never letting him get too close. It intrigued him, the way she could be so kind yet so guarded, as if she’d learned not to give too much away. It was a look he recognized, one he saw in himself sometimes, when the weight of expectations and the uncertainty of his solo career pressed too heavily on his shoulders. But with YN, it felt different. It felt like something that had been there long before she ever stepped into the studio.

Moving to New York had been her way of starting over. She’d wanted to escape the weight of her past, to carve out a life that was her own. Jeff had given her that opportunity, and even though she hadn’t been sure it was what she wanted at first, she found herself falling into the rhythm of it. The work was hard sometimes, but it felt good, like maybe she was finally building something of her own. But even here, in this new city with new faces, YN still felt that familiar pull—the instinct to keep her distance, to protect herself from getting too attached.

He wasn’t sure she’d let him in, anyway. YN was like that—careful, cautious. Maybe she always would be.

In June, a little over two months since YN started working in the studio, she and Harry had formed an easy, steadying friendship. YN wasn’t like most people in his world. She understood his music in a way that felt rare—intimately, deeply, as if she could feel the weight of each word before he even sang it. It touched him more than he could admit.

But as much as he was drawn to her, Harry could sense the distance she kept between them. It wasn’t obvious, not in a way anyone else would notice, but there was a part of YN that stayed hidden. She had a warmth to her—she was kind, smart, and always knew exactly what to say when he asked for her help. But when it came to the deeper parts of herself, the parts Harry desperately wanted to know, she stayed locked away. He saw it in the way she smiled when something hit too close to home, or the way she never let conversations stray too far from the task at hand. It was as though she’d built an invisible wall around herself, and no one—not even him—was allowed through.

But he knew better than to push. For now, their connection revolved around the music.

Sometime in early June, they were hunched over in their usual studio chairs, working on the final track of his debut album. The song had taken weeks to perfect, but they were close now—closer than they had been. From the Dining Table was raw, achingly personal and YN, somehow, had helped him shape it into something even more honest than it had started.

“What if you lean into the third verse more?” She suggested, her pen tapping the page thoughtfully. "The emotion's there, but it's like you're not letting yourself feel it fully. Especially in that second verse–maybe one day you’ll me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too. You're pulling back right when you should lean into it."

Harry stopped playing with the strings on his guitar and looked up at her, brow furrowed. "What do y’mean?"

She hummed, biting her lip as she considered the words, her fingers brushing the edge of the paper. “Maybe drop the keys lower in the last chorus..” She trailed off, lost in her own thought process. She shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly as she studied the lyrics. "It's heavy, but it could be even more vulnerable. You're singing about something really personal here, about the kind of loneliness that feels like it's eating you alive. But in the melody, it feels..safe. I think you need to make the vocals feel a bit more broken, like you're barely holding it together. Let the silence in the song do some of the work. Think about pulling back on the production, too–keep it more stripped down.” She laughed lightly, a bit sheepish. “If that makes sense.”

Harry nodded slowly, the words hanging in the air between them. She got it. She always got it. The lyrics had been twisting inside him for weeks, and it was YN’s careful guidance that had finally helped him pull them into something real, something tangible. He picked up his guitar, adjusting the chords she mentioned, and played the verse again. The notes hung heavier in the air this time, more space, more quiet.

“There.” YN murmured. “That’s what it needed—the space between the words, the silence. That's where the emotion is."

For the next few hours, they went back and forth, fine-tuning the melody and adjusting the lyrics. YN suggested cutting down the instrumentation, making it feel more intimate, like a conversation Harry was having with himself. And as the song started to take shape, Harry felt a weight lifting. It’s what he wanted for the song, it deserved this rawness, this vulnerability.

Over the next two weeks, they worked tirelessly on the track, tweaking the lyrics, adjusting the production. YN had suggested subtle changes in the arrangement—adding faint background harmonies, letting the piano take the lead in certain sections. It was her idea to introduce a low hum in the final chorus, something atmospheric that made the song feel like it was dissolving into the empty spaces of the room. Harry trusted her instincts completely by now, her intelligence and understanding of the music so sharp that he barely needed to question her advice. She had a way of knowing what the song needed, even when he couldn’t see it himself.

By the time they reached the last day of recording that track, the song had transformed into something that felt like a piece of his soul, laid bare for the world to hear. It was time to play it for the team, to record the final version that would make it onto the album. She didn’t hear it in its entirety yet, only the parts Harry would reveal that he wanted insight on.

The band was ready, gathered behind their instruments, and the rest of the team sat in the control room, waiting to hear what he had spent weeks perfecting. The studio felt heavier than usual, the air thick with anticipation. Harry glanced over at YN, who was standing by the glass that separated the studio from the control room, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. She was watching him, as she always did, but there was something different in her eyes tonight. He couldn’t place it—something softer, more vulnerable than usual.

Harry picked up his guitar, gave the band a nod, and stepped up to the mic. The first notes echoed through the room, soft and haunting. His voice followed, low and steady, each lyric pouring out an isolation he had written into the song, each verse dripping in melancholy. The room around him seemed to blur, and for a moment, it was just him, the music, and the truth of what he was singing.

“Maybe one day you’ll call me, and tell me that you’re sorry, too.”

His voice cracked slightly on the word sorry, just as it had in practice. But this time, it felt different. More real. More final.

As the song continued, Harry’s gaze flickered over to YN. She was still standing by the glass, but something had changed. Her arms had fallen to her sides, and her eyes were fixed on him, wide and shimmering with unshed tears. It was subtle at first—a quick blink, a shift of her expression—but then he saw it. A tear slipped down her cheek, and YN quickly brushed it away, trying to hide the emotion that was overtaking her.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

By the time the song ended, the room was filled with the soft, fading echoes of the final notes. Harry stood still, the guitar resting against his chest, his breath uneven. He watched as YN slowly stepped forward, closer to the glass, her eyes still glistening. She rested her hand gently on the pane, the only thing separating them, and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.

It was all he needed. That nod, that single moment of unspoken approval, meant more than words ever could. She understood—she always had. But seeing her moved by the song, seeing the tears she tried so hard to hide, told Harry more about her than she’d ever let on.

For the first time, Harry felt like he had reached her core, even if just for a second. And as the team buzzed with quiet admiration for the track, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from YN. Because in that small, fragile moment, she had let her walls down. Just enough.

And Harry realized, standing there with the music still humming through his veins, that maybe he wasn’t the only one who felt something more between them. Maybe YN wasn’t as unreachable as he had once thought.

July had seemed to’ve breeze past, almost gone in a daze. It was Friday, and there would only be two more Fridays left till they would have to flip the colander pages to August. The heat of the day still mingled in the air as the studio settled into its usual weekend quiet. The crew had all left for the night, tired but satisfied after wrapping another long day of recording. The album was nearing completion, and the tension that had built up over the past few months was finally starting to lift. Harry could feel it—the sense of relief, of something monumental coming to an end—but there was still so much hanging in the air between him and YN, at least that’s what he felt.

They were alone in the lounge now, the soft glow of the low lights casting faded shadows on the walls. YN sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she sipped from a recently topped-off flute of champagne, her eyes tired but content. They had opened the bottle to celebrate finishing another track, Two Ghosts. YN wasn’t there when the production first started for this song, only there for the finalized remastering of it that finished today—and she had insisted he must celebrate, the fizzy sweetness a small reward for everything he’s been pouring into the album.

"Cheers!” Harry had laughed, clinking his glass against hers with a lopsided grin. "One more down."

He didn’t quite remember what glass he was on, but he could feel the familiar buzz of being tipsy, like he could float. Besides the lounge, the rest of the building was dark, only light seeping through was from the city outside. Harry leaned back against the arm of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, the remnants of his drink swirling lazily in his glass. He felt relaxed—more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the fact that they were finally nearing the end of the album. But it wasn't just that. It was YN, too.

And god, she looked gorgeous.

She dressed down for the day, knowing it was Friday and she could fall into bed as soon as she got home. A hoodie hung loosely over her frame, the pair of lounge shorts coming a little bit above her mid thigh. The alcohol seemed to give her eyes more of a sparkle, her skin flush—Harry wondered if alcohol could make him look as pretty as she, but he ended up on the conclusion of probably not.

“I know I said this already.” She giggled, taking a sip of the bubbly. Her smile was hazy, eyes clouded over. “But the song sounds great.” She enthusiastically sent him a thumbs up, the bottom of his feet against the bend of her knees as his legs remained sprawled out over the couch. The curly haired boy already asked if he should move to give her more space, but her dismissal was a shouted, pleading whine of no, stay! “You should be famous or something.” She sent him a wink, and he couldn’t stifle the laughter that escaped him from how slow and exaggerated she’d done it.

The lightness in the air was contagious, and they both seemed to be floating, untethered and free from the usual tension. He rested his temple against the back cushion of the sofa, his lazy grin seemingly impossible to wipe off. “Dunno, sounds like a lot of work. Maybe I’ll jus’ start a bakery instead.” He shrugged, taking a swig of what was left in the flute after parting ways between his head and the cushion beside him. “Styles’ Pies, what d’you think?”

YN snorted, nearly spilling her champagne as she pictured it. “You? In a bakery? I don’t even think you can make toast without burning it.”

Harry’s eyes widened in mock offense. “Hey, m’great in the kitchen. You’ve just never seen me in action.”

“Oh really?” YN arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She set her glass down on the table, waving her hand as if conducting an imaginary cooking show. “Alright, Chef Styles, what’s your signature dish? Burnt toast with a side of undercooked eggs?”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m never gonna live that down, am I? That was one time!”

“Ah-ha!” She teased, biting her lip to hold back another laugh. “You know, they might not even let you into the bakery with that track record. Health code violations, and all.”

“Oh, come on!” Harry huffed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I’m actually a master at making..” He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Pancakes.”

YN burst into laughter again, this time nearly doubling over, gently clasping her fingers around his ankles for support. “Pancakes? Oh god, I bet you’d flip them right onto the floor.”

“Oi, that’s not true!” Harry was laughing now too, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the easy back-and-forth. YN had placed her hands back into her lap after grabbing her glass again, legs still tucked underneath her. “I’ve got skills. Just wait. I’ll cook f’you one day, and you’ll be begging for more. You’ll never want to leave m’kitchen.”

She wiped away a tear from her drunken laughter, a banter that probably would not be as entertaining if she was sober. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be your taste tester—but don’t be mad if I spit it out.”

“Oh, y’ruthless tonight, huh?” He nudged her playfully with his foot, legs still draped along the sofa. “Well, if pancakes don’t win y’over, I’ll just serenade you with some of m’songs. You won’t stand a chance.”

YN’s laughter turned into a snort as she brought the flute to her lips, taking another sip before grinning at him. “Woo me with your guitar? Play a little ditty about burnt toast?”

Harry leaned forward, dramatically mimicking strumming an invisible guitar, his expression serious as he sang, “Maple syrup, coffee, pancakes for two..”

YN feigned a cringe, holding her ands out in front of her as if to block the very sight of him. The tune was cute, but she would never admit that. Harry could barely keep it together as he leaned back against the sofa’s arm, rolling his eyes as she finally lowered her hands. “And I’ll have you know I worked n’a bakery in Holmes Chapel, favorite employee, too.”

“My god, aren’t you a prodigy?” She smiled, tilting her head to the side as if pretending to be bashful. “Singer, songwriter, baker of the month.”

“Y’damn right.”He tipped an imaginary hat on his head, “I contain multitudes.” He winked, a better one that YN had sent earlier, his grin wide and a little bit tipsy.

They sat in the comfortable silence that followed, both of them still chuckling under their breath, the champagne buzzing through their veins like a soft lullaby. Harry glanced over at YN, her face flushed from laughter, her body relaxed in a way he hadn’t seen before. She looked free. Happy. And it did something to his chest, a tug he couldn’t ignore.

“Hey.” he said softly, stretching his ankle ever so slightly to gently nudge her knee with his foot. “Y’having fun?”

She nodded, her smile softening as she glanced at him. “Yeah. I am.” Her voice was quieter now, the playful energy of a moment ago still lingering, but with something else creeping in. Something softer, more intimate.

Harry smiled back, his heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did around her. “Good, m’glad.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words coming out slower, as if she was trying to steady herself. “You’re..not what I expected.”

Harry tilted his head, a curious smirk tugging at his lips. “What’d y’expect?”

She hummed, “Don’t know.” She said with a shrug, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on the cushion. “Someone a little more, I don’t know–untouchable? Like, y’know, the harry styles,’ the big deal. But you’re just harry styles, my friend.”

He laughed softly, playing with the hem of his bright pink shorts. “Jus’ me, huh? Guess that’s not s’bad.”

“It’s not.” She smiled, her eyes locking with his, and for a moment, something passed between them. Something heavier, like an acknowledgment of everything unspoken.

Harry shifted, suddenly aware of how close they had gotten during her revelation. His hand, which had been resting on her knee, slid a little higher, his fingers brushing the soft skin of her thigh. The playful banter was still there, but it was quieter now, replaced by a tension that neither of them could deny any longer.

“Y’know.”she said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “I still don’t believe you can make pancakes.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of amusement and something deeper as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Maybe I should make you breakfast tomorrow morning then.”

YN’s breath hitched, her pulse quickening at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, Harry’s lips were on hers. She instantly melted into it, as if an instinct. However, after a beat, the palm of her hand pressed against his shoulder. Their lips slowly separated, strings of saliva snapping at the middle from their mutual departure. Her breath rose and fell rapidly, a small smile on her lips. “How are you gonna make pancakes at the st–.”

Harry had cut her off with a groan, but it was humorous, mixed with his giggles. “Y’stopped that t’get technical?”

YN shrugged before pulling him back into the kiss, unwavering, still. It was tentative for a moment, as if he was waiting for her to push away again, but she didn’t. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt, lips in sync as she deepened their kiss.

The taste of the fruity champagne lingered between them, intoxicating and heady. It grew hungrier, more desperate as if months of unresolved tension had finally snapped. YN’s tongue found itself swiping a soft stripe against his bottom lip, a heavy sigh emerging from him as his fingers brushed along the hem of her hoodie, slipping his hands underneath, his palm resting on the warm curve of her waist.

“H–” She whispered against his lips, her voice breathy, almost a plea. But it wasn’t a plea to stop—it was a plea for more.

His name on her lips drive him mad. With a low grown, he shifted, pulling her into his lap in one fluid motion. Her legs straddled him, holding herself as close to him as she could, their kisses turning feverish. His large hands pulled her even closer—not a centimeter of space to be left. He parted his lips, a broken breath tumbling from his mouth as she started to roll her hips against his growing cock stuck underneath the hot pink shorts.

His ring clad fingers slip father up her hoodie, the coolness of the medal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off the both of them. Harry tugged on the fabric, pulling it over her head in a rush, revealing the thin bralette underneath. “Fuck–” He mumbled, breath caressing her skin as his lips skimmed the bone of her jawline, placing a slow, tentative kiss right at her pulse point. “So beautiful.” He was drunk in the moment that was her—figuratively and literally—his voice distant and light, like a voice breaking through a daydream.

She rolled her hips harder against him as his hands slipped under the hem of her shorts, lips sloppily trailing her chest, her nose buried in his curls. A soft moan is drawn from her as Harry’s hands grip her ass, aiding her movements of dry humping his cock. His tongue grazed the fleshy part of her breast that threatened to spill out of her bra, a shuddering exhale brushing from her lips, right into his disheveled locks.

She hastily cups his chin, pulling him from her chest to messily kiss him again. She wanted to taste the faint peach on his tongue from the champagne, to feel the stubble above his lip tickling against her. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, her fingers running down his shirt, tugging at the hem. He smiles, parting from her to pull his shirt off. It was rushed, his chin getting caught in the collar which made laughter sit between them comfortably. YN gently helps him pull the shirt from his head. It was discarded somewhere on the floor, its whereabouts not a priority.

Their cheeks are flush, lips plump and vibrant as they fall into each other’s eyes—their giggles fading out and their heavy breaths replacing it. “I want you.” She whispered, her gaze trailing from his eyes, to his lips, along the markings of his torso, then back up again.

He nodded, pressing his forehead against hers with a shaky breath. “Yeah?”

She hummed, though it sounded similar to a purr—a divinely feminine melody that made him twitch under the fabric that held him from her. “Yeah.”

He gives her a quick peck before tapping her thigh and guiding her off his lap. He looks at her as his thumb slips under the waistband of both his shorts and boxers, his glance expectant of some sort of approval or denial.

Her hands reach back behind her, unclasping the bra and letting the straps fall from her shoulders; to which he took that as his go ahead. Harry bucks his hips from the couch, tugging the clothing down his legs and letting it fall onto the floor. His cock slapped against his abdomen from the sheer force of how quickly he freed himself. It was bigger than she had expected, the head a pretty pink that glistened with precum.

He didn’t give her a chance to react for herself as he pulled along her bare waist, ushering YN back onto him. He planted kisses along her breast, the hem of her shorts sitting right against his chest, his large hands holding her inches above the cock she so desperate to fill herself up with.

His tongue encircled the bud of her nipple, one hand still gripping her ass to keep her pressed against his chest, above his length—while the other fell a tad lower, his index and middle finger slipping underneath the leg of her shorts and panties, brushing along her wet folds.

She could feel his lips spread into a smirk before he began to suck on her nipple. She buried her face into his curls, grasping onto the roots as his digits sat at the entrance of her core, heat radiating from her cunt as her arousal soaked the tips of his fingers. She whimpers, wanting to grind down on them and fill her up until his knuckles sat harshly against her folds, but he held her in place—the grip on the soft part of her ass feeling rougher. He looks up at her through his eyelashes, though her face is hidden in his hair, he still revels in it. “Y’that desperate for it, hm?”

She nods against the top of his head, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes, Harry.” She whined, fingers tightly laced between his locks. “Fuck–please, I need it.”

His mouth finds its way back to her tits as he eases his thick fingers into her cunt, tauntingly slow. Her walls fluttered around him, a soft moan escaping her as he pumped his fingers in and out, the sound of her wetness was hot, filthy—the way it bounced around the room. It only made him harder knowing that no one else will know what happened here besides them.

He curls his digits into a spot that makes her hips buck harder against his chest, a yelp emitting from the top of her throat, which he takes as a moment to smack the fleshy part of her ass, it wasn’t very hard, as if he was testing the waters to try to understand what she needed. Judging from the noises she made, and how her bum seemed to push a slight wiggle into the palm of his hand, he figured she liked it.

He pumps his fingers faster, his knuckles almost pounding against her core as he sneaks the opportunity to spank her again. A string of profanities and whiny pleas fell from her, her hands falling to a grip on his shoulders as he coaxed her to the brink of coming on just his fingers alone.

His lips are sloppy against her chest, more focused on how his digits buried themselves into her pussy. Her words aren’t coherent, a ringing faint in her ears as she tightens around him, her hips erupting into a shudder as she rides out her orgasm. He lightens the grip from her bum, allowing her to roll her hips with his fingers still deep inside her, basking in how she tried to milk herself of every drop she could.

Once her movements still, he slowly pulls out of her, the two making eye contact as he brings the two fingers to his mouth, wrapping his lips around them prettily, licking her arousal from the source.

Her breaths were heavy, eyes darkened as she watched the dirtiest thing play out in front of her. His eyes flutter to a close, a smirk speaking across his lips as if it was the most heavenly thing he’s tasted; she already feels the knot in her tummy tightening again.

She pulls him into a kiss, meeting each other harshly as she tastes herself from his lips. His hands brush along the small of her back, then to her hips, slipping the shorts and panties down her legs and off her ankles with an awkward, momentary shift in position to do so. She lowers herself as much as he’d allow, his lips stilling as he feels her heat against the head of his cock. He pulls away slightly, forehead against hers with a small flicker of disappointment on his features. “I don’t have a condom.” His voice low and raspy, thick with lust as he held her against him once again, unable to fill herself as she desired.

Her chest rose and fell heavily, eyes meeting his. “M’on the pill.” She whispered, voice breathy and light from her previous orgasm.

His eyebrows furrowed, gaze unwavering in hers. This is something he normally would never do, fucking someone unprotected. But the way his cock ached for her was damn near painful, and he trusted her. A friend he’d come to cherish, although in the back of his mind, he wanted her more than a friend. He darted his eyes between hers and the way her tummy fluttered with heavy breath. His glance was expectant again, silently needing approval to even think of continuing.

She wiggled her hips in his grasp once more, her a whiny plea a soft mutter—and it’s all he needed to hear. She sank onto his length, a slow strain befell them from how he had to ease his cock into her pussy, stretching her out with every upward motion of his hips.

The feeling of him filling her was addicting to both, pleasured sighs and moans emitting from each of them as she adjusted around his length, sinking down the shaft completely. Only a beat had past before she started to roll her hips into him, adjusting to the feeling of him. One hand sat sprawled against her back, will the other remained on her ass. Harry’s head leaned along the edge of the couch, watching through half-lidded eyes at the way her tits moved as she began to bounce on his length, having him draw sharp inhale at the feeling. “Jus’ like that.” He groaned, the hand on her back and bum guiding her movements. “Good girl–y’feel so good, jus–” He cuts off his own sentence with a moan, his head falling forward now, just a bit. His forehead grazed along her shoulder—barely—every time she’d bob up the length of his cock. “Like that, bunny–fuck.” His voice was breathy, listening to the pretty moans that escaped her and the way her cunt sounded riding his cock.

His hand slid down her back, both gripping her ass a bit roughy as he guided her movements with more force. Her lips fell agape, a whimper falling out now and then as Harry held her weight as if it was nothing, moving her up and down his thick cock with an ease that made her cry out his name.

He pushed and pulled her onto him greedily, her head falling onto his shoulder as he rested his chin on hers, watching as he pounded her onto the base of his length. The sharp sounds of skin against skin mixed in with their moans, a cacophony of their pleasure filling the lounge.

He loosened his grip from her bum, smacking her ass as his other hand gathered her hair into his fist, jerking her head back to force a semblance of eye contact. The palm of his other hand rested over her thigh, continuing to guide her movements though the momentum from her own hands against his shoulders was enough.

He knew he was close, and the way her noises got louder, how her cunt tightened around him—Harry knew she was close, too. The tiny fraction of him that held an ounce of logic through his drunken pleasure told him to pull out, but it fell to the back of his mind, silenced with the sound of his own moans and the way his length twitched, the knot in his belly rounding tightly. “Look at me.” He forced through a grunt, his toes curling against the carpet and his jaw tightened as he tried to stall his release.

The grip on his shoulders was lethal, though the only thing he could feel was her pussy fluttering around him. Her hair was still balled tightly in his fist, craning her head into a position where their foreheads were only a few inches away—the only thing that would keep her from looking if she closed her eyes. She wouldn’t though.

His hand pushed harder against her thigh, both of their skin flushed a pink from the force of the contact of the way her ass and thighs slapped along his pelvis. “Say my name–” His groan was guttural, as if he was teetering on the edge of losing his composure. With his grip still in her hair, he pressed her forehead into his, both slick with a gleam of sweat. “When you come—say it.” He grunted, eyes meeting hers once again. “Or I won’t let you.”

She felt her legs to tremble, her lips parting as the cries and whimpers of his name escaped her like a mantra. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pressing her forehead into hers further as they met their release simultaneously. Thick ropes of come fill her cunt to the point where it drips out around him. Their breaths are heavy and quick, his hands soft against the skin of her legs as they tremble, pressing his lips atop her shoulders as she sinks into his chest.

*

The next morning arrived in a hazy blur. The sky was gray as it prepared itself for a summer thunderstorm. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the window caused him to stir first, a wince from feeling the stiffness in his neck before anything else. His back was pressed awkwardly into the couch, his arm draped around something soft and warm. He blinked his eyes open, the dull light from the stormy sky offering not very much of anything as it bled through the blinds. The familiar scent of the studio mixed with something more intoxicating—YN.

He nudged his chin down to glance at the girl curled up on his chest, his shirt from last night adorning her frame as soft snores fell from her mouth. Their legs were tangled together underneath a thin throw blanket with Christmas patterns he didn’t remember grabbing before passing out. The events of last night came in a rushed haze from the smell of the champagne on his own breath. He shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but the movement pulled YN from her slumber. She let out a small groan before nuzzling deeper into his bare chest, not wanting to let go of the warmth.

The smell of Harry’s cologne caused her eyes to peel open, her brow furrowing in confusion as she took in her surroundings.

“Morning.” Harry had rasped out, voice still thick with sleep.

She blinked, and then placed her palms against his chest to push herself up. She glanced around the studio with the turn of her head, then back at Harry with an unreadable expression. Her hair was disheveled, Harry’s discarded shirt hung loosely around her—she could feel the thickness of his come seeping out of her, pooling in her underwear and forming a dampened spot. “Oh my god.”

He winced involuntarily, and this time it wasn’t from the ache in his neck. “Um.” He paused, voice cautious. “Yeah.”

YN bit her lip, sitting up fully as she slipped into a spot between his thighs. The cushion was soft against her bum as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Yeah.” She echoed his words, unsure of what to say.

Harry had scoot up slightly, the small of his back against the arm of the sofa. He rubbed his neck, sighing from the crick he developed for sleeping in such an awkward position. “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, her eyes still a bit dazed from the remnants of sleep and the weight of their shared moment. YN offered him a small smile, “Mhm.” She hummed, but an uncertainty glimmered along the edge of her pupil, unsure of what came next. “Not exactly used to waking up like this, I guess–but I’m okay.”

He nodded slowly, though a frown threatened to spread across his lips. He reached out hesitantly, palm resting on her knee as he sighed. “You regret it?” He asked, though it sounded rhetorical.

Her face seemed to soften at his words, sincerity and a hint of hurt evident in his expression. A furrow formed in her forehead as she shook her head, placing a hand on top of the one he sat on her knee. “No, H. ‘Course not.” She paused, shifting in her seat before forcing herself to stand, his hand slipping from her knee back into his own lap. It felt cold, and he knew she was pulling away. She very quickly stripped Harry’s shirt off—to which he averted his eyes to the ground—shrugging back on her own hoodie and shorts.

“YN.” Harry mumbled, his voice shaking as he pulled his shirt back over his head. She seemed distracted, slipping her shoes back on and putting her phone into the hoodie pocket before she trailed back toward Harry, gazing down at where he sat on the couch. He had looked at her the way he always seemed to look at her, eyes full of things that would stay unsaid. “What does this mean?”

She kneeled before him almost immediately, combing her fingers through his hair in a moment of comfort. “Doesn’t have to mean anything.” Her voice was soft, kind, as if that was the thing he wanted to hear. “We’re friends, this won’t make it weird, okay?”

He could feel his heart sink into his stomach as he nodded with slight trepidation, wishing she would just open herself up and allow him to hold her, to show her that he wouldn’t let go. “I don’t regret it, never ever.” She murmured, ducking her head down a bit to meet his gaze that seemed to lower at her words. “I swear it.”

He forced a smile, her hand pulling away from his curls—the curls she previously moaned into, the hair that she tangled her fingers in from an orgasm that crashed over her like a wave. He swallowed dryly as she back stood up, still not looking away from him. A defeat settled over him, an impatient longing as he realized if he was ever going to have a chance with the woman before him, he’d have to wait. He didn’t know what pain she held, the things she guarded so strongly, but he knew she would have to admit to herself first that she was worthy of something good. Harry parted his lips, taking a deep breath to keep his voice steady. “Stay friends?” He asked expectantly, holding out a pinky to her.

She smiled, a sad one, however. She wanted to wrap him into her arms and apologize for making the choice to walk away, but she felt it was best. YN believed she wasn’t what he deserved, and it would be in his best interest to pretend like everything went back to normal. She lowered her hand, intertwining her pinky with his. “Stay friends.”

On August fourth, The studio was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the late afternoon sun filtering through the one window in the control room. Everyone, besides YN and Harry, went out for their lunch break. Harry had asked if she would help her tweak the soon-to-be third track on the album, Carolina.

Since waking up from the sex they had in the lounge, they hadn’t brought it up—though it didn’t disappear. There would be moments where it loomed over them, heavy and unrelenting. It took everything in them not to bridge that specific gap, took everything in Harry not to bend her over the soundboard to feel her again, took everything in him not to fall to his knees before her, hugging her legs while he cried about how he was helplessly falling for her.

It was the hottest day of the year, and though the air conditioner was humming in a low buzz, the air was thick with warmth. The kind of still, lingering heat that made everything feel slow and hazy, like time itself had paused for a moment. Harry picked up his guitar, fingers brushing over the strings, testing the familiar weight of it in his hands. The sound of the first strum seemed to melt into the air, easy, relaxed, as if the room itself was humming along to the rhythm.

She kneeled down, across from the spot Harry sat on the floor, guitar in lap. She pressed on certain strings on specific parts of the neck, eyes flickering between Harry and the instrument expectantly. They both knew the notes and the chords, the tone it could give. “Try those notes.”She murmured, moving Harry’s Hand from where it sat on the neck to where she wanted his fingers to be. Her touch was delicate, and if Harry didn’t reground himself he would’ve forgot what was happening all together. “Lean into the groove more?” Her words were laced with a light chuckle as she stood up, looking back down at the brunette on the floor. “Loosen up a bassline, could add some layered harmonies, something subtle, but it'll give the track more depth."

Harry's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement that always seemed to come alive when YN shared her thoughts. She had this uncanny way of making the most complex ideas sound simple. He nodded eagerly, strumming a few playful chords, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty studio. "Yeah, that's it.” He whispered to himself excitedly, already hearing the song in his head. He began playing, the cords, melody bright and carefree, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the strings.

The atmosphere shifted almost instantly—no longer weighed down by deadlines or pressure, but filled with something light. Harry stood up without a word, the grin never leaving his face as he strummed the revisioned tune, the guitar hanging casually from his shoulder as he waltzed across the room, his voice bouncing with the light-hearted lyrics. The brunette’s footsteps were lazy, carefree, his long legs carrying him in wide, exaggerated circles as he moved with the rhythm, his laughter spilling out between the lyrics. It was easy—so easy—that the line between the song and the moment blurred.

“She’s a good girl.”

his voice bright and full of mischief as he twirled past her, catching her eye. He wiggled his eyebrows, a playful challenge, daring her to join in.

YN couldn’t help herself, he was infectious . She laughed, the sound so genuine and pure it filled the air. She pushed away from the soundboard, and before she could even think of hesitation, she was dancing and hopping around in time to the music, letting herself get lost along with him.

“Such a good girl”

She really was, like when he buried himself between her legs a few weeks ago.

The hem of her dainty sundress swept around her shins in a slow, lazy twirl. Her laughter mixed with the sound of the guitar, light and unguarded, like the weight of the world had lifted, just for this one moment.

Harry’s voice followed her as he floated around, his fingers never missing a beat. The melody was effortless, the chords bright and warm like the fading summer light that filled the room. His gaze flicked toward her every few seconds, catching the way she moved, her arms outstretched as she spun in gentle circles, her hair catching the golden light in soft waves.

The whole scene felt like something out of time, like they had stepped into an old, grainy film reel—faded sun, carefree laughter, and the kind of simplicity that made everything else fade into the background. There was no rush, no pressure, just the music and the way they moved through it together.

Harry kept playing, his voice growing louder, more animated, as he circled back to her, his laughter echoing in the small space. He swayed, leaning into the guitar as he strummed, almost tripping over a cable but catching himself at the last second with a dramatic flourish. YN continued her movements, her arms floating through the air, soft and unhurried, like she was dancing with the music itself.

And then, in one smooth motion, Harry waltzed closer, standing just a few feet away from her as he played the final chorus. His smile was wide, eyes bright with the joy of the moment, and YN met his gaze with the same carefree energy, spinning one last time before she collapsed against the stool, breathless from her giggles.

The last chord hung in the air for a moment longer, lingering like the final rays of sunlight spilling through the window. The room was still humming with the energy they’d created, the echoes of their laughter and the bright notes of the guitar lingering in the walls. Harry let the guitar slide gently to his side, leaning against the stool as he caught his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with YN’s, her face flushed and glowing. He was grinning, the kind of grin that reached his eyes and made his dimples crater.

For a second, everything felt perfect, untouched by the noise of the outside world. It was just the two of them, the fading summer light, and the echo of a song that hadn’t yet been recorded but already felt like it was carved into their shared memory.

All he wanted to do was kiss her again.

She was perched on her chair now, her legs crossed, still smiling from their little impromptu dance. She glowed with the warmth of the sun filtering in through the window. The carefree, playful energy between them began to settle, but the air didn’t lose its charge. Instead, something softer slipped into the space between them, a kind of comfortable quiet as they both let the last traces of laughter fade away.

Harry wiped a hand across his forehead, pushing back a few stray curls as he looked over at her, the easy grin still tugging at his lips. The guitar rested against his knee as he sat down, but he didn’t play, didn’t move. He was just watching her now, the way her fingers traced absentminded circles on the edge of the stool, the way her gaze was still bright with that unguarded laughter. It was rare to see her like this—unguarded, fully present—and Harry found himself caught in the moment, not wanting it to end.

Just as that night in July, when we pulled her into her chest to sleep for the night—when it felt like he could call her his as he wrapped his arms around her, basking in their afterglow.

YN let out a soft sigh, the last of her breathless laughter leaving her, and when she looked at him, her expression shifted. Something quieter, more serious. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something almost reverent, like she was seeing him—really seeing him.

“You know, Harry.” She smiled, her voice gentle but firm, like she was about to say something important. “This album–” There was a pause as she exhaled through her nose, but it was light from her enthused realization. “It’s going to go down as a classic. It’s real. You’re real. Your talent, the rawness of it—it’s something people won’t forget.”

The words landed between them like a weight, soft but undeniable. Harry felt his heart skip, his smile faltering just slightly as her words settled in. He’d heard compliments before—so many, often thrown around casually—but this… this was different. The sincerity in her voice, the way her eyes held his, unflinching, unwavering, as if she wasn’t just saying something kind, but something true.

For a moment, the room seemed to shift around him. It was like the air grew thicker, the light softer, the world quieter. He felt exposed, in a way he hadn’t expected, like her words had peeled back a layer he’d been hiding under, a layer he hadn’t even realized was there. The compliment wasn’t just about the music, wasn’t just about the work they’d been doing. It felt personal, like she saw him—not the version of him the world saw, not Harry, the soloist, but him, Harry. The guy trying to figure it all out, pouring every piece of himself into this album, hoping that it would matter.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, and for a second, he wasn’t sure what to say.

He thought about telling her thank you.

He thought about remaining speechless.

No one had told him something like that in a long time—not like this, not with this kind of weight. He could feel his chest tightening, his pulse thrumming a little too fast, the gravity of her words sinking deeper than he thought they would.

He thought about her words.

He thought about her.

“YN, I—” He started to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe she understood him more than he’d ever realized. Maybe that was why her words felt so heavy, why they struck him in a way nothing else had. Because they came from her.

He thought about how much he wanted to say he was starting to fall in love with her.

But before he could say anything else, the door to the studio swung open with a loud creak, breaking the moment like a pebble dropped into still water. The team was back, their voices filling the room as they filed in, the soft hum of conversation and the shuffle of papers cutting through the silence that had wrapped around him and YN.

“Alright, alright, back to it.” Jeff chuckled, ever the dad friend, clapping his hands as he made his way toward the control board. The mood shifted, the studio returning to its usual buzz of activity, the easy rhythm of work settling back into place.

Harry blinked, the spell of the moment breaking as he straightened up, shaking off the sudden heaviness in his chest. YN gave him a small, knowing smile, her eyes still holding a trace of the warmth from before, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She’d already said what mattered.

She knew the look in Harry’s eye.

She had thought about how much she missed him.

She thought about how much that scared her.

With a soft sigh, Harry adjusted the guitar on his lap, nodding as the team gathered around, discussing admin details, technical tweaks, and publicity strategies for the album’s release. The room was buzzing again, the easy laughter and lightness of earlier replaced with the steady hum of work. But Harry’s mind was still lingering on what YN had said, the quiet sincerity of her words looping in the back of his mind.

As the evening stretched on, the work became more mechanical—emails, calls, planning—but Harry’s thoughts kept drifting back to her. He couldn’t shake the way she drifted around the room earlier, like a dandelion wisp dancing in the wind. How her laugh sounded so pretty he wanted to put it in a song. How real it had felt when she’d looked at him and told him what his music would become. It was a compliment, sure, but it was more than that. It was a belief. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like someone saw him exactly as he was, and believed in him all the same.

That day at the studio soon began to draw to a close, the golden light from earlier now softening into deep ambers and long shadows. The room, once buzzing with activity, had fallen into a more relaxed rhythm as the team packed up their things, saying their goodbyes with tired but satisfied smiles. The project was moving, inching closer to the finish line.

Harry leaned back, watching from the corner of the room as the last of the crew made their way to the door. The sounds of zippers closing and bags being slung over shoulders filled the space, each member of the team calling out their see-you-laters, their voices fading as they spilled out into the hallway. One by one, they disappeared, until the door swung shut with a final, quiet click, leaving just Harry and YN behind.

The silence settled in slowly, wrapping itself around the room like a warm, familiar blanket. It was the kind of silence that felt more like a presence than an absence, thick and heavy with something unspoken. Harry ran his fingers over the neck of his guitar one last time before placing it back on its stand, the metal strings catching the fading light. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was trying to hold on to the quiet a little longer.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that YN was still at the small table near the edge of the room, shuffling her things about. She was moving slower than usual, her hands hovering over her notebook, lingering on the scattered papers like she wasn’t quite ready to leave. Harry chuckled softly, the sound breaking the stillness.

“Need help with all that?” he asked, his voice airy, teasing in a way that felt natural between them.

But YN didn’t respond right away. She kept her eyes down, focused on her things, but her movements were stiffer now, less fluid. There was something different in the way she stood there, something quiet but undeniably present—an undercurrent of tension Harry couldn’t quite place. He felt the air shift, that familiar warmth between them suddenly giving way to something more solemn, more guarded.

“YN?” Harry asked, his voice softer now, his smile fading as he stepped toward her. “Everything alright?”

She looked up then, her eyes catching his for the briefest moment before she quickly glanced away again, like she couldn’t hold the gaze for too long. Her expression was calm, but there was a tightness in her jaw, something held back, something she wasn’t sure how to say. She let out a soft sigh, the weight of whatever was on her mind finally beginning to show.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She started, her voice low and measured, like she was carefully choosing each word. “August thirty-first.” She bit the inside of her lip momentarily. “It’ll be my last day here. My internship—it’s ending.”

The words landed between them like a quiet echo, reverberating in the space left behind by the day’s fading energy. Harry felt the weight of them settle in his chest, heavier than he had expected. He knew the internship wouldn’t last forever—of course, he’d known that—but hearing it out loud, hearing it from her, made it feel real in a way he hadn’t prepared for.

For a moment, Harry didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her, trying to make sense of the sudden tightness in his throat. It felt like the air had been knocked out of him, but he didn’t quite understand why. She was still there, right in front of him, but the idea of her leaving, of this chapter ending, hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Your last day.” He repeated quietly, more to himself than to her, his brows knitting together slightly.

YN nodded, but she didn’t look at him. She busied herself with the papers in her hands, though it was clear she wasn’t really doing anything—just moving things around to avoid the heaviness of the conversation. The atmosphere had changed, charged with an unsaid emotion. It reminded Harry of the way people talk about those long, hot August nights, the kind where the sky is still bright at 9pm, but you can feel autumn creeping in around the edges, making the warmth feel both infinite and fleeting.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet breath as he leaned against the control board. He wasn’t sure what to say.

Part of him wondered if it was because of the sex. A part of him wanted to ask her to stay, to find some reason to keep her there, keep things as they were. But he knew he couldn’t. That wasn’t the way the world worked, no matter how much you wanted to freeze a moment in time.

“How come?” He finally asked, his voice quieter now, softer in a way that mirrored the dimming light of the room.

YN shrugged slightly, her shoulders barely moving. “I’ve known for a bit. It’s temporary, only a summer internship.”

Harry nodded, understanding, though the weight in his chest hadn’t eased. It was hard for him, realizing that after all the late nights, the music, the moments shared, things would change. And YN—who had always kept that quiet distance, who never let anyone too close—wasn’t just leaving the studio. She was leaving him, even if she didn’t mean it that way.

The room felt smaller now, the silence between them growing heavier with every passing second. Harry looked down at his hands, tracing the worn edges of the soundboard with his thumb, searching for something to say that wouldn’t feel like an end.

“I’ll miss you.” He admitted solemnly, the words simple, but honest. They hung in the air like a truth too big for him to admit, they hung in the air like three words she wouldn’t have believed if he said it.

YN smiled then, a small, bittersweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She still looked guarded, her walls firmly in place, but there was something soft in the way she glanced up at him, like maybe she felt it too—the finality of the moment they were both trying to avoid.

“I’ll miss you, too.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

And for a brief, fragile second, it was just them again, standing in the soft glow of the studio lights, the world outside forgotten. The weight of time, of change, of things left unsaid—all of it hung between them, heavy but delicate, like a glass teetering on the edge of a table.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting to say more, to ask her something, anything to keep her there a little longer. But before he could find the words, the moment slipped away, the weight of reality settling back in as YN turned away, gathering the last of her things.

The light from the hallway spilled into the room as she reached for the door, casting a long shadow across the studio floor. Harry watched as she stepped toward it, his heart heavy with the knowledge that everything was about to change, whether he was ready for it or not.

YN hesitated in the hallway, every nerve in her body begging her to leave. Her heart sat heavy in her chest, tongue in cheek as she turned back around, opening the door back up with trembling fingers. She stood in the doorway, cracked enough for her frame to linger. A stripe of the nauseating white light of the hallway waned over him and he remained in the same place she had left him moments ago. “Harry.” She muttered, her voice low, almost weary. There was something in the way she said his name, something different—like maybe she wanted to say more but didn’t know how to.

He perked up, his tummy doing flips. The pearly glow behind her made her seem ethereal—angelic. “Yeah?” His tone gentle but searching, like he was trying to pull something unspoken out of the quiet between them.

She looked at him then, fully, her eyes catching the last remnants of the dim light in the studio. For a moment, the guardedness slipped, just a fraction, and Harry could see something underneath—something vulnerable, something that felt a little like goodbye.

“I’m really glad I got to work with you.” YN’s voice was delicate, her words carrying a weight that made it threaten to crack. “This–this has been more than I ever could’ve asked for.”

She was referring to more than just the music and the internship.

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t know what to say to that—didn’t know how to tell her that she wasn’t just some random, throwaway intern to him, that these past few months had meant more than just music and late-night studio sessions. She had become a part of his world in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now that she was leaving, it felt like something vital was being pulled away, leaving him standing on unsteady ground.

“Me too.” He confessed, though he could’ve said more. Harry’s voice was quieter than he intended, his hand running over his face from a feeling he couldn’t admit.

The words hung in the air, soft but honest. YN had seen parts of him that few people did—had understood his music, his vulnerabilities, in a way that made him feel seen. And now, the thought of her not being there—of her walking out that door and leaving all of this behind—made him feel strangely untethered.

YN’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. She looked down at her shoes for a moment, the tip of her sneaker nudging a stray cable on the floor. “I didn’t mean to stay so late.” A weak attempt at lightening the moment. But her eyes betrayed her, the flicker of something deeper still lingering behind her words.

Harry took a step closer, closing the distance between them just slightly. “You know.”Harry mumbled, his tone lighter now, though the heaviness between them still lingered. “This feels a lot like a goodbye when y’have a few weeks still.”

YN glanced up at him, her smile fading into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess we do.” She let out a breathy chuckle, though her voice sounded distant, like she was already somewhere else in her mind.

Silence settled between them again, thicker this time, like the room itself was holding its breath. Harry wanted to say more—wanted to ask her what came next for her, wanted to tell her that maybe things didn’t have to end here—tell her to stay. But he didn’t. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with all the emotions he wasn’t sure how to name.

After a moment, YN shifted her bag on her shoulder and let out a soft breath. “I should get going.” She sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s late.”

Harry nodded, but his chest felt heavy, like he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “Yeah. Right. Let me know you got home okay.”

YN’s smile was small, almost bittersweet. She began to turn in the doorway, her movements slow, like the action of leaving pained her. He sent her a small wave as she gave him one last glance, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

The summer had begun to slip away quietly, the August sun sitting lower in the sky at earlier hours. The air was different that day—thicker, heavier with the weight of something ending. There was a finality to the way the light filtered through the studio’s window, soft and hazy, like the last days of vacation in an old photograph. Everything felt suspended, as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.

Harry had known this day was coming. He’d tried not to think about it, tried to focus on the album, on the music, on the thousand little tasks that came with putting it all together. But today was different. No matter how much he had tried to push it out of his mind, the date had circled back around, staring him in the face.

August thirty-first.

YN’s last day.

He arrived at the studio earlier than usual, the streets outside still quiet, the early morning light pale and soft against the burning. The usual buzz of excitement—the thrill of working on his debut album—was muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that by the end of the day, YN would be gone.

As he set his guitar in the corner of the room, he caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. She was already there, sitting at her usual spot by the control board, her notebook open in front of her, a pen poised between her fingers. She was focused, scribbling something down, but her movements were slower, more deliberate today. Harry could tell. She knew it too.

The room was quieter than usual, the hum of the equipment the only sound as he walked over to her. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It felt like there were a hundred things left unsaid, hanging in the air between them, waiting to be acknowledged. But neither of them said anything. Not yet.

“Morning.” Harry said softly, settling down into his chair across from her. He didn’t dare to greet her with good morning, because it really wasn’t. Not today. He didn’t know when it would be again.

“Morning.” She murmured, voice almost resigned, not looking up from her notebook. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and Harry felt his chest tighten.

They spent the morning working in the usual rhythm, going over the last details of the album. It should have been a day like any other, but there was a tension under the surface, something neither of them could quite shake. Every moment felt like it was leading up to something, like the end was creeping closer with each passing minute.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the studio had filled with the usual buzz of people—producers, assistants, technicians—all busy, all focused. But Harry’s mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing over at YN, watching the way she moved around the studio, the way she interacted with everyone, like it was just another day. But he could see it in the way she lingered on certain tasks, the way her eyes scanned the room as if she was memorizing it.

It was nearing the end of the day when the rest of the team began wrapping up, gathering their things, making plans for the next session. The sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting the room in that soft, golden light that made everything feel both beautiful and bittersweet. Harry watched as the others said their goodbyes to YN, one by one, thanking her for her work, telling her to stay in touch. She smiled, gracious as ever, but there was a faraway look in her eyes, as if she were already one foot out the door.

And then, it was just the two of them.

The door clicked shut behind the last person, and suddenly the room felt much bigger, the space between them much quieter. Harry stood by the window, his hands in his pockets, watching the light fade as the day slipped into evening. YN was still by the control board, slowly packing up her things—her notebook, her pens, the little scraps of paper she’d scribbled ideas on over the past few months. Her movements were slow, deliberate, holding onto to the moment just a little longer.

Harry turned to face her, his pulse thrumming a little too fast. He wasn’t sure what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this moment, not really. He had spent the last few weeks trying to avoid thinking about it, but now, standing there in the dimming light, he realized he still didn’t want her to leave.

“Are you all set?” He asked quietly, his voice sounding too casual for how much dread he felt inside.

YN glanced up, her eyes meeting his for the first time all day. There was a flicker of something there—something that matched the weight in his chest—but she quickly looked away, zipping up her bag with a small nod.

“I guess so.” She forced a smile, standing up from her chair. “I think that’s everything.”

The silence that followed felt as if nails scratched an old chalkboard, stretching out between them like a line drawn in the sand. Harry took a slow breath, trying to steady himself, trying to find the words he hadn’t been able to say all day. He watched as she slung her bag over her shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the soundboard one last time, like she was saying goodbye to something bigger than just the room.

Harry wanted to ask her to stay, wanted to tell her that things didn’t have to end here—that maybe, just maybe, there was more for them beyond this room, beyond this summer. But he couldn’t. He knew her too well by now, knew that she had already made up her mind.

“I guess this is goodbye then.” She frowned, eyes glasses over.

His stomach lurched. She had his number, of course, but Harry didn’t know if she would keep in contact. He didn’t know she would erase the summer from her mind to ease her heart. Harry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat causing him to wince. “Goodbye, YN.”

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The room was bathed in the last traces of sunshine, everything feeling suspended in time. And then, slowly, YN stepped toward the door, her fingers brushing the handle. She paused, glancing back at him one last time, her expression unreadable.

And he caught himself. The all too familiar lump in his throat at a dull ache, the tip of his nose tickling as he felt tears well up. His feet moved faster than he could think, just a blink of time, and his hand was wrapped around her forearm, pulling YN away from the door. “That’s it?” He asked, his cheeks flushing red and his voice cracked. “That’s all?”

She frowned, her nostrils flaring as she willed away her tears. She adjusted the tote on her shoulder, averting her gaze from Harry to the wall behind him.

“Stay.” He pleaded, she only shook her head.

Stray tears fell from his eyes, heartbroken. “I can have them extend your internship, or something—please.”

Her eyes met his again, stomach twisting at his tears. “Harry that’s a hand out.” She muttered, sighing with a sadness she tried to push away. “I have to move forward.”

He sniffled, lighting placing his hand on her cheek as he brought her into a kiss. His tears made his lips wet, nose too stuffy to breathe through it—but he didn’t care. He figured this was goodbye, for a while.

Her lips were stilled against his until she melted into it, but it was fleeting. She placed her hand upon the one he had on her cheek, removing it as she pulled her face away. She intertwined her fingers with his, placing a few soft kisses to his knuckles.

He only stood there, lips quivering with tears that were unable to stop. As she began to loosen the grip on his hand, putting his arm back to his side, an audible cry left his mouth. It wasn’t loud, barely above a whisper, but it was there. “Y’pinky promised me.” He shook his head, “That we would stay friends.” He took a deep breath, wiping away some of his tears. “But I know you’re gonna disappear on me.”

This time she let her tears fall, taking a step away—the guilt was allconsiming. “Take care of yourself, H.”

And just like that, she was gone as quick as she came.

But that was two months ago, and Harry was right—she barely kept in contact with him. He tried not to take it personally for a while, seeing as she didn’t update her socials as much either. She disappeared just like a snuffed out flickered flame of a candle.

She would respond occasionally, curious to know if he was okay, how the album was going. It was always fine.

Fine, fine, fine.

But he wasn’t fine, it wasn’t fine. He missed her, Harry felt that she broke their promise. And he wanted to be angry, to block her from his mind, but he couldn’t.

He was planning to fly to LA to finish the rest of the album in late September, but couldn’t do it. He remained in New York, not ready to let go of the many things created in that studio.

It was two in the morning as he stared at the bright glare of his phone, the recently sent attachment of the final cut of Carolina staying the dismal state of delivered.

He knew she had her read receipts on, which is why he didn’t swipe away from their messages—heart thudding against his chest as he waited to see if status would ever change to read.

Of course, undeniably so, the song was about another girl. But now it felt like a contradictory, because the only thing he thought about when listening to it was YN.

He knew now that he loved her, that he was in love with her the minute she sent her nod of approval for the From the Dining Table recording.

He was a walking joke to the saying of, she fell first, he fell harder—because he fell first, and then fell even harder.

Harry groaned, shutting his phone off and letting it slip into his lap as he leaned back onto the bed. The heel of his palm sat against his eyes, the pressure allowing for the kaleidoscope of colors and patterns to play on the inside of his eyelids.

He wondered if slamming his head against the wall would feel better than the ache of heartbreak.

However, he didn’t want to test that theory out. He’ll let it remain as a hypothesis for now.

His hands brushed down to his sides, his vision fading back to normal as he stared at the ceiling. He wanted to see if he could go to sleep, maybe even watch a movie—but his phone vibrated against his thigh and he swore the world stopped spinning on its axis for a beat.

He hesitated to look, if it was another weather notification he would probably lose his mind.

But he sat up anyway, grimacing as he clicked the power button, dreading the possible sight of the familiar blue icon.

Yn: everything i imagined it to be and more

Yn: forever proud of you harry styles

His shoulders faltered, a frown settling upon his lips.

h: I miss you.

YN stared at the message, lips parted. She still sat on the bathroom counter where she had been for the last ten minutes, smooshed close to the mirror in attempt to shape her eyebrows.

But as soon as she saw the song attachment pop up three minutes ago, the tweezers remained in its clattered state in the sink.

When the song emitted from her phone she couldn’t help but smile, she swear she could’ve floated. And then she cried.

h: I have 2 more songs to finalize before we send it through to be released next year.

h: Miss picking your brain.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a pause in her breath. She wasn’t sure what to say. Part of her wanted to respond right away, to fill the silence with words, to close the gap between them that had grown wider with every passing day since she left. But the other part of her—the part that had been protecting her heart all these months—wanted to stay distant, to keep things as they were, safely tucked away in the past.

YN sighed, running a hand through her hair as she glanced at herself in the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. The one who had walked out of the studio with a heavy heart and the quiet resolve to move forward, to start anew. But that resolve was wavering now, and Harry’s words were making it impossible to ignore the ache she’d been trying to avoid.

Her phone buzzed again. Another message.

h: Still time to come back, you know. We could finish the album together.

Her heart clenched at the invitation. She could picture him, sitting in the dim light of his apartment, maybe lying in bed, the soft glow of his phone the only thing lighting up his face. She imagined the look in his eyes as he typed the words, that same softness she had seen in him so many times before—when they worked late into the night, when he caught her staring too long, when he let his guard down just enough for her to see the vulnerability underneath.

But she had walked away for a reason. She knew what it would do to her—how easy it would be to fall back into the rhythm of working with Harry, of getting lost in his music, in him. And she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. She wasn’t sure if she could handle the intensity of what lingered between them, the unspoken connection that had grown stronger with every conversation, every glance, every laugh shared.

She didn’t know if she wanted to take the risk to be left again.

h: Please. Just think about it.

Her fingers trembled as she typed, mouth ran dry. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew she couldn’t leave him hanging.

Yn: i’ll think about it

It was short, maybe too short, but it was all she could offer in that moment. She stared at the message for a long time before hitting send, her stomach twisting with the uncertainty of what came next.

On the other end, Harry stared at his phone, his heart sinking as he read her reply. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. It was something in between, something that left him in limbo, waiting for an answer he wasn’t sure would ever come.

He sat there in the silence of his apartment, the city outside moving on as it always did. He wanted to see her again, wanted to finish what they’d started, not just with the music, but with whatever had been building between them all those months. But he knew he couldn’t push her. YN was careful, guarded, and he had learned that the hard way. She had her reasons for keeping her distance, reasons she had never fully shared with him.

But still, he hoped. Hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’d come back. That maybe, for once, she’d take a chance.

And so he waited, the phone resting in his lap, the weight of the unsaid words heavy in the room around him.

The days passed slowly after that, each one blending into the next as Harry focused on finishing the album. He threw himself into the work, pouring all of his energy into the final tracks, refining the sound, changing some lyrics, adding new elements.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The songs were good—great, even—but without YN’s input, without her presence in the studio, it all felt a little hollow. He missed her—missed her laugh, missed the way she’d furrow her brow when she was deep in thought, missed the way she made him feel like he didn’t have to be Harry Styles all the time. With her, he was just Harry. And that was enough.

He loved her.

He hadn’t heard from her since that night. No messages, no calls. It was like she had disappeared all over again, slipping out of his life as quietly as she had entered it.

It was November sixteenth when his phone buzzed again, a message lighting up the screen. The sky was dull, a harsh breeze whipping around the branches of trees—gearing up for a downpour. His heart raced as he saw her name, his fingers fumbling to unlock the phone.

Yn: you’re in ny still?

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected to hear from her again, not after weeks of silence.

h: Still here. Why?

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Yn: i’ve been thinking about you

It was as if the system his body needed to stay alive had paused, his mind racing with possibilities. He couldn’t believe it—after all this time, she was finally considering it.

h: If you ever feel ready, I’m right where you left me.

Another pause.

Yn: it was ever just about the album h

Her message hit him like a punch to the chest, the weight of it settling in slowly. He had known—of course, he had known—but seeing it there, written out in front of him, made it all the more real.

Harry stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he tried to find the right words. But what could he say? He felt the same way, had felt it for months, but he hadn’t known how to tell her.

He attempted to, the day she left, cried even. But she walked away before he had the chance to continue.

h: I know.

It was simple, but it was true. He did know. He had known all along.

Yn: are you still recording at the same studio?

Harry’s heart leapt at her words, a surge of hope flooding through him.

h: Yeah, actually here right now. Brainstorming by myself for a bit.

Yn: buzz me in. i’m outside

Harry blinked, rereading the message a few times, the tips of his fingers all pins and needles

Outside.

She was there—outside, in the cold, waiting. Without thinking, he shot out of his chair, the legs scraping the studio floor with a harsh screech. His phone almost slipped from his hand as he fumbled to send her a quick reply. His movements were so frantic he had forgotten to press send.

He grabbed his jacket, threw it over his shoulders, and bolted for the door, his mind racing. She was here.

He wondered if he should slow down, would it be weird to greet her breathless at the door?

He rolled his eyes at himself. stop overthinking.

The hallway lights flickered slightly as he made his way down the corridor, his steps fast. He wasn’t sure what he would say, wasn’t sure what she would say, but none of that mattered. All he knew was that she was here, and that was enough for him right now.

When he finally reached the front entrance, he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the buzzer. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions bubbling inside him. There was a weight to this moment—something bigger than just a simple reunion. He could feel it, like the air had thickened with all the unsaid words between them.

He pressed the button.

A soft buzz echoed through the small space, followed by the familiar click of the door unlocking. Harry pulled it open, stepping out into the crisp November air. The wind whipped around him, biting at his skin, but it didn’t matter because there she was.

YN stood a few feet away, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, her hair tousled by the wind. Her face was partially shadowed in the dingy light from the streetlamps, but he could still see her eyes—those same eyes that had watched him in the studio all those months ago, the ones that saw more than most people ever did.

The eyes of a girl he fell so pathetically in love with.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other in the cold, neither of them moving. It was like time had paused again, just as it had so many times before when they were alone in the studio, surrounded by music but drowning in something deeper. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, unsure how to break the silence.

Finally, YN spoke, her voice quiet but steady, cheeks flushed from both her deepening blush and the cold. “Hi, Harry.”

The sound of her voice hit him like a wave, familiar and comforting, and all the tension he’d been holding onto seemed to unravel at once. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and smiled, though his heart was still racing. “Hi.”

It was such a simple exchange, but it felt like everything. For weeks, Harry had been caught in this strange limbo, not knowing if he’d see her again, not knowing if the distance between them was permanent. But here she was, standing right in front of him, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like things were finally shifting.

“It’s cold.” His voice is light, jutting his chin ever so slightly to the outside that existed around them. “Come in, please.”He felt unsure of how much to say, how much to push.

YN hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering toward the door behind him. She shifted on her feet, the wind catching the ends of her coat and lifting it slightly. For a second, Harry thought she might say no, that maybe she was having second thoughts. But then, she gave him a small nod, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Harry held the door open as she walked past him, the familiar warmth of the studio wrapping around them both as they stepped inside. It was quiet—just the two of them now, the usual noise of the team gone for the night. He led her down the hallway toward the control room, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears, thoughts spinning with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to.

When they reached the room, Harry gestured toward the seat she’d always occupied—the one by the soundboard where she’d spent so many hours offering ideas, tweaking lyrics, helping him make a few songs what they were. YN paused for a second before sitting down, her hands resting in her lap as she glanced around the room.

“It feels the same.” Her laugh was breathy, a sadness to it. Her eyes lingered on the equipment, the scattered notes, the half-empty coffee cups that still littered the space. “Like nothing’s changed.”

Harry sat down across from her, his fingers brushing absently against the neck of the guitar that leaned against the chair. “Not much has.” He admitted, his voice quiet. “Except for you not being here.”

She looked at him then, searching his face, and Harry felt that familiar pull—the one that had always drawn him to her, even when she’d kept herself at arm’s length. There was something in her gaze, something heavy with unsaid words, and he wondered if she could feel it too.

A beat had passed. “I missed this, she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed you, H.

His cheeks felt hot, the words landing between them like a confession. He swallowed, his chest tightening with the weight of everything he wanted to say in return.

“I missed you too.”Harry murmured, the truth of it echoing in every syllable. And for the first time in months, the silence between them didn’t feel so heavy. It felt like maybe, just maybe, things were starting to fall back into place. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.

She shifted on her feet, eyes falling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was sincere, dripping with the guilt she’s battled for months. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I needed to take some time, figure things out.”

He nodded, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He would’ve tried to look better if he knew he’d be seeing her today. “It hurt.”

She pulled her lips between her teeth, eyes glossed over as she nodded. She had to look away, not able to face him. She knew she had done to him the same thing she was so afraid of—she just left. It gutted her for a while, wanting to reach out and apologize. She had this anxious feeling he wouldn’t forgive her. Rightfully so.

But it’s Harry.

He ran his hand down his face, a swirl of emotions becoming a cyclone within him. He frowned, seeing how spaced she was—as if she wasn’t here. “You need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

His tone was a bit more straightforward than he originally intended, but it was the truth. She showed up asking to be buzzed in, he felt as if he shouldn’t be the one digging.

She shook her head, trying to blink away some of her tears. “Guilt, sorrow, you.”

He nodded, looking at her expectantly to finish. He wished she could say her feelings as fast as she could walk away from them, but she was trying at least, and it felt like a start.

She inhaled shakily, running her fingers through her hair as her lip continued to tremble. “Guilt for leaving you the same what I feared being left.” Her voice had a tremor, her breaths a bit quicker. “Guilt for not saying sorry sooner. The pain of missing you—.” She whimpered, the same as Harry did the day she left.

“The guilt and sorrow will fade.” Harry murmured, his heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Y’just to work through it, don’t ignore it.”

YN wiped her cheeks, fingers shaking as she tried to regulate her breathing.. “And you?” Her voice was small, fragile, afraid of the answer.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Me?”

“Have I lost you?”

He frowned, the words caught in his throat. The question felt like it knocked the air from his lungs, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. The silence stretched between them, unbearable. He let his shoulders falter, “I love you, YN.”

The words hung between them, raw and unfiltered. It was stripped of all pretense, just the truth he carried with him for months. He watched her for any sort of reaction, and she just kind of stood there. He wondered for a moment if he even said anything, if it was just loud in his head but he actually had just left her hanging. “I love you.” He repeated, just in case.

"I–” She tried to speak, but her voice cracked.

She swallowed hard, tears still clinging to her lashes as she searched his face. The pain, the guilt, the regret—it was all still there, but beneath it, there was something else, something softer. Something she had kept hidden for so long, she wasn't sure how to let it out. “You do?”

He nodded, remaining vulnerable. He had no clue if she would reciprocate, or if she’d just walk away if met with the familiar fear. “Think I always have.”

For the first time, it didn't feel like there was a barrier. It felt like something was breaking, something that had been keeping them apart for far too long.

Without thinking, she reached for him, her fingers brushing against his arm, tentative at first, but then firmer as she closed the distance between them. He didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close. She melted into him, her face pressed against his chest as the tears flowed freely now, the weight of months of separation, guilt, and pain finally slipping away.

Harry held her tightly, his chin resting on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body against his. This was what he had been missing—this. Not just the music, not just the friendship. It was her. All of her.

"I love you," he whispered again, the words soft and full of promise. "I’m here."

It was them, just them—like she’d never left.

[openphrase123]

What's your workflow for planning and then executing a long-term project, like the massive fics you write?

this is how i do fanfics And also original stuff and it's how i've been writing for like ten years (your mileage may vary though i think long project planning is a different kind of beast depending on the person.

also this is the same process as i have for making other media too but obviously with the language tweaked to fit the media (like this is how i plan and execute my game, too!)

have a scene or concept haunt me so thoroughly that i write a short speculative piece about it. if you get here and it's good but can't get past the next step, that's a sign it's meant to be a cool oneshot instead of something multichaptered

decide why i'm making it. what question am i trying to answer, what themes am i trying to explore?

write 2-3 chapters of it freeform style, not caring about where these scenes are going or how they flow into each other (for things that aren't fics, this can just be like. a small section of what it Is). if you're not feeling it here this is a sign to make the scope smaller and make the piece as short as you can tolerate it for. if you are feeling it, this is where you're figuring out the overall tone and style of how the wider work is going to go

figure out the ending. write the ending scene now if you have to. you can change it later but you need to know generally where you want to go

make an outline. how many sections do i need to get from the opening scene to the ending scene? what happens in each chapter?

for ME and how i post, if this is a fanfiction, write at least 25% of it before posting a single thing. or if nothing else write 3 weeks of updates.

start posting

vibe and write at least 3 weeks in advance. if you need a break you need a break. it's free fanfiction, people get it.

now, some creators will be like "whatever you write, take out 10% of it to be economical" this is the modern writer's equivalent of the devil talking. you need the fluff. you need the downtime. you need the epilogue. slow your fucking stories down. let people marinate in them. yeah if you're writing something short form or in a specific format you might need to take stuff out but if you're writing fanfiction or a novel or a game and there's no limit on how long it is. don't worry about spending a couple pages dicking around. every piece of human media from the dawn of time has had interludes, B plots, long meandering pieces of fluff... it makes the parts where the story Hits really stand out. inutile's tragic moments wouldn't be as effective if there weren't fun jokes or levity interspersed in between

that said you need to know when to stop adding shit. only put things in that you think you have a reasonable time to address fully and completely. you will learn this the hard way one day and i cannot teach this or stop you from making this mistake. i learned this mistake writing homestuck fanfiction when i was 13. but in my defense it's really easy to go overboard with homestuck fanfiction

panic because i'm like 90% of the way through and tired of it and start doubting whether the story was ever good at all and if this was wasted time

finish it. celebrate. wait like two months

reread my own work and say "this is sick as hell"

(if this is original work, this is where you start editing it. this is a different beast. i will not elaborate here. fanfiction is for fun and is at the same level as my original fiction drafts. on a rewrite everything will be more polished and purposeful)

repeat forever and ever as long as there are stories to tell

also. this one is just me because it's how my brain works. but ideally i work on two/three longform projects at once, so that when i get tired of working on one my brain will go "ooh shiny" and latch onto one of the other ones effortlessly. if you have adhd this will either work for you perfectly or it will ruin your life

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

For the fic ask game: ✑ PROCESSING for “and if you don’t love me now, you’ll never love me again”

Thanks for the ask!! <3

(for this ask game)

Okay so, and if you don't love me now, you will never love me again likely started out with the fact that I had never successfully written a Broken Link fic despite TRYING many times. I think one or two people have actually seen the drafts of one of my early ds9 wips (c. 2020) that had Broken Link + garashir as a focus, but it was such an unfixable mess that I long ago abandoned it haha. Luckily no writing - even the stuff that goes blessedly unpublished - is ever wasted effort, because Broken Link thoughts continued to percolate in my head for years, which is Step 1 of the process. :)

Step 2 was coming up with the specific plotbunny of garak kissing julian goodbye before julian went down to the planet and then, later, julian being more mad at garak for the bad timing of when he finally asked him out, than for garak having just tried to destroy the planet he was standing on (it's all just part of the bad timing!).

Step 3 is to forget whether or not you started writing this plotbunny, only to learn it's actually just been a daydream on loop in your head. I only know this happened because I was trying to get a timeline for the writing process for this post and found a message I sent in March 2023 saying something like "haha oh yeah I just remembered a cool wip I started awhile ago (or thought I had started writing, because I can't find it now)..." The outline was def drafted and developed in DMs.

Step 4 is to use the Chakoteya transcripts as a reference for the episode while writing a rough first draft. I think I did rewatch the episode once or twice at some point to confirm that the missing scenes I'd written made sense in the chronology of it (I think I may have had to rearrange things after one of the rewatches, like I think I at first set the first scene in the hallway outside of the infirmary, but that was BEFORE Garak's convo with the Founder, so that made no sense and I had to rewrite it). Also, I tend to draft in bursts, and then edit super slowly.

Step 5 is to have a seemingly unrelated great idea for an Extreme Measures fix-it fic where Julian kisses Garak goodbye before they both go off to do their dangerous things that they might not survive. And then to realize that both of these fics are nearly the same concept. And then use that realization to fuel my evil writing powers and fan the flames of my inspiration, and, like, compare and contrast between these two points in time and between which of them is the one initiating the first kiss that is also a goodbye kiss. <3 Sometimes you just have to work on the exact same fic multiple times simultaneously, you know how it is. I finished "kiss me hard before you go" first because it was for an event that had a deadline haha.

Step 6 is to continue to let the mostly complete draft simmer for weeks and/or months, while editing and tweaking and trying to think of a title and deciding how to finish up ONE (1) bit of dialogue. Luckily I did finally find a PERFECT title (Garak knows that Julian won't love him after what he's about to do - also the song the line's from is called The Chain, and the episode is about The Great Link, so that's just a fun lil bonus), and I think I brainstormed with you and Dill in order to nail down the last bit of dialogue I needed.

I hope you've enjoyed this!! <3 My memory is really bad so I hope I am representing my writing process somewhat accurately hahaha

[nyaagolor]

Spirit of Justice rewrite

Had a moment where I really got thinking abt the game and went into rewrite mode— I don’t think I’ll expand on this concept for a bit because I have to finish DGS and have other projects I’m more invested in, but figure it couldn’t hurt to just throw down the ideas I have before I forget. Under the cut so I don’t clog the dash!

So first things first the biggest change I would make is relegating this game to spinoff land. My biggest issue with SOJ as a whole is how steeped the narrative is in some weird colonialism, and I think just taking the main cast out entirely could remedy Most of that. At the very least, making the entire cast Kuhrainese gets rid of the whole “we need foreigners to come and fix our legal system” thing, which is my main problem with the plot

Due to the above, Phoenix / Maya / Athena / Miles / etc are taken out completely. Apollo is too integral to the plot, so he gets replaced with an OC that serves as our protagonist. My current placeholder name for him is Hermes, but in this post I’ll just call him Protagonist

Protagonist keeps a lot of elements of the Apollo backstory— he’s the son of a traveling musician who died in the fire that “killed” Amara and was adopted / raised by Dhurke. I am tweaking it so that he’s 4 years younger than Nahyuta, mostly bc I thought that was canon the entire time

Instead of being sent to America, he’s sent to a temple. Dhurke assumes that because Nahyuta has royal blood, he’ll be safe at the castle and can safely keep an eye on things / his mama, while Protagonist gets sent to the temple because killing a monk would be a political disaster and that’s the only way Dhurke can think to protect him

Protagonist really wants to help the cause though, so he runs away from the temple at some point to become a bard-like figure, collecting information and helping the revolution while being a traveling musician. Using his status as an entertainer, he gets into places he otherwise wouldn’t to get intel and secretly studies law on the side

When his friend from his temple days (Ahlbi) is accused of theft and murder, he takes up the mantle of his adoptive father to defend him in court! No idea what his gimmick, if anything, will be. I think Dance of Devotion is enough but we'll see

Nahyuta’s plot is something that’s still very up in the air, but atm my biggest change is that he knows about Amara’s hiding and is being blackmailed to protect HER, not Rayfa. I’m unsure if I wanna keep the Rayfa sibling thing or not, but in spite of that the two are actually closer than in canon

Another big change is that because everyone is Kuhrainese and Ema is no longer in the game, there’s no detective! That’s where Rayfa comes in. I’m still shaky on the in-universe reason for her acting as quasi-detective, my current idea is that it’s imperative for her to get as much detail as possible so she can more accurately make her insights. Really I just wanna see more of her

By consequence, she’s around investigations much more often, following around both Protagonist and Nahyuta. Nahyuta in general just shows up more outside of the courtroom, and him and Rayfa have a strong bond and lots of banter with each other and the protagonist

Another slight tweak is that this game’s timeline is changed, taking place in the 90s and not the 2020s. The literal only reason for this is that I think Nahyuta studied abroad to learn about other legal systems and came back with the most out of touch 90s slang ever. He wears shutter shades in court

Final tweak for now is that the civil trial aspect of Turnabout Revolution is cut entirely, instead being replaced with a flashback case— Dhurke defending himself from the arson and regicide accusations with Datz as his co-counsel. It's simultaneously horrifying and silly

that's it for now! I might add more to this if I think of anything else :)

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere rivals Lance vs Keith ~ (platonic/ romantic vibes for both if that makes sense ?) with a paladin in training ?

I haven't finished the show but I did do some research. If things seem wrong or out of character that's why. I got impatient and really wanted go write this also it's been in my drafts for a bit :( I may rewrite this in the future if it makes no sense.

(AU where Darling is trained to be the Blue Paladin by Lance and Keith-)

Edit: I actually want to flesh this out at some point, I can make this AU work with more tweaking lol.

Yandere! Lance vs Keith

Ft. Paladin-In-Training! Darling

Potential Voltron: Legendary Defender Spoilers/Black Paladin! Keith AU

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Jealousy, Dubious companionship, I'm going against canon plot intentionally for once in my life, Manipulation, Leans platonic but either works, Possible OOC characters I apologize in advance, Overprotective behavior, Controlling behavior, Mature language at one point, Slight violence, This is mostly just them being competitive.

There's two ways I could tackle this.

I could've written this with Black Paladin! Keith and Red Paladin! Lance but I also could've done a more general version with them still as their previous colors.

For this I'll base it sometime after Keith gains the Black Lion and Lance swaps to the Red Lion with research I did but in an AU. (I'm sorry if things seem off due to this :()

When the Blue Lion lacks a Paladin after Shiro's connection got severed from the Black Lion, something needed to be done.

A Paladin is needed for the Blue Lion... and you were chosen.

How you meet Lance and Keith is through your training.

Zarkon is still a threat and you can't form Voltron without the Blue Lion.

Essentially the gist of this is Lance and Keith act as teachers towards you, that was the idea in my head even if it doesn't make sense in canon.

Let's bend canon a bit as much as I hate to.

Obviously Lance is going to want the job of teaching you.

He knows the Blue Lion better than anyone, right?

Meanwhile Keith wants the job as he thinks if you connect with him it'll help connect to your Lion faster.

Lance is still a bit teasing and playfully flirty with you but is mature.

Keith still has to keep him in line yet it's easier than when they were beginner Paladins.

Keeping this general they both mostly have a mentor role with you.

Hunk and Pidge help you with training at times but Keith and Lance are your main teachers.

Lance sometimes brags about being your main mentor due to his past connection with the Blue Lion.

Keith shuts him down by reminding him that he's still leader.

They're both protective yet stubborn.

There's times they'd fight as they've been rivals with each other even before their new roles (according to Lance for the most part).

In terms of who you'd be the closest with... it depends.

You could be close to Lance, due to how often you train together and how playful he is towards you.

Learning to be a Paladin can be stressful and he wants you to stay in a good mood with him!

He teaches you how to use your Bayard, which appears to give you a preferred weapon you'd use.

He even teaches you how to properly use your Lion, you need to truly connect, after all.

Lance loves to praise you... he thinks you're a good fit for the Lion he used to use.

Keith is more serious and protective with training.

As the Black Paladin he feels it is his duty to teach you bravery in battle and how to use your given weapon in battle.

It's mostly Lance giving you Lion training and Keith giving you battle training.

Depending on which training you like more is who you're closest to.

This kind of rivalry isn't entirely violent it's more just competitive.

Their obsession just starts as who can train you better.

When you get closer to them that's when it swaps to something a bit more than competitive.

The two trust each other but they get jealous.

Lance gets more jealous than Keith.

Keith didn't have to step in...

He could've taught you battle tactics and Lion techniques alone!

Keith thinks Lance is being petty as usual, but secretly wishes he could train you alone too.

Paladins need constant training, when the two do train together it's harsher than normal.

It's like they're trying to one-up each other and it's almost always Lance instigating it.

Lance tries to make the whole rivalry all about impressing you.

Keith hates that you make Lance give into past behavior and wishes the Red Paladin would get ahold of himself around you.

Keith's much calmer as a leader, more stoic even.

He gives into his protective behavior when you're threatened.

In fact, your safety is the one thing that makes them work together and drop the rivalry momentarily.

What kind of teacher would either of them be if they allowed you to be hurt?

In this scenario they aren't really the kidnapping type of yandere.

They are sometimes violent but keep their composure around you.

Pidge and Hunk admit they fight and are competitive with your attention, but tell you they mean well.

They both care for you, platonic or romantic.

They'll work together when they need to.

They'd both be controlling at times, unfortunately.

Lance manipulates you into staying with him longer by using training as an excuse.

Keith is... uh... busy! So, Lance needs to train you in battle now!

Keith finds this irritating.

Keith uses his role of leader to get payback by giving Lance another task instead of training, allowing Keith to help you with your Lion.

Which pisses off Lance.

They may fight but they can work together when it's needed.

They applaud you when you're able to form Voltron for the first time with them

They both know with their training, you'll be a good edition to Team Voltron and defend the universe alongside them both.

Even if they do fight over your attention behind the scenes.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hi, 👋 I’m currently in a writer’s block but also trying to note down some writing exercises to get me into the groove again. Do you have any exercise tips for writers?

PS: I just heard a cover of My Immortal (original song by Evanescence) and immediately thought of Good Omens. My brain is also connecting every song with Good Omens. Help!😅

Anyways, I hope you have a fantastic day/night whenever you’ll answer this!😊

HELLO ANON MAGGOT HELLO IT'S THE NIGHT AND I'M ON BLACK COFFEE AND YOU HAVE PICKED THE RIGHT PERSON TO ASK I'VE BEEN INHALING BOOKS ON WRITING FOR ALMOST AS LONG AS I'VE ACTUALLY BEEN WRITING.

OKAY NOW LISTEN YOUR LIL EARS UP. I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU SOME EXERCISES, AND THEN I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU ADVICE FOR WRITER'S BLOCK. GOT IT? KAY LET'S GO WRITERS.

FIRST, WRITING EXERCISES.

NOTICING. NOTICING, NOTICING, NOTICING. LOOK AROUND YOU AT THE THINGS YOU SEE, THE PEOPLE YOU KNOW, THE TEXTURES YOU FEEL, THE SOUNDS YOU HEAR, EVERYTHING. AND THEN WRITE THEM DOWN. JUST KEEP DESCRIBING. YOUR BRAIN MAY NOT BE ABLE TO COME UP WITH FRESH MATERIAL RIGHT NOW, BUT IT CAN DESCRIBE THINGS. A BONUS, THIS WILL REALLY HELP THE QUALITY OF YOUR DESCRIPTIONS, SINCE YOU'LL BE ABLE TO PICK INTERESTING DETAILS AND KNOW WHAT TO LEAVE OUT.

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS WRITING. THIS MAY BE A BIT HARDER, BUT JUST START WRITING ABOUT WHATEVER COMES TO YOUR HEADS. ANY THOUGHTS, PUT IT DOWN. DON'T BOTHER ABOUT THINGS LIKE PUNCTUATION OR GRAMMAR OR SENSE. JUST KEEP WRITING WHATEVER ARRIVES. IF THIS GETS HARD, YOU CAN MAYBE FIND A PROMPTING WORD TO GET YOU GOING. A BONUS, THIS WILL TRAIN YOUR WRITING TO BE MORE SPONTANEOUS AND NATURAL RATHER THAN ARTIFICIAL OR MANUFACTURED.

WRITE WITH A PURPOSE. PICK ANY INCIDENT FROM YOUR LIFE, SOMEONE ELSE'S, ANY INCIDENT WILL DO AS LONG AS YOU HAVE ENOUGH DETAILS OR CAN COME UP WITH THEM. NOW WRITE THAT INCIDENT DOWN THE WAY YOU WOULD DESCRIBE A SCENE IN A BOOK, BUT WITH A CATCH: FIRST THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO CONVEY. FOR EXAMPLE, IF THE SCENE IS JUST YOU BURNING BREAKFAST WAFFLES, COME UP WITH DIFFERENT PURPOSES. FIRST WRITE IT WITH THE PURPOSE OF CONVEYING YOUR CLUMSINESS TO THE READER. THEN REWRITE IT WITH THE PURPOSE OF DEFENDING YOURSELF AND BLAMING THE FAULTY STOVE. THEN REWRITE IT WITH THE PURPOSE OF CREATING A SENSE OF FEAR AND AN ATMOSPHERE OF HORROR. THEN REWRITE IT AS A COMEDY. A BONUS, THIS HELPS YOU FOCUS YOUR SCENES AND KNOW WHAT DETAILS TO GIVE ABOUT AN EVENT TO SERVE THE SCENE'S PURPOSE IN THE STORY.

OKAY I'VE GONE ON A LOT IDK MAYBE Y'ALL WANT ME TO SHARE MORE WRITING EXERCISES? SOME I'VE LEARNED AND SOME I COME UP WITH IT'S ALL WILD. IDK LET ME KNOW IF THAT'S SOMETHING YOU WANT. I NEVER SHUT UP ABOUT WRITING ONCE I START.

AS FOR YOUR WRITER'S BLOCK:

LEARN MORE. ROBERT MCKEE SAID IN HIS STORY THAT WRITER'S BLOCK IS MORE A LACK OF INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR STORY AND YOUR WORLD. DO MORE RESEARCH ABOUT YOUR WORLD, CHARACTERS, STORYLINE, ETC. TAKE THIS WITH A PINCH OF SALT I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO DOWN A RABBITHOLE OF RESEARCH AND NOT WRITE.

REVIST THE STORY AND PREMISE. ASK YOURSELF WHY YOU HAVE WRITER'S BLOCK. COULD IT BE BECAUSE THE STORY NO LONGER AFFECTS YOU AS DEEPLY OR IT ISN'T AS IMPORTANT TO YOU ANYMORE? ARE THERE THINGS YOU NEED TO TWEAK SO WRITING IT IS SOMETHING YOU CARE MORE ABOUT? THIS ISN'T ALWAYS THE CASE BUT STILL. IF YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR STORY IT'S UNREASONABLE TO EXPECT ANYONE ELSE TO.

WRITE SCENES OUT OF ORDER. OKAY, THIS IS HOW I FINISHED THE FIRST DRAFT OF MY DEBUT NOVEL. I JUST WROTE WHATEVER SCENE I FELT LIKE WRITING AT THE TIME. DURING THE SECOND DRAFT I REWROTE THE ENTIRE THING IN ORDER. BUT THIS WAY I KNEW I CARED ABOUT THE SCENE I WAS WRITING AND IT WAS AUTHENTIC. JUST SOMETHING THAT MIGHT HELP.

THERE ARE MORE BUT IG THIS POST IS GETTING LONG I HOPE THIS HELPED ANON MAGGOT GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR WRITING!!!!!!! IM SORRY THIS IS IN CAPS LOCK IT COULDN'T BE HELPED. HAVE A LOVELY DAY AND MAY YOU WRITE MANY WORDS.

PS: ALSO MY IMMORTAL JUST REMINDS ME OF @patoslover'S CURSED MY IMMORTAL X GOOD OMENS FIC NOW HELP

[the-owl-tree]

on that note, if you were going to rewrite the sisters/write a similar group, what sort of approach would you take? ( planning on doing something like that if the motivation gods bless me)

i've made some big changes for the sisters for my beanie blog (pspspsps @askwcbean) but I think it really depends on the group you're trying to create. I wanted to keep the Sisters as a sustainable, self-growing group but keep some of the flaws (their strong sense of a gender binary). I don't want to make a utopian society out of spite, but I do want to make a society that could reasonably survive. Soooo (a combo of my ideas & stealing from others):

my collection of bullet point ramblings under the cut

The Sisters are very open to those willing to join and learn. They are a collection of loners, rogues, and kittypets. Not only does this keep our bloodlines less janked up, but it makes sense as to why the group can keep a reasonable amount of cats - they aren't closed off like the clans.

They'll often adopt abandoned kits, cats who are in bad situations, and generally anyone who is willing to learn and work with the group. This is a group that relies on diplomacy and good relations with others, they should be very open to outsiders.

Get rid of the super special bloodline thing. It's both a personal and practical thing, it doesn't work for a group like this. Have being able to see spirits be something you can be taught

I'm not giving Tree super special ghost powers. Sorry, I'm going to forever make fun of his novella it's so fucking stupid. He can see ghosts and has a heightened sensitivity to them, but it takes multiple Sisters and Brothers to be able to summon ghosts into views.

Keep the "Mother" kittypet origin story.

But how do they function? Well, the Sisters seem to operate a fairly small group, it doesn't really make sense to me for them to need a centralized structure. So, going for a decentralized system in the Sisters, power is distributed across the group and there is an emphasis on teamwork and decision making on all parts.

Choosing representatives for when meeting new groups tends to fall on reputation, charisma, and experience. Moonlight was chosen for these reasons, but she does not control the entirety of the group, though cats will lean on her words when she gives advice. She doesn't have legitimate power like a Clan leader, she relies on social influence and respect. Her word isn't law, but she does carry some weight due to her experience.

The Sisters have a fairly strong gender binary: Brothers, Sisters, Mothers, Fathers. You can be one or the other, they'll try to work around those who feel they don't fit for either role....but it doesn't always work out. I lean towards this not being decided by agab, you can shift from Brother to Sister and vice versa, it's those cats that don't exist in that binary who may feel out of place (but this is a wip idea and I want to tweak it more before i commit. i know for sure that Bean is one of those cats who doesn't want to fit this binary and is why she left to take up a "Brother" role despite not seeing herself as a Brother. I don't want them to treat them poorly, though it can happen, but that there's a lot of...reluctance to try and expand their ideas for these cats).

Toms don't get kicked out as babies. It's dumb, sorry everyone who likes that. There's no real logic to it besides a very half-assed attempt at trying to expand on the Sisters beliefs and even then, a kid with no training would get the shit kicked out of him by the wilderness lol

So, Brothers are socialized and trained on how to survive on their own. They're given information on medical herbs, hunting and gathering skills, best material to build dens and where to find a makeshift one in case of an emergency. Once again, this is not suddenly thrust upon them, they are socialized, this is something that they are believed to be as completely natural and an expectation for them.

When they are sufficiently deemed to be ready, the Brother is sent out to find a territory. They just don't just wander around (because I mean...the Sisters fill that role. They're nomadic). This is where I am yoinking a bit from others (notably bonefall's take on them), these territories act as base camps for the Sisters during their travels when they need to restock on herb supplies, have an injured or pregnant member, young kits, etc. That's why it's so important to them to have as many wide varieties of camps across their travels, and it's why Tree and Moonlight have some tension upon their meeting.

Boy picked a bad territory in their opinion, but in his defense, he didn't pick it for the Sisters. My base idea for these is Tree had a bad bad outing, but it needs work. I'll keep their strained relationship, but I'd like a little more depth to it just than the Erins beloved eeeeevvuuuulll mommmmyyyy (sooo scary!).

The Sisters believe they have a duty to help put spirits to rest, as well as help more malevolent ones find peace in the afterlife. They help with hauntings, lingering spirits, malicious spirits, etc.

They work in groups! The more malicious the spirit, the more Sisters it will take to pacify them and eventually release them from whatever is trapping them to the mortal plane.

Annnd so far that's what I've got! I have some more spirit lore over on my Bean blog, but this has been my working ideas for the Sisters themselves. Hope it helps :D

[gmariam19]

Well, I'm still working on the other fic snippet I shared-just need those last few lines that wrap it up. So I started another one-shot, the angry one. It's named Shouty Fic on my desktop, so I should probably start thinking about a better title. It's one of those fics I could probably tweak forever but that I will eventually have to stop editing and rewriting and just post. They are almost done arguing, so maybe I'll actually be able to post one of them this week! In the meantime, here's the opening to the Shouty Fic. Thanks for reading!

***

The meeting finally ends, and everyone slowly files out of the new command center. Except Finn. Finn, who had missed the holo-call with the representative from Akiva. Finn, who looks both apologetic and apprehensive. Finn, who Poe misses so much but can’t bear to look at right now, because he is so close to the tipping point. He begins gathering his things, waiting for Finn to speak first, half hoping he doesn’t.

“Look, Poe, I’m sorry,” Finn starts. He’s said that a lot lately. He’s been working hard, Poe knows that. They all have. Finn is learning about the Force, he’s helping Jannah’s company settle former troopers surrendering across the galaxy, and he’s trying to be the co-general he said he would be. Only he’s gone more than he’s not, and Poe is usually general on his own. He misses those first heady days and weeks when they really did lead together, make decisions together. Celebrate every small victory together. He sighs, his earlier anger dissipating into the smothering disappointment he feels most of the time now.

“It’s fine.” Poe turns away, sensing that Finn wants to say more, but determined to avoid the confrontation that’s been brewing for weeks. “But I’m tired, so I’m going to bed. Big meeting coming up.” He didn’t want to go to Akiva to help set up a peacekeeping force, but perhaps it would be good to get away, and at least he might see Wedge and Nora.

“Wait,” Finn says, and Poe can sense the other man’s frustration, which only adds to his own. Finn is standing in the middle of the room, his shoulders tense, his eyes uncertain. “I want to talk about it. We need to talk about it.”

“We?” Poe echoes, turning around with an air of frustration. He’s been having an even harder time than usual controlling his quick-trigger responses, at least when it comes to this. To Finn. “What do we need to talk about?”

“We need to talk about this trip, for one,” Finn replies. “But mostly about us. Why this is happening.” He motions between them. “Why we barely talk, why you’re always so mad at me, why—”

“The trip was already discussed at the meeting. And we don’t talk because you’re not around.” Poe is blunt. Maybe it’s not the whole truth, but it’s the biggest part of it. Finn is simply not there anymore. “That’s why. And I’m not mad, Finn. I’m tired. Literally and figuratively in every sense of the word.” He’s more disappointed than mad, though when he thinks about why he’s disappointed, then he gets angry. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, after the war.

Finn narrows his eyes, shakes his head. “Look, I’m know I’ve been busy, but you have too—”

“I’ve been doing my job,” Poe snaps. “The one I inherited three months ago when Leia died. The one I thought you were going to be a part of, that we were going to do together.” He wasn’t going to go there, but now that he has, maybe it will help him with the deep resentment that has been building for weeks as they drift farther and farther apart. Maybe he should have said something a long time ago.

“I am!” Finn exclaims. “I am a part of it.”

“Doesn’t feel like it. You’ve spent the last three months doing more Jedi training, more trooper support, than—you know, It’s fine.” Poe waves it away. He suddenly doesn’t want to get into it anymore, it’s too much. Easier to bottle it up, like he has been. “We’ve managed, so let’s just forget about it. I’ve got to get ready for Akiva.” The unspoken alone hangs in the air between them.

The look on Finn’s face is confusion crossed with hurt, which doesn’t do anything to lessen Poe’s resentment. What doesn’t the other man understand? Poe has been handling almost everything on his own while Finn trains and travels and occasionally checks in. Finn missed the entire meeting on the upcoming conference on Akiva, when Poe had expected him there. Of course Poe is upset. Then Finn opens his mouth and throws guilt into Poe’s mix of complicated and overwhelming emotions.

“You said you were happy for me,” he says quietly. “That you understood—why I wanted to learn about the Force, why I wanted to work with Jannah. You said you were proud.”

“I was,” Poe says, and Finn’s face falls. Misstep, and he feels bad, he does. No matter what Poe may be going through, he doesn’t want to lash out and hurt Finn. “I am—although sometimes it’s hard. Finn, I do understand, but understanding doesn’t make it any easier when half the galaxy is still putting out the fires of the First Order and the other half is riding my ass about what happens next! I’m tired!”

“You keep saying that,” Finn points out. “But I think you mean something else.”

[scribefindegil]

22, 24, 29, and 58 for the writing asks?

22. Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

I will never write a long-form tragedy. Can't do it. It would get inside my head and eat me alive.

Other than that . . . I have fewer hard rules and more preferences. I have my niche but I'm open to a lot of things if I find the right story for it. Like, I'm 99% a genfic writer and have very minimal interest in shipfic but one of these days I am gonna make Reigen Arataka smooch that ghost. There's a lot of horror content and tropes that I won't touch (though I can write more than I can read), but obviously Brassica Heresy is a horror fic. I don't care about smut but there is (theoretically) a fic I'm working on that has a sex scene because it's necessary for exploring the character's ace identity, something I do care about. So like . . . a lot of writing really comes down to the execution, and how the story element is being utilized in that particular piece of writing. I'm not necessarily going to throw any style or genre off the table entirely, even if it's not a tool I think I'm likely to use.

24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

Every version of "Think Critically About Your Writing" that spirals around to "You have to actively refute every possible bad-faith reading of your story in the text itself or you are a Bad Person who writes Problematic Things for Bad People" :/

29. What’s your revision or editing process like?

I do split-screen, with my Shitty First Draft on the left side of the screen and a shiny new blank document on the other, and then I completely rewrite the thing and edit as I go. Sometimes big chunks of the Shitty First Draft are actually very good and I retype them with only minor changes, but a lot of the time I end up adding and reworking huge parts of the fic. If I've been very cursed or ended up having to do first-draft-style writing for whole scenes or otherwise feel super unsatisfied with what I've written as Draft Two I sleep on it and if I still feel bad I copy the new version over the old draft and rewrite it again. But I can't rewrite more than twice; then I know I'll just start overthinking. And if I'm doing it more than once I need to pinpoint exactly what about the previous version wasn't working, as opposed to the first draft which I mostly treat like a helpful scaffolding. Once I have a draft I mostly like I read over it again for flow and diction and make any minor tweaks it needs. And then depending on how cursed I am I either post it or throw it at a friend while wailing bc I'm too tired to tell if it's any good or not. Usually it is Fine. I have not learned from this.

58. What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most? (Brainstorming, outlining, writing, editing, etc) 

The best best best part of writing stories is when you've been wrestling with a thorny little plot or character problem for days and Suddenly the solution descends on you as if from the heavens and you feel absolutely intoxicated with power as you think about how this is going to make all the little bits and pieces you've been worrying about Work!

The second-best part is editing when you get to fine-tune the Foreshadowing and the Iconography :)

[heartstringsduet]

Hey Michelle!

As a "First Aid" adorer, first I'd like to say I'm soooo obsessed and in love, I am in with this fic already! 🥰🥰🥰

Secondly, would you mind talking a little about what needed to be cut/rewritten? Ofc I know it's probably all spoilery so I don't expect like in-depth secrets but was it 'only' a scene that wouldn't work? Or maybe later on something happens or someone learns something that you felt wasn't built up enough? Was it a plot detail not really working out?

hey Vera, what a wonderful ask 🥹🥹🥹🥹 Thanks for your kind words!! Actually it was in huge parts to very attentive readers and commenters that I felt like I really wanted to flesh some things out and give more of a foundation for the truly very spoilery future chapters. I had to add one more buffer chapter that slows things down and is a bit of a set up and delete a huge scene (5k sob) because it might have still worked plot-wise but it felt like exchanging it for a more poignant scene would work even better. I like that scene still but the fic is 140k...some thing have to go. The rest will hopefully largely stay as it is even if I still might tweak the ending lol. But generally, the rewrite is more of a "I want the later chapters to feel earned and well founded" But you don't know how long the snippet graveyard for that story is. Like...30k+ cut at least. There is a cut scene in which TK' and Arturo's bar went verrry differently, and Arturo was a lot more evil but I want him to be human and yeah maybe not the best cousin but not a villain. There was also a scene of Carlos and TK getting tattoos that I don't think fits lol.

[harveyhawkscripts]

[AA4A] Bargaining With a Mercury Dragon [Mercury Dragon speaker] [Warforged speaker] Lost Brother Pt.3

AN: Hello! So, funny story, but I totally forgot to allow Google Doc access for my last two scripts! That’s fixed now :P Also I went ahead and made this a series, so I’ll go back to edit the titles of the previous scripts to reflect that. Part 1 ; Part 2 

Google Doc

Usage:

- Okay for monetization

- Please credit me as Harvey Hawk :)

- Tweaks, improv, and pronoun changes are okay! Just please do not rewrite the script completely.

Synopsis: On the search for the listener’s brother, the listener and their Warforged love come across a strange trader. A trader that also happens to be a Mercury Dragon! They do some bargaining and learn some valuable information regarding the listener’s brother. The Mercury Dragon speaks quickly and is inspired by Dungeon Dad’s video! 

Key:

[SFX and Action]

(.) Short pause

(...) Longer pause

(Voice instruction)

Word Count: 1249

—

WARFORGED: We’re making good progress, my dear. It won’t be long now before we reach the guild. That being said, perhaps we should stop for supplies in the next town. You’re getting low on food, and I could use some more oil for my joints.

Yes, and we can ask around if anyone has seen your brother. I’m sure someone must have seen some – look out!

[Whoosh!]

Are you alright, my dear? What in the world was that?

(.)

Oh, my gracious! Wh – that – that’s a dragon! Get behind me!

(.)

That’s strange. It isn’t attacking. What’s it doing?

(.)

Is that… a backpack? How odd…

(.)

Hold on, what’s it doing? It must be readying a spell. Stand back, my love. I’ll take care of this.

(.)

Stay back, dragon! I’ve fought beasts larger and fiercer than you yet!

[Magic SFX]

WARFORGED: Be wary, my dear. It’s taken on a humanoid form. Who knows what it’s up to?

MERCURY DRAGON: Easy, easy, my metal mate! I’m no threat to you or your dear little human. I’m a simple trader, yes, just a trader.

WARFORGED: A… trader?

MERCURY DRAGON: That’s right! I couldn’t help but overhear that you two are looking for some supplies. Well, I have all sorts! Cooking supplies, killing supplies, magic supplies, whatever fits your fancy! Care to take a look?

WARFORGED: No, thank you. We’re just trying to make it to the next town.

(.)

(To listener) Oh, my dear, are you serious? You really wish to peruse their wares? What if they’re a charlatan?

(.)

(Sigh) Very well. I suppose we might find something useful.

MERCURY DRAGON: Hello hello, little human. Ooh, you smell like saltwater and impudicus. You’re not from around here, are you? Must’ve been a long travel, yes? Yes, I can tell!

(.)

Oh, I have plenty of oil. Vegetable oil, tea tree oil, snake oil, any oil!

WARFORGED: We aren’t in the business of oiling snakes, thank you very much.

MERCURY DRAGON: Of course not, of course not. You need this industrial all-purpose oil, yes? What will you give me for it, hm?

(.)

(To listener) Oh, I don’t take money, dear. I have more… unconventional tastes.

WARFORGED: Perhaps we should keep moving, my love…

MERCURY DRAGON: No no no, whatever you’re thinking, no! Believe me, I’m not looking for anything untoward. But I’m not your average trader. For me, one cannot equate the value of an object to gold. There are so many factors that make something valuable – rarity, sentimentality, historical, gold simply won’t do! At my traveling trade shop, the money doesn’t matter. What does matter is if you have something I want. Savvy?

WARFORGED: So, you just make up the values? That hardly seems fair…

MERCURY DRAGON: It is totally, one hundred percent fairly fair! What say you, my dear?

(.)

(To listener) Excellent! What do you have to offer, then?

Ooh, a blood red ribbon! Without a tear or a stain. Very pretty, very pretty!

WARFORGED: Ah, dear, I hardly doubt a ribbon is worth –

MERCURY DRAGON: I’ll take it! Anything else for you, dear?

(.)

Unfortunately, I don’t sell food. It goes bad much too quick, you see, even too quick for someone as speedy as me.

WARFORGED: If I may, there is something else we need. My partner here is searching for their brother. Is there a chance you’ve seen him?

MERCURY DRAGON: Mmmaybe. Maybe not. What’s he look like? What’s he smell like? Age? Sign? Tell me about this brother of yours.

(.)

I see, I see. Well, that certainly does help.

WARFORGED: Well? Have you seen him?

MERCURY DRAGON: Hmph. Information isn’t free, tin man.

WARFORGED: Tin man? Why, I –

(.)

MERCURY DRAGON: Ah, a pendant! Let me see, let me see!

Why, this… This is the symbol of the Brightbone Steeple! A runaway, are you? Very risky, very risky. This pendant, though… I don’t have anything from the Brightbone Steeple, now, do I? Very interesting indeed… Very well. I will tell you what you need to know.

I did see a young man who fits your description. A week ago, perhaps a week and a half, I saw a group of adventurers wearing the Kestrel Guild’s crest. They were headed North, and I caught them for a few minutes of bartering. The one matching your description, dear, gave me this in return for a sword.

WARFORGED: A book of bedtime stories?

MERCURY DRAGON: A book of handwritten bedtime stories, meaning it’s one of a kind, meaning I just had to have it!

(.)

(To listener) Give it to you? But I just got it! Why would I give it to you?

WARFORGED: Why, because he wrote those stories for them!

MERCURY DRAGON: Did he? Not my problem.

WARFORGED: But they gave you the pendant!

MERCURY DRAGON: That was for the information.

(.)

(To listener) If you can offer me something better than the book, then you can have it.

(.)

What do I want? Well, what can you give me?

(.)

A dagger? I have twenty. Try something else.

(.)

Your cape? Mm… it is a nice cape, but no.

(.)

You don’t have anything else? Then I’m afraid we have no deal then, my dear.

WARFORGED: Wait just a moment, beast! They may not have anything that catches your interest, but perhaps I can offer you something.

MERCURY DRAGON: And what could you have that I want, Mr. Roboto?

WARFORGED: This. It’s a one of a kind bracelet. I should know – I made it.

MERCURY DRAGON: And what makes it one of a kind?

WARFORGED: Because I made it myself – from myself. Sort of. You see, I forged it in the fires of my own spark. It has a piece of my inner metal weaved into – it’s even engraved! Truly, you will never find another bracelet like this.

MERCURY DRAGON: Oh? Let me see it. Hm… ‘To my dearest cleric, with love.’ Oh, how sweet! I’ll take it! Here you go, dear. The book, as promised.

(.)

WARFORGED: Ssh, it’s alright, my dear. I wished to give it to you after we found your brother, but… well, I suppose that won’t be possible now. But it’s worth it if you can get your book back. If it would make you smile, I would give up anything.

MERCURY DRAGON: Oh, what a touching display! But now I must be off. Thanks for the bracelet.

[Magic SFX]

Ta~

[Whoosh!]

WARFORGED: I’m sorry, my dear. I really wanted you to have that bracelet. I understand if you’re upset.

[Kiss]

WARFORGED: Oh. You’re welcome, my dear. Like I said, it’s all worth it if I can see that sweet smile on your face.

(.)

WARFORGED: The bracelet? Well, it’s – rather, it would have been – a promise of sorts. A promise to stay by your side for as long as I’m able. A promise to keep you safe and make you happy.

(.)

I do already do those things, do I? I suppose I do. Then, perhaps the bracelet is not necessary.

[Kiss]

I love you, too, my dear. Now, let’s keep moving. We’ve just got a big lead on your brother. Shall we continue to the guild to gather more information or try to catch up with them going North?

(.)

Very astute. To the guild, then. Perhaps we can find out where your brother and his group were headed.

(.)

After you, my dear. Off we go.

END

[thecoramaria]

I always love hearing about other people's processes, and it's especially interesting since even though I usually just polish up my "first" draft, I'm noticing myself become more of a reviser lately.

So to summarise my process, here I go:

Zero Draft: This is something between an outline and a first draft. It has some descriptive details, specific actions, and dialogue, but it isn't real prose. It actually looks like a colour-coded, very visual outline at a glance anyway, with collapsible cards for each scene. (I outline in Milanote.)

Zero Draft Structural Edit: So, after the outline is done, or sometimes during the drafting process, I'll notice big or medium plot points that need to be changed, and thus adjust the outline/zero draft accordingly before I actually get around to drafting them. Basically I want to avoid a situation where I get 10k words deep into something that I realise isn't working and thus need to scrap, and so far, I've been pretty good at that.

First Draft: Now, do I include most of the details, actions, and dialogue from my zero draft here? Nope! Often the planned details don't fit well with the tone of the draft. I'm pretty loyal to the broad strokes of the zero draft though. To me, first drafts are never about the big picture, but the details. Thus, what I write as my first draft is pretty close to what I end up posting. However, I will often get about 200-500 words deep into writing, realise it isn't working, move those words to my "Cut scenes" doc, and then rewrite from the last point where I felt like the scene was on the right track.

Mark-Up: So I'll often read my own writing for fun or just when I don't feel like drafting but still want to feel productive working on my fic. When I do this, I'll highlight lines and passages I'm not sure about, or make comments for sections that I think don't work/need a rewrite.

Structural Edit/Rewrites: I'll often make a checklist of things that need to be rewritten, chapters/scenes that need to be rearranged, etc. My structural edits don't usually involve a lot of rewriting, but that has been on the rise for me lately, for a reason I'll explain in a bit. Usually structural editing to me is combining or splitting up chapters, or deleting paragraphs at a time. Basically, everything that remains is still from my first draft.

Copyedit: This often happens concurrently with the structural edit, but copyediting is when I focus on the prose itself. Does this sentence need to be here? Should there be a paragraph break? Would the character really say it like that? How can I phrase this sentence to be more impactful? Sometimes, if a chapter has a fair bit of rewriting, I'll give it an extra copyedit. By the end of this edit, the goal is that all mark-ups have been resolved.

Final Proofread: This is where I'll make the "final" tweaks and corrections. I always read out loud during this part anyway, so I record myself for the podfic at the same time.

Podfic: So once the recording is done, the prose is set in stone, but when I'm editing the podfic, I'll sometimes spot a line or two to cut. I rarely rerecord anything because it results in inconsistent audio quality, so this part helps me learn to let go of constantly editing and refining my work as well.

So why is my process beginning to involve more revision?

One phrase: the stations of canon. Book 1 of my trilogy followed canon's formula pretty closely, so I had some solid guidelines to build my plot around. It was the perfect stage to create an interesting twist on canon... and then subvert it.

This created a scenario where the plot of Book 2 breaks away from the canon formula, and it means I have to come up with a cohesive plot from scratch. It's much harder to create a clean first draft that doesn't need much revising because there's a greater margin of error and thus more to fix.

That's why I think how much revision a story needs can be highly dependent on how different it is from common plots and formulas, be they canon or fanon. When you try something new to you that you might not have many examples of (writing a super niche and uncommon au vs coffee shop au), it's a lot harder to "get it right" since you're the one figuring out what does or does not work. It's why I have a beta-reader helping me out with Book 2 while I went it alone in Book 1.

Another factor behind why I'm doing more revision is that I have a loooooong backlog that's over 100k long, so it's also possible that my writing style has improved so much that a lot of errors of my writing from tens of thousands of words ago are more noticeable to me, so there's that.

When writers refer to first/second/third drafts are they rewriting their entire work over again? I typically just read through a few times and make some changes as I go, not a full rewrite

It depends on the writer, but for the most part it's not a full rewriting from one end of the story to the other.

Most of the time, it's more "reworking" than it is 'rewriting." Finding a passage that doesn't flow correctly or realizing some event needs to come earlier or later in the story. Revising would also be a good term for the drafting process. Taking the original shape of what's been written and cutting a bit here or adding a bit there to get the end result that you're looking for.

I'm a one and done kind of writer, personally. First draft best draft 🤣 I don't have the patience for much beyond that (unless it's something I'm incredibly invested in). So I'll open the floor to the writers who take a more measured approach to things. How do drafts work for you?

[emilyoracle]

Your English Teachers Lied To You: Editing Edition.

Part One (Bad Writing Rules Edition).

It took me a dozen+ years of writing to learn how to properly edit- to learn what editing actually entails. Because guess what was never explained to me?

Proofreading is not editing.

So for everyone out there whose English teachers also failed you, here’s a guide to the reality of the editing process. It’s not comprehensive, it’s just to give you a leg up if you, like me, thought “editing” meant changing a few sentences and making sure there weren’t any grammatical or spelling errors. Unfortunately it’s a little (a lot) more involved than that.

First Things First: Write Your First Draft.

Just do it. Know that no matter how hard you try to make this first draft perfect, you are still going to have to edit it. So you might as well save the editing for later and finish the story. And really think hard about starting over half-way through. If you aren’t completely changing the plot or characters, you probably don’t have to. Most everything can be fixed in the next stage:

Developmental Editing.

Look at the story as a whole. Really consider what you want from this story: how you want readers to feel as they go through it, what pacing and atmospheres are required, how you want to portray the world, and how sympathetic or real each character needs to be.

This is a crucial part of editing that I didn’t know when I was younger. You need to look at your (written!) story with intent and make conscious decisions. The first draft came from your heart, the next drafts need to come from your brain. (But if you try to make the first draft come from your brain, you’ll never finish.)

Even once your draft is written, don’t be afraid to rip it apart. It is not a finished product. Think of it as an extended outline; you still have the opportunity to change your mind about plot points, character arcs, world building, etc. Sometimes even the years-long plans that sounded great in your head turn out not-so-great on paper. Do what it takes to make the story the best version of itself, even if that means killing your darlings. (Just make sure to keep an unedited version saved in case you want to reverse any changes.) Keep in mind that you are not done writing. You might still be writing scenes, heck, entire chapters, from scratch.

If you’re having trouble seeing where improvements can be made on a first draft, that very rarely (if ever) means it is perfect and cannot be improved. This is a good time to find beta readers. If you can’t see your story objectively, listen to where and what your beta readers want to see changed and consider why. Try rewriting those scenes and characters accordingly and be open-minded to admitting it improves the story.

The “stages” of editing, by the way, are not one-time acts. You might developmental edit six times, maybe twenty, maybe only once. It depends on the story and its needs, not yours. Don’t change a few scenes and move on because you’re impatient. You want your story to be cohesive and as close as possible to its final form (not its final wording!) when you’ve finished developmental editing. Then you can move on to:

Line Editing.

If the story, as a whole, is the best version of itself, now is the time to look at its individual fibers. That is, the sentences. “Line” editing, right, who saw that coming?

Now is the time to stress about synonyms and word order. This is when you can beautify sentences, dig into that thesaurus, make sure your characters’ voices are unique and consistent.

To be fair, all the processes of editing get a bit mixed up. If you’re fixing some sentences during developmental editing, that’s fine, it’s bound to happen. If you know exactly how you want to change something, then sure, go for it while you’re looking at it. Just don’t stress about it during that stage, because that sentence or paragraph might be chopped entirely by the time you’re done. That’s why you need to be sure you are finished with developmental editing before wasting time tweaking narration and dialogue that might not exist in a few drafts.

In this stage you can finally look at the style of your writing and work on being a good writer, not just a good storyteller. Syntax, narration flow, visceral descriptions… this is the time to polish your writing to how you always imagined it’d be when you win that Pulitzer Prize or Hugo Award.

When you can feel that shiny trophy in your hand as you read your beautiful, lilting prose, now is the time for:

Copy Editing.

This is when you look at the nitty-gritty. Make sure grammar is working to your advantage (whether that means it’s “correct” or not is up to you). Check that no repeated words stand out and important words deliver the impact you want. Pay attention to whether the vocabulary and language matches the genre, world, and atmosphere.

Copy editing and line editing are often shown to be the same thing, and you can very well do both of these at the same time. Line editing as described above will always involve some form of copy editing because it’s a focus on language and style. However, personally, I believe it’s still a good idea to reread your latest draft with detail-oriented specifics in mind. And finally we can move on to:

Proofreading.

This is what you always did two minutes before submitting that essay you wrote an hour before it was due. And it is not editing. And most word processes basically do this for you now. It’s essentially just double-checking that spelling and punctuation are correct and that the manuscript is in the format necessary for whatever its next step is (if you’re querying, that it matches agent or publishing house parameters, if you’re publishing, that it fits the physical book layout, etc).

PSA: The names of these stages aren’t relevant. It’s for the sake of categorization and distinction. Different people seem to have different concepts of what developmental, line, copy editing, and proofreading are. They use different names for the same thing or group two together when others say they’re separate processes. Really, none of that matters. What matters is that you do what you need to do, regardless of what name it’s called.

-

Don’t forget to write a sentence of your story today! Thanks for reading~

[purrincess-chat]

Cat’s Writing Tips: 10 Things I Learned Rewriting MDCSP

For anyone that doesn’t know at this point, I rewrote a fic of mine last year called Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist and rereleased it as Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix. The whole journey of revising the 86,000 word story took me about a year over which time I completely edited the original text and added an additional 52,000 words of new content. I learned a lot about the writing process along the way and feel like my writing leveled up as well. Here are 10 things I learned along the way while revising this absolute beast of a story that may help you on your writing journey as well:

1. Revising takes time

When I first set out to rewrite this story, I thought I could get it all done during NaNoWriMo. Aka, I thought I could do it in 1 month. And I probably could have if I’d been more on top of things and didn’t also have a full time day job. The whole process from start to finish took me about a year. That included editing the original text, writing the new content from scratch, getting everything beta read, going through feedback and making more revisions. I learned that the process of revising is a long one, but it’s a process that is so worth it. I’m really proud of the Remix, and I love the way it turned out in the end. Even if I felt like I was limping to the finish. My advice is take your time to do revisions well. You’ll be much happier with the end result. 

2. Outlines are a literal godsend

I plan to make a whole separate post on outlining because motherfucking outlines saved my ass. I have outlined every story I’ve written since then. I mean, I usually would go into stories with some type of outline or at the very least an idea of what I wanted, but I started making detailed outlines for the new chapters, and let me tell you, it’s now a standard practice in my life. 

For the enemies AU I’m working on, I have had the whole project outlined for months now from chapter 1 all the way through chapter 22. I’m still tweaking the ending, but for these beginning chapters, I know exactly what is going to happen in each chapter and have been able to map out Adrien’s whole journey throughout the fic. Outlining takes the guess work out of writing. If ever I forget where I’m supposed to be heading with a particular chapter, I glance back at the outline. By putting in the legwork to decide on all of the important plot points in the story ahead of time, it saves me that paralysis while writing where I have to stop and think hmmm what happens next. It keeps me from writing myself into corners, and it allows me to shape the story exactly how I want, so when it comes time to sit and write, I can just sit and write. I don’t have to stop and figure anything out. I’ve done that already. It’s what has allowed me to sit and spit out 8k within a week at times. Writers block? We don’t know her anymore. If I’m not able to write, it’s because I literally don’t have the time, which still happens because again, I have a full-time day job. But having a detailed outline completely removed mental blocks for me.

3. Set goals/keep a journal

I started keeping a writing journal to track my progress throughout this rewrite. I’d set weekly goals and keep track of how much I was writing on any given day. It helped keep me focused on what I needed to do next as well as keep me organized. It was also a way to hold myself accountable when I didn’t meet my goals. Something about putting things in writing makes you far more likely to do them. In my writing journal, I’d track daily word counts and set goals for what I wanted to work on/finish that week. Usually I’d be finishing one chapter, editing another, and starting on another almost every week. I didn’t always meet my goals, but setting them kept me motivated and helped me know what came next. 

4. Skip around

This is something I still do and one area where outlines come in handy. My betas can attest that I always drag my feet when it comes to writing fight scenes. It’s not that I’m not good at them, I’m sure anyone who has read a fight scene written by me knows I’m not bad at it. It’s just that they’re tedious. It requires a lot of thinking and action and there are a lot of variables that go into them. Several times while rewriting MDCSPR, I’d get to a fight scene that I wasn’t quite mentally prepared to tackle, but the fight scene was sandwiched between a scene I really wanted to get to. So, I’d just skip the fight scene and keep writing from the next moment that I could clearly picture. This allowed me to get higher word counts every day because most of the time if I wrote the beginning and end, filling in the middle wasn’t hard because it gave me a clear picture of where I was headed and what I needed to connect to. It kept me from getting stuck on one word or one sentence and getting paralyzed for days or weeks at a time on one thing. Allowing myself to skip something and go back to it alleviated that sense of perfectionism that tends to nag me when I’m writing. 

A word of caution about skipping around is don’t skip too far. Especially if you’re writing from scratch. Often times, even if you outline your story, you might change your mind about certain things or adopt a different vibe as you write. So if you skip ahead and write the ending before you’ve written the beginning, you might change your mind on that ending and have to scrap it and rewrite it later on. If I skipped around, it was usually within a single chapter or two, and I’d always make sure to go back and finish filling in the missing parts before I moved on. 

5. Work in chunks

Rewriting a 20 chapter story was daunting at times. 86k is a lot of words to read and reread and rewrite. The only way I got through it was by working on one chunk at a time. I was usually working on at least 2-3 chapters at a time. This worked well for me for a couple of reasons. 1. If I got bogged down on one chapter, I could just move to a different one. 2. It helped me get more done at a time. Breaking a story down into chunks makes it way more manageable because it allows you to focus on one thing at a time rather than the whole thing at once. Writing 138,000 words sounds like a lot. Writing 2k right now is much more manageable. And eventually those 2ks add up, and now you’ve got a whole story. 

6. Keep going

Along with my last point, this one kind of seems obvious, but keep going. Writing is a marathon, not a sprint. Though writing sprints do help you get through the marathon. I find that writing long stories especially is a matter of building and maintaining momentum. Pace yourself and keep making steady progress, no matter how small. I didn’t write every single day while rewriting MDCSPR, but I made sure to keep making steady progress whether by skipping around, working in chunks, or outlining something and plotting. If you feel yourself start to get stuck, work around the blockage. Skip it and work on something else. You can always go back and edit a bad first draft, but you can’t edit something that doesn’t exist. Keep up the momentum if you’ve got it. Nothing has been more freeing to me than getting to a point that’s stumping me and just skipping a few lines and writing [insert fight scene here], then moving onto whatever happens next. Skip shit. Keep going. Watch those word counts rise. 

7. Fix it in post

I think a lot of writers suffer from a nagging sense of perfectionism. They slave over every word while they’re writing because they want to write the perfect draft. The most important thing I learned while writing MDCSPR is to throw perfection to the wind because the perfect draft doesn’t exist. I can’t tell you how many times I was writing something new, and it wasn’t going exactly how I wanted. I had that nagging voice to stop and fix it then and there, to agonize over a single sentence until it was “perfect.” But the most freeing thing I learned how to do was say eh, I can fix it later. Keep going. Let the sentence be bad. You can fix it later. As I said before, you can fix a bad first draft. You can’t fix a draft that hasn’t been written. Edit later. Allow yourself to write poorly and just spit the words onto the page. 

8. Walk away/let it rest

This is something a younger me struggled with. I'd write something and want to post it immediately. I am an excitable person that struggles to keep projects secret XD I always want to tease things and share what I'm working on. For this project, though, I waited until I had edited 21 chapters to start posting it. That was an excruciating amount of time and effort put in with little pay off until it was time to share it, but patience and time make for much better writing. My betas kept me going because I could at least get some feedback on what I was making, but since this was a revision, I didn't want to send my betas sloppy drafts either. I tried to make every chapter as polished as possible before sending it, and the main way I did that was by walking away for a while.

Cat, that sounds counter intuitive. Okay, hear me out. I talked about keeping a writing journal and how I'd usually be finishing one chapter, editing another, and starting the next one within any given week, and I found that this system worked well for me. It can be tempting when you finish a chapter to immediately start editing it, and oftentimes I would give the chapter a read through after I finished it initially, but I wouldn't send it to my betas at that point. I started walking away from finished chapters and letting them rest while I worked on something else. Getting my eyes off a chapter for a week or two greatly increased the quality of my edits when I came back to it. When the chapter is fresh in your mind, it's harder to spot mistakes because you've read it a dozen times, and your eyes start to glaze over typos and mistakes more easily because you're used to the text. Walking away for a little while and letting your brain purge it a little bit allows you to come back with fresh eyes that can more easily spot mistakes. It also helps if you're iffy on a part, you can usually come back with fresh ideas and/or new solutions.

Even now with my enemies AU, I tell my beta to give me a few days after I finish a chapter because I walk away before going back to proofread it. The writing process can be stressful, and most writers I know struggle with the nagging sense of perfectionism. We want to edit and edit again until a piece is perfect. Accepting that an initial draft is going to need work and allowing myself to just walk away and let it be bad for a little bit while I consider ways to improve it makes for better revisions in the long run. The drafts I send to my betas are far more polished, and I tend to be happier with them. Let your stories rest, then come back to them. It will help level up your writing tremendously.

9. Find betas you work well with

All that being said, my betas were the real mvps of this project. I revised 21 chapters before I started posting this one (and tbh it was more than that because it took time to get previous chapters beta read so I'd just keep going). My betas were my sole source of feedback on this project for months. I recommend having a variety of skillsets in your beta team. I had someone who was more grammar focused, someone who gave general feedback on the direction of the story and characters, and someone who gave more reactionary feedback to specific things within the chapter. They reacted as if they were a reader to give me an idea of whether or not readers would enjoy the story. These comments were what kept me from getting discouraged or burned out.

Writers naturally crave feedback and comments from readers. We want to know people enjoy our work. Going months working on a project with no feedback can be agony. Find betas you work well with. Or friends. Get other eyes on your work to leave you comments. Not only will it improve your craft because betas can spot things and offer outside perspectives you may not see on your own, and they can give you much desired feedback to keep those dry patches from swallowing you and your motivation.

Trust me, I spent a long time in this fandom just spitting out stories and throwing them on ao3 dot com. And I will say I don't get everything beta read. Short drabbles and one shots I just edit myself. But for big projects especially, I highly recommend getting a beta or two or three. You will improve. Guaranteed.

10. Always be doing something

This sounds obvious, but not in the way you're probably thinking. I said always be doing something, not always be writing. Editing is something. Outlining is something. Brainstorming is something. Reviewing beta feedback is something. There are many other aspects to writing than just writing. Even on days when I wasn't writing for mdcspr, I was doing something. I was editing, I was reviewing my outline and brainstorming, I was making my playlist, I was considering what songs to use for what scenes, I was setting goals, I was rereading old chapters that were finished. Pretty much every day I was doing something to keep the story fresh in my mind and keep forward momentum on the project.

But Cat, I thought you said walk away. Yes. From individual chapters. But you should be doing something for your project most days of the week. Take a break if you need it, but if you want to finish, you have to keep working. I found that if I needed a break from writing, working on the playlist or compiling outfit references on pinterest was a good way to keep the story at the front of my brain. I was working on it, even when I wasn't physically writing. This helped me develop a deeper understanding of my characters that made them easier to write in the long run. Understanding their style helped develop their personalities and mannerisms. Figuring out what songs and lyrics the characters might relate to in any given scene helped put me in their head. You don't have to write every day, but you should do something. Big projects take time, and they're going to take even longer if you take long breaks. Marathon, not a sprint. Keep the momentum going, pace yourself, do something.

Keep in mind, writing is a very individual process. What works for me, may not work for you. These are just a few things I found that helped me push through a big project. Find a process that works for you and go for it. If these tips work for you, great! At the end of the day, you have to figure out what works for you and develop your own methods and process. I hope that this is helpful for some of you! If you have anything else that works for you that you'd like to add, feel free to reblog and share! Contrary to popular belief, writing isn't an individual activity. Writing a novel takes a whole team. We improve by interacting with each other and giving advice and encouragement.

If you want me to cover any other topics in writing, feel free to comment or message me. I'm not a professional writer, but I've been writing for 16 years. I've learned a thing or two over that time 🤷‍♀️ Happy writing!

[bucketsofmonsters]

Just wanted to say I absolutely adore your writing!! Did you ever take any classes on writing? It all seems so well polished and professional. Do you have any advice for people just starting writing or tips to improve?

Ahhh you're too sweet, thank you so much!! For the record, no I have never taken any classes on writing, everything I've learned has come from just doing it a lot. The advice that everyone gives you about writing as much as you can and trying not to worry about it being good, just write things you care about is absolutely true, that is the most helpful thing you can do as a new writer.

As far as advice that I'd give for other writers that’s a little more specific, I am an out of order writer and I know that doesn’t work for everyone so if it isn’t your jam, very cool, wish you the best with your technique. The honest to god best advice I have that has made the most positive impact on my work is when you get really excited about something, maybe a scene that's coming up, maybe a cool bit of dialogue, whatever it is, write that bit right then and there. It doesn't matter if it comes way later in the story, just write it when you’re super excited about it. You might need to tweak it and rewrite bits when you actually place it in the story where it belongs but nothing can replace that excitement and the energy it can add to your work. And at the end of the day, I’ve found that when you write the parts you really really care about, the inbetweens come a little bit easier and are more focused. 

Besides, writing while excited is how you have the most fun and at the end of the day, that’s what matters most! Good luck and happy writing <3