#also BIG THANK YOU to people who reblog things onto my dash

[recurring-polynya]

I often see posts on here about your Moral Obligation to Reblog (which I don't really agree with), but I don't ever see the argument that reblogging is fun and nets you followers. I love seeing stuff on my dash. I open Tumblr seventeen times a day in order to See the Posts. I like it when there are more of them. If I get a new follower, or someone reblogs one of my posts, I often go check out their blog, and if I like a high proportion of what's there, I'll follow 'em. It's cool to be a creator in a fandom, but liking stuff and being enthusiastic about stuff is a really important role you can have, too. I've only been on Tumblr since 2019, but even then, posts in my fandom seemed to circulate a lot more, especially older ones, and I miss that. People would just find something from a few years ago and say "HEY REMEMBER THIS? IT WAS SO COOL!" and I would think "I DO REMEMBER THAT AND IT WAS!" or maybe I hadn't seen it because new people join all the time. I don't care if I have seen a post eight times. I don't usually even mind if I see a post eight times today. I recognize your name and I think "oh ThatPerson liked that cool post, too!" If you add tags? Amazing. Fantastic. Instantly quadruples the chance of follow. They don't even have to be witty tags. "This episode was sooooo funny!" or "I love Blorbo in a jean jacket he's just like me fr!" or "OPartist I love the colors you picked!" make this place feel so much friendlier. As far as being fun--a cool thing about Tumblr is that if you reblog a thing, you get the notifs and OP gets the notifs. Yeah yeah yeah, I'm sure the notifs are a pain if you actually go viral, but I don't think that's a thing most of us every worry about. I love to get notes! It's fun to get notes even if I didn't make the post, because I see who else thought that post was funny! Do you know how good it feels to find some neat piece of art with 6 notes and you reblog it and it gets 10 or 30 or 100 more and you get to see that?

Anyway, reblogging is fun and cool. Tumblr even lets you make sideblogs, so if you want to have a dedicated blog to just your art (or whatever), you can make a sideblog for reblogging. Or, hear me out--people will come for your reblogs and then end up liking the things you make, too.

[random-chaos-and-stuff]

Out of boredom, I have decided to start compiling a list of Tumblr words, phrases, and expressions, and what they mean. Feel free to add any as you see fit, or ask about any words or phrases you don’t understand on here. (I’m putting it under a cut because it is long and getting longer)

Moot: mutual. Usually an affectionate term.

Reading comprehension website: A nickname for Tumblr, referencing the often poor reading comprehension as well as a few posts. Possibly shares an origin with ‘piss on the poor’.

Piss on the poor, or “Does ____ piss on the poor?”: A phrase that means using tumblr, often used to refer to someone who uses tumblr and has poor reading comprehension. Based on a post about how bad the reading comprehension is here.

Dash: Your feed or for you page.

I’m bald/vanilla extract (when on polls): An option on polls used as the ‘other’ or ‘see results’ option. Vanilla extract comes from a famous post that became a site wide meme.

Goncharov: A fake movie and site wide joke and meme that was made up on tumblr based off of one person’s post asking about an advertisement for a movie that doesn’t exist on a pair of bootleg shoes they got. It is extremely detailed, and many people reference it as a joke.

Breached containment (in reference to a post or joke): A post or joke that became extremely popular, sometimes to the point of leaving the site and ending up on other sites.

Blorbo: A character you like a lot, whether it be an OC or from other piece of media. Similar and often used like favorite character.

Rebageld/any other similar thing: This is just another phrases used for reblogged, often in tags. Usually just as a joking, playful, or fun way to say it.

“I am literally kissing you on the mouth” and other similar phrases: An expression of joy, excitement, and/or gratitude from one person to another. This isn’t romantic or anything, just a way people sometimes use to express how happy or grateful for something they are. In my experience it is used mostly for stories or takes, but is also used for other things.

Hellsite: Another name/way to refer to tumblr. Mostly used for tumblr. Often used in a joking manner. (Thank you dragonfanplaugedr for reminding me of this one!)

That one damn supernatural/Destiel meme: A popular meme people might refer to, that often is used to report big events (Ao3 going down, Biden dropping out, the queen of England dying, things like that and more) and is widely popular on this site. Bot hunter/bot hunting: People who actively find, block, and report bots, especially harmful ones. This is often used when clearing certain tags of bots, as they tend to try and take over popular tags and stuff like that. Hunting the bots and destroying them.

Dashcon: An event from a long time ago, where Tumblr tried to hold a con. It was notoriously bad, and became a website wide memory and joke to mock. The ball pit is especially famed, being incredibly bad, and someone having peed in it. I was unfortunately not here for it, but you can find many posts about it. It also pretty much conned people out of their money from what I can find. Here is one short post with a photo, do more research as you please. (Here was a post announcing it too, read the reactions afterwards if you want an idea of how it went down.)

Apollo’s dodgeball: A Tumblr way of referring to posts that came true, usually strange or silly ones that accidentally predicted the future. For example, if you were to make a post joking about some big event or incident happening, and then a while later it did actually happen, it would be referred to as “being hit in the face by Apollo’s dodgeball” or something similar. Basically making a stupid post that became an accidental prophecy.

Ides of march: This was the day Julius Caesar was assassinated and killed. For some reason Tumblr really latched onto it and found it hilarious, and you may see multiple posts celebrating it or referring to this historical event. Believed that possibly the love and jokes about it originated from this post.

Spiders Georg: A tumblr phrase for an outlier that causes a huge change in the average of data, causing it to be off or have not quite true results. It has since become popular, occasionally being used on other sites as well. It originated from this post.

Prev: Prev is short for previous poster and/or reblogger. (Thank you @blairthebword for reminding me of this, I forgot that some people might not know what it means yet or find it confusing!)

Gimmick blogs: blogs that have a certain gimmick, like counting all the letters in a post, finding how many words are in the Bible in the post, giving it a DnD alignment, ect., pretending to be someone (like Shakespeare), some place (like a country such as Belgium or the USA or others) or things (like Firefox or Walmart or more). It’s all fun and games, not serious, and many ‘official’ blogs are just gimmick blogs, though there are some actual official blogs on here. Part of something apparently called the Gimmickverse, which is many or all of the gimmick blogs as far as I can tell.

Do you love the color of the sky: An incredibly long post, which became popular and INCREDIBLY ANNOYING to scroll all the way through. Several people have made references to it, as well as various remakes, some joking some less joking, and some with the sole goal of being annoying to go through. Here is the original one if you want to check it out. (And here is one of the longest continuous all one blog one I’ve ever seen, and the first one I ever saw, as a bonus)

The code/the tumblr code, ect.: A silly code that is supposed to help you identify other tumblr users in public/the wild. They/you say “I like your shoelaces.” with you/them responding with “I stole them from the president.” It originates from this post, and is occasionally referenced both as a joke and in actual use.

Tone indicators (things like /j) and all that: these are just (often shortened) indicators of tones in posts or messages, used for clarification or other such things. This isn’t just a tumblr thing, and not everyone uses it, but I remember being confused by it at first so here is a brief explanation. (Here is an article on it) (and here is a website on it just in case if you prefer. Here’s a different one that has a slightly different format and explanations on what they mean.)

Anon: Anon is short for anonymous, as in anonymous asker. Some blogs allow you to send anonymous asks, and thus with how long the word is often just shortened to anon. It can also be used to refer to a person (as in [insert descriptor here] anon sent me an (anonymous) ask) just because it sounds better or is simpler.

[rriavian]

I don't like to think myself as shy reader, it's just as a reader sometimes I think my comments lack something others would be able to say easily....😅 most of the time I'm scared that what I said might just sound stupid to the creator... 😬

This is a very fair point! And something I also used to feel myself when leaving comments…just not knowing how best to phrase what I wanted to say, or how to translate my love for a fic into words. It can still sometimes take me a little while to wrangle my thoughts into a coherent comment.

I’ve seen some guides on structure going around tumblr that look pretty useful, so I might reblog them again/save them somewhere :)

But just to reassure you—as a writer I cherish every comment I get, because it’s the only way I know that someone enjoyed what I wrote. We are all only human—and even though it’s fun writing can take a lot of energy and time—and the encouragement really does inspire you to keep writing. There’s nothing quite like seeing a comment come through to my inbox! Kudos/bookmarks don’t really give the same buzz, or the same relief, that reading someone’s words and saying ‘oh thank goodness. They liked it’ does.

That connection with a reader is really precious to me, I suppose the equivalent of someone smiling at you, or giving you a big hug.

So there’s someone who has just discovered Baiting the Trap and I’ve been getting email notifications of their comments all day. The comments aren’t super long (they don’t have to be!) but this person has my whole heart <3 I have been smiling all day because of their words.

In a fandom that functions largely online—and which for a long time I participated in only as an anonymous writer—that connection means everything, makes me feel like part of a community. This was partly why I joined tumblr in the first place (sorry if this is a bit too personal!) because I was feeling very alone, and struggling to know if people even enjoyed what I was writing anymore.

Corintheus is very much a rare pair but in the beginning a lot of people were reading it, and when that changed I couldn’t help but feel like I had done something wrong.

Which is a little silly (and why I don’t really talk about it!) but that creeping doubt was very hard to get past for quite a long time. I really don’t mean to say this to make anyone feel bad, but it was my experience, and tumblr has been such a lifeline because it really helped me to feel connected to others in the fandom. Not only that, but peoples words/questions have inspired me to write some of my favourite prose :)

And when I logged onto tumblr just now and saw your happy valentines message...my heart felt so full it could burst! So I want to also let you know how much I appreciate you, and how happy I am every time I see your username in my notifications/on my dash.

I know from experience that figuring out how to phrase a comment can be really hard, and how one can worry that they sound silly to the creator. Especially on a fic you really love! You want it to be perfect. But the comments you leave are your words, the way you phrase things is your unique style, and that’s always perfect <3

[leothil]

Anon who asked Evcndiaz about disconnect between old and new fandoms. I partially meant following, since bigger and older blogs rarely follow newer ones. But I also meant things like reading fics by new authors that aren’t established 911 writers, or even reblogging newer users’ meta posts and gifs. It feels like the big blogs in this fandom really only engage with each other’s work and that can be disheartening to new fans who want to share their work with a community that doesn’t actually seem interested in what they’re putting out. (I don’t mean this in a guilt tripping way, of course no one is entitled to attention and you don’t need to engage with content you don’t like. It just feels like sometimes our work isn’t even given a chance since we haven’t been here for that long.)

Hi, thanks for clarifying! I do have a few thoughts about this!

Obviously I can only speak for myself, but I do think many others have at least similar experiences. When you first enter a new fandom you usually find lots of new blogs to follow, and there's a lot of new content to engage with. But at some point you start feeling like you get everything you need from your dash and you stop actively following new people whose content get reblogged onto your dash. It still happens, of course, but at least I'm much less likely to start following someone at this point than I was in fall 2021 when I joined the fandom. And it's not because newer and/or unfamiliar blogs are doing anything wrong, your dash is just saturated and the threshold for starting to follow someone becomes higher.

I think finding new fic authors suffer from the same saturation. After being in fandom for a while, you've usually found a good batch of authors that write in a style you like, and if they're still putting out new fics to read, trying out an unfamiliar author is an extra step to take in the process. But that's not to say it doesn't happen! I keep finding new authors I like, just at a much slower speed than in my early days in this fandom. I'm also reading less fanfiction overall right now, and I think that also applies to a lot of people who've been in the fandom longer. And that also makes the process of trying out a new fic author more tedious, as you tend to prioritize new fics from authors you already know you enjoy.

When it comes to meta posts I've also noticed that many of those I've seen lately tend to discuss things that have already been talked about a lot in the fandom. Newer people in the fandom have no way of knowing that, of course, but many times when I've skimmed a post my reaction has been "well, yeah, we talked about this at length back in the break between 5A and 5B" or whatever. So there's no net new information, you know?

It is sad if newer members of the fandom feel like they're being kept out of the community, because I definitely don't want anyone to feel like that, but I do get why the situation is what it is right now. I don't really have any good solution to offer up either, other than to try not feel discouraged if your posts don't seem to get noticed by older fans, which is a pretty meh advice. I'm not sure exactly when you entered the fandom, but if it was during this hiatus, I remember the fandom always coming together and mixing much more while the show is airing and we get new material to obsess over. I found several new favourite fic authors last spring while 6B was airing!

And even if you follow me and I don't follow you back, that doesn't mean I'm not open to talking to you! I love talking weewoo with friends, mutuals, followers, and anons, and my inbox is always open for chatting, requesting or giving fic recs, or exchanging thoughts about our blorbos.

[etxrnaleclipse]

Laws of the Land

T h e   M o s t   I m p o r t a n t :

This is probably the rule that will make me sound mean, I promise I’m not. I’m going to be real with you all here. I am very, very old and tired of being used as people’s personal resource blog. I get it, you see something on your dash and you think ‘that’s awesome!’ and reblog it. Well, since rebooting my blog, I’ve made the unfortunate but necessary choice to become more firm on my stance here. So I ask that any content (be it photographs of FCs, aesthetics, musings, plot ideas, and especially ask memes) please be reblogged from the source wherever it is possible to do so. I completely understand that the source is not always available, so I’m not here to say “nEvEr ReBlOg FrOm Me!!”, But I always try to reblog content from the source myself, so that way the source is easily accessible to you all. I’m literally making life as easy for you as possible. I also use tags to remind people to reblog from the source on posts where I know for a fact that the source is available. If you do this despite how crystal clear this rule is, then you will be soft blocked.  The only exceptions to this rule are 1) if you are reblogging an ask meme that you have sent in to me, then I am 100% ok with you reblogging it directly from me and 2) if I have tagged you in the post. Like I say, I don’t want to implement this to sound like some asshole or whatever, it is just an accumulation of ten years in the tumblr RPC and a massive amount of that time being treated like a resource blog - mostly by people who don’t even have the time to interact with me or acknowledge my existence. So thank you for your understanding on this front, and now onto the general rules.

A s k s :

Anyone is welcome in the ask box, both RP and non-RP. If you are a non-RP blog, I ask that you do not send in memes/asks that will involve me ‘roleplaying’ with you as if you are a character.

If you wish to send memes, my meme tag is right here :) This link is not to be used for reblogging memes.

If you send a ask/meme, please feel free to specify which muse you are directing it at. If no one is listed, I will choose. 

Anon hate will not be tolerated and will be deleted.

F o r m a t t i n g :

I can do any kind of style - para, dialogue, icons, no icons. I don’t mind how you write, however I’m not personally a fan of excessive formatting. It just makes it difficult for me to read your replies and for me, the writing is way way more important than how the writing looks.

I generally tend to use small text (just the regular small) and medium sized gifs. Sometimes I use gif icons if that’s all that I can find for a FC. But you never have to match in your replies :)

If you don’t have access to resources of your muse, then I’m 100% ok to go without in a thread, I don’t mind not having any visual. I’m not really a fan of the big gifs found in the gif search or photos/gifs that don’t match the setting. It just really throws me off, that’s probably my only real no-no for this.

F o l l o w i n g   B a c k :

This blog is selective with follows; I will not follow everyone back. I also will often wait until we start writing before I follow people back too, so if you follow me and I don’t follow back straight away, don’t get the impression that I won’t ever follow you.

If I don’t follow back, please do not assume that lack of a follow means I will not write with you - I am NOT mutuals only. I merely wish to keep my dash from being cluttered. I will always make every effort to write with everyone if I can find a way for our muses to interact. 

Some other reasons why I may not follow back are things like: frequent and explicit nsfw content (I don’t mind reblogs of this stuff but excessive just gets a bit much), posting anon hate or callout posts, too many uncut posts that take up the entire dash. 

If you are mutuals only and I have not followed back, please don’t take it personally. And please don’t message me asking me to follow you. 

Please note that before interacting with anyone, I will always read your rules and about pages. If you have a rules password, I will 100% send it in to you should I initiate contact.

I n t e r a c t i o n s :

When it comes to the muses I have and their interactions, there’s no concept of ‘you must do X if you want Y’ here. We are all interested in the muses we’re interested in, some characters jump out to us more than others - we can’t force ourselves to be interested in a muse that just doesn’t click for us. So if you only want to write with male muses or only my female muses, I don’t mind. I’m just pleased that you want to write with me at the end of the day :) 

I don’t do ‘do not interact’ lists or anything, but if you are a blog that mainly/only writes smut and nothing else, or if you are a blog that exists for finding discord partners, then probably would advise against following me or liking my posts. Got nothing against either of those kinds of blog, 100% supportive of both, it’s literally just because I don’t write smut and I don’t rp on discord, so I unfortunately have nothing worthwhile to offer you. Saves both our time. 

L i m i t s / T r i g g e r s :

I have no ‘banned faceclaims’ (there are some actors/celebs who I’m not 100% comfortable with, however I don’t believe that the face you choose to represent a fictional character relates to anything that face might have said/done).

I will not RP with people writing as real life celebrities and I will not RP with people using faceclaims who have explicitly expressed that they do not wish to be used.

This might seem super specific, but if you have muses who are drastically different in age to their fc and resources, then I’m not really a fan. Like, if you have a muse who you state is 22, but you use a fc who is blatantly in their late thirties or older. Or the opposite, you say your muse is 40, but you use a fc who is 24. I’m just really not a fan of this, and I feel it perpetuates a lot of the issues I see around age in the rpc. 

If you have any triggers/fears that you wish to be tagged, please let me know - I want my followers to be comfortable on my blog. I generally try to tag the most common/logical things by default anyway, but if there’s something else I’m missing or if you have a less common thing you’d like to be flagged (such as a phobia or something), please let me know.

In turn, I kindly request that you tag the following content: rape/non-con/dub-con, suicide, self-harm, drowning, incest, mpreg, miscarriage/pregnancy difficulties. I will also never ever write this content under any circumstances - please do not try to get around this, as you will be blocked. If you have any of these things in your muse’s bios, I respectfully ask that it not be brought up in our threads (just ours, I'm not asking anyone to not write about it in other situations) as it makes me uncomfortable. 

I do not have an issue in writing some darker topics, but I will only do so if they are being treated respectfully and with care. I’m not here for romanticising awful things, so please respect that. 

M u n   A c t i v i t y :

My activity can be spotty due to work, however I will always endeavour to reply to messages and threads as soon as I can.

Majority of my replies run on the queue to help stop me from being overwhelmed (although it still happens somehow haha).

Please note that I do not RP on discord.

O p e n   S t a r t e r s :

My open starters are quite literally open to everyone! As long as your muse fits the bill for the plot, just go for it!

Please check who the open is aimed at. I specify things like gender, age, and other things relating to the connection I’m looking for. Please adhere to these, as they are specific for each muse and each set up. So if an open is aimed at males, please don’t respond with a female (and vice versa), or if there is a minimum age for any responding muses, please do not respond with muses younger. These are especially important if the open is directed towards a ship. 

Please avoid liking my opens, as I find that if there are notes on an open, people seem less likely to respond? If you’re saving for later, just go ahead and save to your drafts if you’d like to.

P l o t t i n g :

I love plotting. Give me all the plotting.

Plotting is a two-way street. Do not leave me to do all the work and I will do the same. This means no “I don’t mind, you decide” - I want input from you too.

R e b l o g s :

If you are not involved in a thread, please do not ever reblog it. If you do this, you will be warned once. If it happens again, you will be blocked.

As per the top of this page, please always reblog content (memes, aesthetic, fc pics, wishlist etc) from the source wherever it is available. 

S h i p p i n g / S m u t :

Even though I’m well over 18, I do not write smut. I will write some build up and then fade to black. I am absolutely not uncomfortable with that content, and I am happy to allude to things that have happened between characters in threads, and will happily discuss their intimacy in plotting if it comes up in conversation. 

I am also comfortable sending in nsfw ask memes for my partners if our muses are shipped, and I may even reblog the occasional meme that discusses nsfw aspects of my muses and on the rare occasion maybe drabble memes, but I won’t write out any sexual content in threads with other people. If I do reblog any kind of sexual meme, I will be VERY selective on who I accept asks from - generally only people who I have existing dynamics will and who I feel comfortable writing them for. If I do not respond to an ask from you, please don’t take it personally. 

That said, while I’m 100% comfortable with nsfw content, if you come to me in the IMs and your plot idea involves “can my muse fuck your muse”, we’re prob not going to be a good match. Power to you, but I’ve made it pretty clear in these rules and I keep getting people saying stuff like this to me. 

Shipping will vary from muse to muse - their information is available on their bios so please be sure to check them out. I have listed the minimum age of shipping partners for all muses who are open to ships - this can be found where their sexuality is listed on their bios. Some muses will be happy to date people who are quite a bit older than them, however they will never go below the listed age in their bios. I ask that you please respect that. If you have a query about an age gap, please don’t hesitate to check with me.

Please note that ALL of my male muses will only ever be shipped with male muses (even if they are listed as bisexual). I don’t want to go into too much detail, but I’ve had some godawful experiences shipping my males with females and it’s just much more comfortable for me to only write them in m/m ships. Please do not send m/f ship memes for my male muses, as they will be deleted. Platonic interactions with females are 100% wanted and encouraged though!

T h r e a d s :

If you request me to write you a starter and you never respond, the starter will be deleted. I will check your blog for activity first, because I understand you may be on hiatus. But if you have been frequently active and the starter goes unanswered, then it will be deleted/recycled for someone else.

I am a believer in ‘take your time’, however unfortunately my muse for threads can die out after a while. It’s sadly how it is for my writing muse, and I can’t force it. If you disappear for six months and then want to pick up a thread we had before, please don’t be surprised if I just don’t have the muse anymore. If I drop our thread due to lack of muse, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to write with you, so we can certainly start something else.

If I owe you and it has been a long while since I replied, feel free to gently and politely poke me about it - it will either be in my drafts or my queue, though there have been times where tumblr has not notified me of a reply.

[ill-be-your-honey-bri]

Banana Pancakes

HELLO MY LOVES! WHEW! This one took me WAY longer than I had wanted it to, but you know, life comes at ya and you gotta go with the punches.

That being said, this fic is part of @stellarboystyles​ THREE YEAR ANNIVERSARY FIC CHALLENGE! Congrats darling (though I’m a month late)! I had picked the single parent trope and the line I chose to use for the challenge is bolded and italicized in my fic. 

Without further ado, I present my Nanny!Harry fic. Enjoy, leave a like, REBLOG FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Send me some feed back, asks, love or hate, I don't care. TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS!

I love you and treat people with kindness. 

Warnings: Lots of fluff, a sprinkle of smut, and a dash of angst (if you squint). 

Harry woke up to the smell of the crisp, cool fall air coming through his cracked bedroom window. The sky was still an inky fog as he stretched his arms over his head, skin pimpling as the air caressed him. He woke up before his alarm out of habit, knowing it would ring out shortly.

He roused out of his bed, extending his stretch through his legs and let out a satisfied groan when that one particular muscle in his lower back felt the pull it desired. He turned to his phone to turn his alarm off before going to the window to shut it, only after his dark tabby cat climbed back into his rightful home. Harry mumbled a ‘morning handsome’ to his fuzz ball, crouching down to give Elvis some morning loving.

Elvis followed Harry into the kitchen, knowing it was time for breakfast, mewing while figure-eighting between Harry’s feet.

“I know bub, I’m getting it.” Harry let out a yawn as he was filling the cat’s bowl. Elvis jumped on the counter, shoving his face in the bowl before Harry was even done filling it. “Eager this morning, are ya? Out there charming all the lady cats got you hungry? I hope you were a gentleman, I taught you better.”

Harry began making his coffee and filled his mug before returning to his room to get ready for the day. He decided on picking her favorite sweater; his blue ‘mon petite’ chickadee jumper. He laid it out on his bed as he pulled out his brown wide legged trousers and a striped button up to layer. He jumped in the shower to rinse off the morning haze and the ‘sleepies’, as his girl calls it.

His girl.

He smiled as he thought about her, what they had planned for the day. Maybe he will take her to the museum, stop by her favorite cafe, pick up a new book for them to read. He finished getting ready, pulling out his bike from the hallway closet to get it all set for his venture to his girl’s house. He grabbed his backpack, filled it with his girl’s favorite snacks, books, and their matching lavender water bottles, smiling as he threw his bag on his shoulders and carried his bike down the stairs of the apartment building.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry got to his girl’s home, putting in the code as he turned the key as to not awake her with the alarm. He put down his bag by the entry table, kicking off his scuffed up white Vans before softly padding up the stairs. He saw the door cracked open, slowly pushing it open further before walking to kneel by the bed.

He gently pushed her unruly hair off her beautiful face, seeing her lips in a pout and a furrow in her brow. She stirred slightly before her big doe eyes sleepily blinked open, causing Harry to smile down at her, which earned him a smile back.

“Good morning, my sweet girl.”

“Mornin’, did mama leave yet?”

“Not yet, Monkey. You know she can never go to work without giving you your kiss.”

Layla sat up fully, making grabby hands for Harry to pick her up and carry her downstairs. Harry could hear you in the shower getting ready for work as Layla cuddled into him on his way to your kitchen.

If you would have asked Harry two years ago if he thought he would be the nanny to your daughter, he would have laughed at the idea. He had been working at a daycare center when he first met you and his girl, Layla.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She was an infant when you had to return to work. Being a single mom, you needed to do what was best for you and your little bundle of joy. You had done extensive research on all the daycare facilities in your area, even venturing out a little further to get the best for your little angel. You had taken her to Small Wonders Daycare, nervous for your first day back as a pediatrician resident at the children’s hospital and your first day away from the love of your life.

You had walked into her assigned room provided by the administration when you completed the application and interview. The room was duckling yellow with moss green accents. Babies were laying on their bellies on the floor, being cooed at by a gentleman in a sheep sweater vest and tan trousers. He looked up to see you with Layla in her carrier, beaming and quickly hopped on his socked feet to meet you at the door. His co-teacher promptly laid with the little ones on the floor.

“You must be Mrs. Y/LN!”

“Um, no, just Dr. Y/LN or Y/N preferably.” You smiled at him as he was blushing from embarrassment.

“I - I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not the first time it has happened.” You smiled at him before looking down at your little one who is looking around with wide eyes. Harry also looked at the carrier, quickly gaining his composure as he saw the little beauty.

“And you must be Layla!” Cooing at her, causing her to smile and blink slowly. He got on his knees as you placed the carrier on the floor so that he was able to unhook her and gently pick her up to his chest. He softly looked down at her as she returned the gaze, “Don’t tell the other girls this but, you have got to be the most beautiful little girl I have ever met.”

Layla quickly nuzzled into his chest, scratching gently at one of the sheep on his vest, giving you a sense of comfort and ease, knowing that your daughter is already in good hands. You had tried not to cry as you told Harry her schedule and routine, handing him her diaper bag.

“She prefers her milk at room temp, she gets fussy if it's too hot or too cold. There is enough breastmilk for the day and formula as well, if you need it. She has been eating me dry.” Harry gave a light chuckle, handing you your baby as he was putting the breastmilk in the refrigerator, Layla’s diapers and wipes in their designated spot by the changing table.

“I packed some extra clothes in her bag too, lots of bibs. She is not the most ladylike when it comes to eating, huh baby?” You gently rubbed her cheek as you looked down at her with maternal love.

Harry, always in awe of the way a mother could love her child and after being with you for a few moments, he knew that you could never love or cherish anything more than the little being cradled in your arms. The way your daughter looked up at you with awe, watching your every movement. That was a love that Harry always craved for.

Seeing Layla grow was one of Harry's fondest memories. He was there when she started to take her first attempt at steps, babbling and cooing her first ‘words’. When it was time that Layla was meant to graduate from his class room, it broke his heart. And it broke yours too.

Harry and Layla had created such a bond, you couldn’t bear for them to part. So you did the only thing you thought you could do when you walked into the classroom to see Harry laying on his back with your little one being held up in the air, giggling away with a few teeth that finally peeked through her gums.

“Hello my little one!” You had knelt down on the carpet next to Harry as he was handing you Layla, who was extremely happy to see you; kicking her legs and squealing happily. “Did you have a good day?”

“She was a little monkey today!” Harry was packing up Layla’s diaper bag as he was telling you about her day. “She was trying to climb out of her crib, climbing all over my lap during lunch and my back during tummy-time.”

“Oh no! We just got crawling down like a boss and now you get the gall to start climbing! You’ll be walking before you know it and then we will be in real trouble, wont we missy?” You started to kiss her chubby cheeks, making giggles bubble from her tummy.

“I’ll certainly miss her.” Harry gave you a shy smile as he carried her diaper bag and a gift from him for Layla to you. He handed you her bag as you stood up before handing you the gift bag.

“What’s this?” You gave him a curious look as you took the bag in hand as you settled Layla on your hip.

Harry scratched the back of his neck and wiggled his socked toes. “It’s just a little something.”

Layla reached her arms out to Harry, as if she knew this would be the last day that they would be able to cuddle. You handed her over easily, tapping her bum before opening the gift bag. Inside was her favorite book to ‘read’ with Harry, (you're pretty sure it's because of the way Harry reads it to her because she crawls away every time you try to read it). There was a crochet sweater that Harry told you his mom made, and a framed photo of Harry and Layla where Layla is squeezing Harry's cheeks to pull him in for a sloppy kiss.

You held your chest as you looked at the photo and tears began to well. “Harry, this is… this is so sweet, thank you. She loves you so much.”

He smiled down at her, scrunching his face, which Layla had mocked, “I guess I love her too. You have a very special girl on your hands.” He kissed her little nose before she cuddled onto his shoulder.

“I don’t want her to have a new teacher.” You wiped your eyes as you put Layla’s gifts back in the bag. “Would you want to be her nanny, Harry?”

Harry froze at the offer, a little taken back by being offered what he would consider to be a dream job; help you care for your perfect child. Granted, Harry had thought of this before but more of a fatherly figure than a nanny, but he would take what he could get to be close to both of his girls.

“What do you say Monkey? Want me to be your nanny?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry made his way down the stairs with Layla wrapped around his waist, her head on his shoulder. Her little fingers were twisting in the curls on the nape of Harry’s neck as he was humming and rubbing circles on her back. Layla unraveled herself as Harry approached the table to set her down so that he could start the coffee maker and begin making Lalya’s favorite breakfast.

Layla watched on with sleepy eyes, occasionally giving them a rub, as Harry pulled out a mixing bowl, flour, eggs, vanilla, bananas, and Layla’s favorite part, chocolate chips. She had quietly stood up from her perch and made her way to the ingredients as Harry was setting up the coffee pot. Harry had turned just in time to see Layla pop a small handful of chocolate chips into her mouth. She froze her movements.

“Monkey… what did I say about eating the chocolate chips before they are in your pancakes?”

Layla slowly reached for a few more, putting her hand out to Harry, “We share?”

Harry couldn’t help but to let a chortle out as he bent down, meeting his girl as her little fingers gripped on the chips that she moved to pop them in Harry’s mouth. “Thank you monkey! Would you like to help me mix?”

Layla quickly nodded as Harry picked her up to place her on the counter, making sure she was far enough from the edge before he handed her the whisk and placed the mixing bowl in front of her. Harry measured out the ingredients before putting them in the bowl for his girl to start mixing. Harry had pretended that he didn’t notice her add more handfuls of chocolate chips into the mix.

Harry heard your heels on the hardwood upstairs and Layla quickly turned when she realized you were coming down the stairs. You took Harry’s breath away, as you always did when you walked into the room. He could never take his eyes off of you when you were in his line in vision. He took in how perfect the blush pink, knee length, a-line dress perfectly hugged your curves. The way the nude heels made your legs look miles long. How perfect your hair frames your face and the beaming smile as you saw your baby girl.

“Good morning, baby!” You walked to the island of your kitchen to give your daughter a kiss, noticing the taste of chocolate when you pulled your lips from hers. You hum and squint your eyes, causing Layla to let out a giggle as she covered her mouth. “That’s funny, I’m pretty sure Harry hasn’t made you any pancakes yet, so why are your kisses so yummy?”

Layla shrugged as if she had no idea what you were talking about, causing you to look at Harry who gave you the same exact shrug your daughter had just given you. You shake your head, resting your hand on Harry’s lower back as you pass to make your coffee.

Harry focused on the touch, wishing that your hand was pressed a little firmer and a little longer. He wished that after you kissed your perfect carbon copy, you would kiss him too and catch him red handed after sneaking a few chocolate chips. He had wished that he wouldn’t have to go home at the end of the day to his lonely apartment. He shook himself from his thoughts as he heard you thank him for making coffee.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I made enough for you to take some with you too.”

“God, you’re a saint!” You squeezed his shoulder as you walked to the stool that held your purse and work tote. “Starting as a full time doctor at the children’s hospital has been so draining. I’m pretty sure I have been drinking a whole pot by myself.”

“I know that they just hired you full time but you should take some time for yourself.”

Layla watched on as you and Harry talked about work, slowly stopping her mixing and reached her hand for the chocolate chip bag. Harry slapped his hand on the bag, moving it away without even looking in Layla’s direction as he continued to talk about you and your self care. You let out a chuckle at Layla’s shocked pout as you take your last sip of your coffee.

“Alright my love, I need to get going. Be good for Harry.” Layla reached up to wrap her arms around your neck and gave you another peck to your lips.

“I will mama, I love you!”

“I love you too, baby. Have a good day Harry, call me if you need anything.”

With that, you walked out the door and got in your car to go to work as Harry got back to making breakfast for his girl.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After eating breakfast and doing a team clean up, Harry took Layla to her room to pick out an outfit for the day. Layla stood there, wide eyed, watching Harry as he moved around her room, knowing exactly where everything was.

“I was thinking we could go to the park today, what do you think monkey? And after the park, we would go to the museum.”

Layla perked up, excited to go to two of her favorite places, hoping Harry would list her most favorite place when they have a day planned like this.

“And the cafe?” She looked up at him with hopeful eyes, now standing by his side while he was pulling socks out of her dresser.

“I don’t know monkey… do you think we should?” Harry was trying to hold back his smile, knowing how devastated she would be if he were to ever tell her no to her favorite cafe.

“Please, Harry? It’s my favorite.” Of course, she had to use those gorgeous eyes that she clearly got from her mother. Harry realized that he is so weak for these girls.

“Alright, I guess we must then.” Harry closed the drawer with his hip and Layla jumped and clapped before sprinting to her ensuite.

Layla quickly stripped out of her clothes and turned the knobs to the bath herself before using all her little strength to put the plug in the tub. Harry was smart enough one day, when Layla was feeling extra autonomous, to put stickers on where the perfect bath temperature would be, so that Layla would never burn herself or cry when it’s too cold.

Harry laid out her outfit for the day on the sink counter, grabbing a cup and kneeling before the tub to help wash her hair. He heard “I can do it” more times than he can count until it became time to rinse her hair, where she would wordlessly tip her head back and cover her eyes with her little hands.

They would mindlessly chat about what they were excited to see at the museum, what they would play at the park, until Layla randomly asked, “Do you have a daddy?”

Harry froze. He knew he obviously was going to answer but he was afraid of where the conversation would lead to. “I do.” He let the silence settle, not wanting to push Layla to talk due to his anxiety.

“Mama says I have a daddy out there somewhere but she loved me too much to share me.” Layla rubbed the water away from her face before looking at Harry with a gentle smile that began to turn to a soft pout.

“What’s the matter, monkey? You can talk to me.” Harry put the cup off to the side on the tub ledge before leaning in to listen to his sweet girl. Her little fingers began to trace the ink on his left arm since his arms were exposed after Harry pushed up his sleeves for bath time.

“I’m sad I don’t know anything about my daddy. Did he not love me?” Harry could see the tears form in Layla’s eyes and he could physically feel them form in his along with the lump in his throat.

“Oh, baby. I don’t know anything about your daddy but I do know that he is a very lucky man to have had you and mama.”

“Why is he gone?” Layla’s tears were freely falling and her little lip was trembling.

Harry grabbed Layla’s towel, picking her up and wrapping the towel around her so he could hold her to his chest as she nuzzled in his neck, exactly how she did when they first met.

“My sweet girl.” He was rubbing her back and rocking her back and forth. Harry was curious as to what had brought this on but he didn’t want to press it. He did know that he was going to properly spoil his girl rotten today to make all her worries and heartache disappear.

Layla sniffled and wiped her runny nose on the towel before pushing away from Harry, resting her hands on his chest to look him in the face. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a good squeeze, making a smile spread to Harry’s cheeks, holding his girl closer.

“Will you Elsa braid my hair like mama does?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Probably won’t look as good as mama’s but I will try.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry must say, he’s pretty proud of his braid as he is putting Layla’s glittery sky blue helmet on her.

Harry had dressed her in an outfit he would probably wear. You always had a good sense of fashion and Layla was picking up on it as well, now that you have been giving her some more independence in choices.

Layla was dressed in dark purple corduroy flares with a cream sweater, speckled with pastel pinks, purples, and blues. Harry made sure that she wore comfortable but warm shoes, opting for some brown leather Chelsea boots. Harry grabbed her mustard yellow peacoat and threw a pair of gloves in his backpack, just in case, along with more socks, another sweater, extra hair ties and clips (Harry would occasionally steal her butterfly clips for his own hair). He made sure that their water bottles were filled and there were snacks and sanitary wipes in the front pocket of his backpack before throwing it on his shoulders.

Harry and Layla walked out the front door, her helping lock up the house, before walking to Harry’s bike. He picked up Layla to set her in the kid carrier attached to the back of Harry’s bike. You had been extremely nervous when Harry had first told you about the seat and wanting to take Layla for a ride. You offered to help him get a car, even if it was for your own sanity, but Layla loved riding on Harry’s bike way too much to ever say no.

Layla was patient and cooperative with Harry hooking her in, making sure she was safe and secure. Harry checked the straps and buckles three times before he gave Layla an approving nod while she returned his gesture, adding a giggle. Harry swung his leg over the seat, kicked up the kickstand and planted his feet on the pedals, making their way to the park. Layla enjoyed the scenery whizzing by while humming some song that Harry couldn’t make out, otherwise he would have joined her.

They made their way to the park, enjoying the rest of the morning hours there before they ventured to the cafe on the lake that was close to the park. Harry kept his bike locked up, opting to hold Layla’s hand as they walked to the cafe.

Harry had asked Layla why she likes this cafe so much many times and her answers had changed over the years. She used to tell Harry that it was because of “duckies”, then it turned to liking their hot cocoa. Today when he asked, his heart was warmed by her words and how wise she had become by the ripe age of three.

“Mama brings me here when we go to the park and you always bring me here. It’s our family spot.”

The waitress came over, beaming at Harry and Layla sitting across from each other, coloring on the placemat together.

“Oh my goodness, your daughter is so cute!”

Layla looked up at the waitress with a scowl before looking at Harry, causing him to laugh.

“I’m her nanny.”

The waitress looked taken back but quickly changed her features, looking Harry up and down and biting her lip. Layla continues to scowl at the waitress as Harry told her that they were ready to order.

Layla, being the smart girl she is, noticed how the waitress demeanor changed. How she was now only focused on Harry, began to twirl her hair and the constant lip biting. Harry had ordered his food and looked to Layla, who cleared her throat to get the waitress’s attention.

“My mama is prettier and she’s a doctor.”

Harry choked on his water at Layla’s childlike bluntness, causing a laugh to escape from his lips that he was trying to hold back. The waitress now was the one to wear the scowl as Layla’s own demeanor became confident with a hint of sass.

The waitress finally looked to Layla, “That’s not a very nice thing to say to a stranger.”

“It’s not nice to ignore me. I want hot cocoa with extra whipped cream and grilled cheese. Thank you.” Layla went back to coloring on the placemat, dismissing the waitress.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They had finished their lunch, the waitress returning minimally since she got scolded by the child. Layla had cleaned up her area, stacking all of her dirty dishes and utensils onto Harry’s plate before hopping down from her chair and reaching for Harry’s hand. They got back to Harry’s bike, having Layla grip onto Harry’s trouser leg as he was unlocking the bike to set it up properly to get Layla back in her seat.

On their way to the museum, she was playing with the keychain they had made together that was attached to the zipper of Harry’s backpack. They were chatting about what parts of the museum they were going to be looking forward to.

Harry had tried to make their time together as educational as possible. Her little brain was ever growing, becoming curious, and he tried to feed its thirst for knowledge. The museum was having an exhibit on extinct animals so he had made sure they made it in time for them to join.

Layla was a wonderful listener. Harry had to carry her, per her request, so that she could be close to the presenter as they walked around the exhibit so she wouldn't miss a word he was saying. Her eyes were glued to the speaker when he spoke, focused on the extinct animal figure on display when he would direct their focus. Layla had her fingers wrapped in Harry’s curls, twisting them gently in her little fingers as she sponged up the information. She would occasionally rest her head on his shoulder, nuzzle close, and Harry would rest his head on hers.

“Getting tired, sweetheart?”

Layla lazily shook her head no as her grip tightened on to Harry. Harry knew she would be fast asleep the moment he got her into the bike seat.

Layla slept all the way home, Harry careful to pull her out to not disturb her, holding her close as he got them inside. He carried her to her room, slowly peeling off her coat and boots before covering her in a crochet blanket; another gift made by his own mother for his girl. Layla curled onto her side, subconsciously grabbing for her stuffed monkey Harry got for her for her third birthday, and soft snores began to fall from her lips.

Harry kissed her cheek before turning on her white noise maker and leaving her door cracked. Harry made his way down stairs and plopped on the couch, falling asleep himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry woke up covered in a soft sherpa blanket with the smell of garlic and tomato filling his nostrils. He let out a stretch before sitting up, seeing you standing at the stove and Layla at the table painting.

You were still in your blush dress from the morning but were barefoot and hair up in a messy bun with pieces framing your face. You were sipping from your red wine glass while pushing chicken and veggies in a skillet.

Layla perked up when she saw Harry staring at you. She had noticed this look he gave you before, the ever observant girl, but she didn’t know how to verbalize what the look could mean. She let Harry watch you a little longer until you had noticed he was awake when you turned around.

“Morning sunshine! Did this one wear you out today?” You were smiling at him as you continued to chop vegetables to put them in a salad, popping a chunk of cucumber in your mouth and handing Layla a chunk for herself, popping her piece in her mouth almost identical to you. Except, Harry was focused on the way your lips curled into a soft smile while you eloquently chewed and swallowed the piece of green veg before licking your lips, causing Harry to realize how dry his mouth was and how sweaty his palms were.

“No, not at all. We had a great day, guess I just needed the rest.”

You nodded as you pulled three plates down from the cupboard to place on the table. You mumbled a “time to clean up” into Layla’s hair, that is now loose from its Elsa braid, as you kissed the top of her head. Layla gently put her paints away, Harry helping with the water cup and laying the painting on the counter to dry. Harry walked Layla to the bathroom so they could both wash their hands for dinner.

You had made up the plates and placed them on the table before Harry and Layla had walked out. Getting Layla a cup for water and another red wine glass, you poured Harry a glass and topped yours off, setting them on the table as the two walked out.

This had become a strange tradition for the three of you after you had noticed that Harry had lost weight and was concerned that he wasn’t eating properly at home by himself. He swore it wasn’t an issue but you had gone full mama bear mode on Harry and started to put a plate in front of him before he had an opportunity to tell you “no thank you”. You sat at the table with Layla and Harry, discussing their day.

“Mama, the lady at the cafe ignored me to stare at Harry. It wasn’t nice!”

You let out a giggle, thinking to yourself that you can’t blame the poor waitress for being enchanted by the magnetic being across from you. “You’re right baby, that’s not nice but hopefully Harry got a phone number out of it.”

You smiled across at Harry and he began to blush, opening his mouth to speak but Layla beat him to it.

“Why would Harry need her phone number? He can call you!”

As calm and collected as you were, Harry went into a slight panic; was he really that obvious when it came to his feelings for you?

“Again, you’re right baby. Harry can call me any time he wants.”

Harry’s eyes went wide and Layla’s scowl turned into a bright smile, going back to eating her dinner while Harry sat there frozen.

“I can call you?”

“Of course Harry, any time. Even if it’s just to check in on Layla.”

Harry deflated a little when you were clear about your intentions for a phone call just as a friendly gesture. Harry went back to eating, trying to disguise his disappointment.

Harry had helped you clean up while Layla went to get her pajamas on. There was an awkward silence looming over the two of you that you could both sense but you weren’t sure who would cut through it first, so you decided to bare the knife.

“Can I ask you a huge favor? You have every right to say no if you are busy or you just don’t want to.”

“Of course, can ask me anything.”

“Would you be able to watch Layla Friday night?”

“Yeah, no problem. Did you get called in to cover at the hospital?”

“Um, no, actually. I have a date.”

The knife you used to cut through the heavy air around you just went right into Harry’s heart. He couldn’t tell if you could notice but he could feel his blood run cold and his face go pale.

“No problem. I’ll just stay all day Friday. I should get going now though.”

“You don’t want to stay for the Great British Bake off? You always stay to watch after dinner.” You gave him a pout as you wiped your hands with a rag to dry them. Those eyes always work on him, no matter if they are from Layla or you, but his heart couldn’t bear to look at them tonight.

“I have stuff at home to catch up on and since I’ll be busy on Friday now, I should get it done.”

“Harry, you don’t have to watch Layla on Friday if you’re already busy. I can find a babysitter.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, Harry quickly walked to the door, stopping when he saw Layla come down the stairs, trying to hold back his tears that he can feel burning.

“Good night my sweet girl, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Layla reached her arms up to hug Harry, holding her extra tight and giving her a long kiss to her cheek before gently setting her feet on the floor and heading home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You were getting ready for your date as Harry was making dinner for him and Layla. You had offered to cook something up but Harry told you that you should get ready so you wouldn’t be late.

You walked down in the tightest dress Harry had ever seen you in, making his body ache from desire and heartbreak. How desperately he wanted to pick you up for a date with you walking out in that curve hugging maroon dress and black stiletto heel, putting your earring in and fluffing your hair to where you want it to lay.

“So pretty mama!”

“Thank you baby!” You gave the top of her head a kiss before going to pick up your phone from the charger to place in your clutch. You heard the horn of a car outside as you were grabbing your black trench coat.

“Okay baby, be good. You might be sleeping when I get back but I’ll come tuck you in. Harry, call me if you need anything.” You kissed Layla again and made your way to the door, locking it behind you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Your date has been going extremely well. David was a handsome surgeon you had met during your ER coverage when someone came in with intensive internal bleeding, leading to an emergency surgery where David was on call. Laughs were being had, drinks were flowing easy, then your phone rang.

You saw that it was Harry so you quickly answered, “Harry, is everything alright?” You could hear Layla crying in the background, making your heart race.

“Layla has a fever and I can’t get her to calm down.”

You took a deep breath, “What’s her temperature? Did you give her some children’s Tylenol?”

“She is at 100 right now, gave her the Tylenol and put a cool cloth on her head. She’s just so inconsolable right now. She wants her mama, Y/N.”

“Can I talk to her?” Harry put the phone on speaker as he continued to rock Layla, adjusting the cloth on her forehead.

You whimpered when you heard her choked sobs, gently asking, “Baby, wants the matter?”

Layla’s cries had died down a minuscule amount but you could make out what she was saying, “I want my mama!” Your heart was breaking and you looked to David, who at this point finished his wine and looked extremely annoyed.

“It’s okay baby, I’ll be home soon, okay? I’ll be right there.” Layla settled a little more and Harry ended the call with a “see you soon”.

David paid for the bill as you began to apologize and get your stuff together. David began to walk ahead of you before saying his cold goodbye at the door. “I don’t have time to drive you home, could you catch an Uber or something?”

You scoffed at him before rolling your eyes, “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks for dinner but don’t expect a call from me.” You pulled out your phone as David walked away so that you could request an Uber.

You had rushed into your house, which was now eerily quiet for having a sick baby girl on your hands. You walked into the house further and found Harry laying on the couch topless with Layla laying on his chest, also topless and a wet towel between them. Harry had his fingers combing through Layla’s hair as they were watching Coco.

Layla lifted her head when she heard your heels on the hardwood, looking at you and tears began to brim her eyes.

“Hi my baby, you’re not feeling good, hm?” You knelt down by the couch as you stripped off your coat and Layla was reaching for you to hold her. You held her close, feeling the warmth radiating off of her but it wasn’t a concerning temperature at this point.

Harry sat up, folding the wet towel before taking it to the bathroom, walking away and coming back still topless. Your eyes explored his torso, his high waisted trousers cover up until under his butterfly. You continued to hold and rock your little one, who was now nuzzling into your neck with her breathing slowing. Your eyes finally finished their exploring of Harry’s dips and valleys when you met his eyes, mouthing a “thank you” for taking care of your daughter.

You stood up and kicked off your heels before climbing the stairs to tuck Layla in. You placed her in your bed so that you could watch her overnight. You walked back down the stairs after leaving your door cracked and promptly went to the cupboard to pull out two wine glasses and a bottle of Syrah, popping out the cork and pouring two hefty glasses before walking to the couch where Harry now sat with his shirt on. To say you were disappointed was an understatement.

Harry took the glass and looked at how full it was before giving you a look with a cocked brow and smirk. “Not good, huh?”

You ran your hand through your hair and let out a sigh. “It was fine until you called.” Harry instantly felt guilty for calling you on your date until you spoke up again.

“I didn’t tell him I had Layla, he had told me before the date that he never wanted children. I guess that should have been a major red flag. I’ve just been so alone and desperate that I took the first thing that jumped on me.” You took a huge swig of your wine before letting out a sigh. “I probably should have asked you if you needed a ride home before I started guzzling down my feelings.”

Harry smiled at you, “It’s fine. I can get an Uber.”

You almost spilt your wine when you sat up with a mouthful, quickly swallowing it. “Mm! He didn’t even drive me home! He made me get a fucking Uber!”

“What an asshole!”

“I know! Ugh, I should just give up while I’m ahead. I’ve got the most perfect daughter, I have a great job, although exhausting. I own a house and have a happy and healthy life… I guess I just get-“

“Lonely?” Harry thought that you were preaching to the choir at this point because he felt the same exact way; he had your daughter to care for, an amazing job, he is happy and healthy because you care for him.

You let out another sigh and closed your eyes, “Yes, so lonely. I have been doing this all on my own and it can be too much. I just want someone to hold me, tell me it will be okay, that I am doing a good job.”

“You’re doing an amazing job,Y/N.”

You slowly open your eyes and look to Harry who has been watching you this whole time. You let out another sigh because you can feel him pull you in but you don’t want anything to happen, not right now anyway, not like this.

As if your daughter wasn’t already your saving grace, she cried out for you right when you felt the pull to Harry become too strong. You put your wine glass down and go to your baby.

“You’re more than welcome to stay in the guest room if you don’t feel like making your way home this late. I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight Harry.”

And with that, you walked up the stairs to be with your baby and Harry called an Uber home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry had walked in, eager to start the day with Layla, thinking about maybe baking something and going to the art museum. When he walked into the kitchen, he wasn’t expecting to see you in a long t-shirt, bed head and bare legs with Layla on the counter eating sliced strawberries.

“Oh shit, Harry!”

“Mama! No swear!”

“Oop, sorry baby. Harry, I must have forgot to tell you that I had today off.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, I can head home so you can spend the day with Layla.”

“Or you can stay…” you were looking at him with hopeful eyes that he would agree to spend the day with you and Layla. “We would love for you to stay.”

“Yeah Harry! Please?”

The way that both of you are now giving him the eyes, he’s lucky he didn’t turn into a puddle on the floor. Harry began to peel his jacket and boots off, exposing his layered red sweater over a cream button up to match his brown and cream plaid pants, walking over to the island for Layla to pop a strawberry in his mouth. You smiled up at him as he began to help you prep the breakfast to build your own waffles.

Harry helped Layla get ready for the day, getting her in some black fleece leggings, a chambray shirt with some brown leather combat boots. Layla said she wanted mama to do her hair and that Harry shouldn’t take it personally.

Layla sprinted into your ensuite where you were finishing your simple makeup and loose curls, wearing high waisted dark skinny jeans and a cream off the shoulder sweater. You were still barefoot at this point and Harry thought that he could get used to this.

You made sure you unplugged your curling wand and moved it away from the sink so that you could sit Layla on it to do her hair. She already had white bows in her hand for you to put in her hair. You quickly did a crown braid to keep her hair out of her face and finished it off with a top knot, throwing a bow at the base of the bun. You dashed on your perfume, doing the same to Layla per her request and then threw some chapstick on the both of you before picking up Layla to place on your hip.

You looked up to Harry and asked him if he was ready to go. He swallowed that dry mouth away before giving you a nod.

You got Layla settled in her car seat, tucking your purse under her feet and gave her a kiss before you climbed into the driver's seat. Harry got comfortable in the passenger seat, looking in the mirror in the visor to look back at Layla who was ‘reading’ a book.

You looked over to Harry who was smiling in the mirror, causing you to smile before asking if everyone was ready. You stopped by a coffee shop drive through where you got Layla her hot cocoa, yourself a flat white, and Harry a black coffee. The drive to the art museum was a little ways so you let Layla pick the music for the car. You hummed along to the Disney songs until Layla was begging for you and Harry to sing, causing you both to giggle but sing along.

Harry took over when it came to the art museum, educating Layla on artists and types of paints and materials used. You followed behind letting them having their time together, warming to see Harry adore your daughter and her being excited to learn. You took a few pictures of the two of them and were reviewing them when Layla was hyper fixated on Monet’s “Sunflowers” painting. You froze at a picture of Harry knelt down with Layla between his legs and his hand on her tummy. She was pointing to a painting on the wall while Harry was looking at the camera with a beaming smile, the next one was the same pose with a softer smile and he was looking behind the camera, looking at you.

You looked up to see Layla running to you with arms open and Harry jogged close behind. Layla was talking a mile a minute about the sunflower painting as you knelt down to pick her up. You kept looking at Harry who was giggling at Layla’s gabbing and excitement while you could not focus on anything other than the way Harry’s dimples were popping and his eyes were crinkling. You shook yourself from the trance as you helped Layla get her jacket from the museum coat closet.

You decided to go out of the way to go to the cafe by the park. This would be the first time all three of you went together and you knew Layla would be excited when she saw the car pull into the parking lot.

You were right; she squealed and tried to get herself out of her car seat but Harry had beat her to it. She was in awe of the trees surrounding the lake and the cafe, all in their full bloom of fall colors. The leaves were scattered beautifully along the parking lot, leaves floating in the lake. The cafe was decorated in fall decor, preparing for the holiday season.

You requested a table by the widows facing the lake and sat Layla closest to the window so she could enjoy the view. She murmured how it looked like a painting at the museum and what paints were used in the art she was thinking of. You smiled at her before looking at Harry who was already looking at you.

Layla started to list all the colors she sees outside as the waitress approached, the same one that had eyes for Harry.

“Well, hello again.” She again was focused only on Harry, ignoring your’s and Layla’s presence. Harry had to laugh because the face you were making at that moment was identical to the one Layla had made the first time.

“I’ll let the ladies order first.” Harry nodded at you before you looked up at the waitress, giving her a sickly sweet smile. Her eyes widened when she looked at you, truly shocked by your beauty.

“Layla baby, you first.” Layla never looked away from outside, stating that she would like “hot cocoa with extra whip cream and a grilled cheese, please.” You had asked if she could get a side of veg along with her meal as you ordered a turkey club with a side salad and a cup of soup to share with Layla.

Harry had ordered his turkey burger with side salad before the waitress parted to bring a fresh pitcher of water. Layla had finally turned her attention back to you and Harry, going over her favorite parts of the museum throughout the meal. You're pretty sure she had listed everything she saw.

You made your way home, Layla falling asleep in the car. Harry had carried her up to her bed as you gathered all the dirty laundry to start a load. You sat at the table with your laptop, paying bills when Harry made his way down to you at the kitchen table. Harry let out a yawn and you pointed to the coffee maker.

“Fresh pot.” You smiled and lifted your mug to ‘cheers’ him. Harry sat across from you while you finished up on your computer and you suggested that you watch a movie or some garbage tv.

You got about halfway through the movie before you heard little feet pattering on the hardwood upstairs. Before you know it, Layla has crawled into your lap, laying her head on your shoulder while she looks at Harry with a sleeping smile.

“Good morning beautiful, sleep well?” She nodded at Harry as she nuzzled closer to you. You rubbed her back and patted her bum as you thought about what to do for dinner.

“I was thinking since we have already been bad all day, we should order some pizza.” Layla perked up at that before squeezing you tighter. You giggled as you pulled out your phone, hitting the speed dial to your favorite place.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With full bellies and a sleepy Layla, you get the two of you ready for bed as Harry puts away the leftovers and throws the boxes away.

You walk down with a clean face, hair up, and a pair of green cotton plaid pajama pants and a white oversized T-shirt. Harry walked back in from the recycling outside to you holding a pint of ice cream and two spoons. You raised your eyebrows and giggled as Harry walked over to you. You popped open the pint and handed a spoon to Harry.

“Layla would be heartbroken if she saw you sharing with me and not her.” He smiled before popping the spoon in his mouth, letting the cream melt over his tongue.

You shrug, licking your spoon, “I don’t share my ice cream with just any one Harry.” You take another spoonful and look at Harry as you take your bite.

Harry could feel his heart racing, his mouth drying, his hands are sweaty. He can feel the word vomit in the back of his throat make its way to the tip of his tongue. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course Harry, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You stood up straight when you saw that Harry had adjusted his own posture. He was avoiding your gaze now, looking to the spoon in his hand he was twirling while he tried to find his voice. You didn’t pressure him, you both just stood in silence.

“I’m very lucky to have had you walk into my classroom. I instantly fell in love with your daughter and I instantly fell in love with you too.” He was still avoiding your gaze but if he were to look up, he would see that your eyes have glossed and your lip is trembling, the way Layla’s does when she is trying to hold back her tears.

“I’ve known for an embarrassingly long time how I have truly felt about you but what we have is so good and I couldn’t bear to not have Layla in my life, couldn’t bear to lose you. I- Today was amazing and made me realize that it would kill me if I don’t tell you that I am completely and utterly, madly in love with you.”

Harry decided that it’s now or never to look at you, and you looked so beautiful in this moment as you do every time Harry looks at you. You may be in oversized and stained pajamas, your cheeks may be wet and flush and your lips bruised and trembling, but you are as beautiful as you are every day that Harry is graced with your presence.

You now try to find your words but you choke out a sob. Harry quickly wraps you into his arms and kisses the top of your head, holding you close. You finally catch your breath and look up to him.

“I always knew there was something there but I was too scared to find out.”

Harry wiped your cheeks with his thumbs, holding your face in his palms. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?”

You gave him the nod he was wishing for and he slowly leaned in as he pulled you closer. He was gentle in his movements, not wanting to scare you away from this moment. He planted his lips softly against yours, slowly moving so that he could incase your lower lip between his, softly sucking it between his lips. He moved closer so that your bodies were pressed together and he lowered his right hand from your cheek to your waist and his left hand to the back of your head, his fingers weaving into the hair pulled up into the bun on top of your head. He gently let his tongue graze your bottom lip before he pulled you closer and licked again with more fervor.

Your mouth opened more to let him in, just as you were opening yourself more to let him into your heart. Your hands reached out to grip at the sweater on his chest as you finally let go and let your tongue meet his. This move gives Harry the confidence and reassurance he needs as he fully licks into you to massage your tongue with his as he presses his hips to yours, pushing your lower back to the counter.

He pulls away breathless as he lays his forehead on yours, kissing your nose and rubbing the back of your head with his thumb. He goes back in to kiss you more,  lifting you by your thighs to wrap around him. He carefully carries you to your room, gently laying you down on the bed as he starts to kiss down your neck, his hands massaging your thighs that are still wrapped around him. Harry pulls his sweater over his head and before you get the chance to admire him, his lips are pressed to yours. His fingers graze the waistband of your bottoms and he starts to pull them down, his soft and warm palms caressing the bare flesh of your thighs.

Harry continues to kiss the skin of your neck as you swallow down the lump that is forming in the base of your throat as you think about the next morning. “Harry, what if this changes everything?”

“Everything’s still the same, nothing changes. Except now, I get to hold you, and kiss you, and show you much I love you.”

You let out a sigh of relief as the tears begin to form that you try to blink away. Harry’s face is again level with yours, kissing your cheek. “Will you let me show you how much I love you?”

Your lip trembles as you tell him yes, never feeling loved before this moment. Harry gently kissed you and he reached for the hem of your shirt. He pulled it over your head, exposing your sports bra and he leaned on his hunches to finish pulling your bottoms off. Harry took his time, kissing every inch of you. Your stretch marks from carrying Layla, your stubbly thighs because you didn’t have time to shave your legs fully this morning, your freckles and scars. Harry truly loved every inch of you, and you could feel it.

“Can I take these off, love?” Harry’s fingers were tucked into your cotton panties when you gave him a nod. You were nervous because it had been longer than you would like to admit since you have been intimate with someone. Harry slowly peeled them down your legs, kissing a trail behind.

“Harry… it’s been a long time…”

“It’s okay, I’ll take my time with you.” He kissed your ankle as he dropped your panties to the side of the bed. “Can I start by touching you?” You nod again and you lean up to pull off your sports bra and adjust the pillow behind your head. Harry still sat on his knees between your legs to admire you. “Do you have any lube? I don’t want to hurt you or make it uncomfortable for you.”

You give him a shy smile before leaning to your side table, appreciating him for being so kind and gentle. You hand him the bottle and he pops the cap open, spreading some along his fingers as well as dripping some on your center. He placed the bottle by his leg, just in case he doesn’t have enough.

“Talk to me, okay? Let me know if it’s too much or not enough. Tell me what you need.”

“I will.” He smiled before leaning down to kiss you, hovering over you as he started to run his pointer and middle finger through your folds. You gasp at the coldness but quickly relax when you feel Harry’s fingers explore you more; spreading you open, pinching a lip or your clit between his fingers. He gave you one last lick into your mouth before leaning back again.

You opened your thighs more to accommodate him as he watched his own fingers explore you. You watched his brow furrow and he occasionally licked his lip. Your breath hitched when you felt his middle finger slowly dip in you.

“This okay?”

“Yes.” Your hips flex up involuntarily to meet Harry’s finger that he is slowly dipping and pulling out of you. His thumb slowly started rolling over your clit and you let out your first moan. It was soft, but present enough for Harry to speed up his movements a little bit, earning a louder moan from you.

“You like that baby?” Harry slowly pulled out his middle finger so that he could slide his middle and ring finger in together, giving you the stretch to need. When he got to the base of his fingers, your back arched and Harry began his come hither motion on your walls, reaching further to hit the soft sponge that you needed him to find.

“Harry, right there!” He added a little more pressure to your gspot before returning to his massaging gesture, using his other hand to figure eight your clit with his thumb. You could feel yourself on the brink of the tip over but you needed something, you just weren’t sure what it was but Harry seemed to know.

He leaned down to kiss you fully again, the pressure of his body on you caused his thumb to add more pressure to your bud and his fingers to plunge a little deeper, causing the rush to flow over you and the tingles to start in your fingers and toes. You moaned into his mouth as he continued to kiss you to keep you quiet but you pulled away to catch a breath, panting into his shoulder as he kissed your neck.

Harry began to slow his movements, pulling his hands away to massage at your thighs as he continued to kiss your neck down to your chest. You could feel him straining in his trousers on your core as he laid on you.

“Was that okay?” He continued to kiss your chest, licking your left nipple into his mouth, sucking gently and flicking the tip of his tongue across it. You rolled your hips into him, feeling the vibrations from his moan into the flesh of your breast.

“It was great, thank you.” Your hand was combing through his hair as he moved to your right breast.

“Can I make love to you?” He looked up at you, watching your soft, blissed out face turn into a gentle smile.

“I would love to make love with you, Harry.” He leaned up again to kiss you before standing to pull off his trousers. He reached for the nightstand to grab a condom, putting it on and adding some extra lube before setting the bottle aside.

“Let me know if you need me to stop or anything.” He kissed your forehead, your closed eyes, each cheek, then your nose before landing on your lips. He lined himself up to your core, all while kissing you, before gently pushing into you with a role of his hips.

With each roll and deeper kiss, he sunk deeper into you. You pulled away from the kiss trying to catch a breath, feeling dizzy from being overwhelmed emotionally and physically. Harry continued to slowly thrust into you, barely pulling out before he would roll again. He lifted a knee to lay flush with your thigh, opening you more which caused Harry to pull out more than he intended to push back into you.

You let out a moan and your head tipped back after that particular thrust, causing Harry to remove his face from your neck to look at you and repeat the same motion, over and over again. He could feel how wet you were getting, almost too wet that he was slipping out of you more, causing his thrust to be sloppy and deeper.

He lifted the thigh he had pushed up with his knee up to his shoulder, hovering over you more and looking right down at you. You look up to see Harry’s curls falling over his face, his face and chest flush, your hand moved up to move his hair so you can see him in all his beauty. You leaned up to kiss him, creating a new angle that had you both moaning.

Harry could feel himself coming undone, knowing that he had to get you there first. He let his hand travel to wear your bodies met, rolling your bud under his thumb once again. You sat up on your elbows to keep the angle you both loved as well as to stay close to Harry.

“I’m so close, don’t stop Harry.”

He leaned in to kiss you, mumbling “I love you” against your lips between kisses. “Fuck, I love you so much, Y/N.”

At that confession, your arms gave out so Harry quickly gripped you close with his free arm and rolled his hips against you until he moaned out your name and let his orgasm flood over him. He gently laid you both down, resting his head on your chest as you both embraced and caught your breath.

Harry felt your fingers stop moving in his hair and little snores escape your lips. Harry has seen that sleepy pout on your daughter more times than he could count but seeing it on you has made him the happiest man alive. Harry maneuvers himself so that you are both lying comfortably and he falls asleep with his arms wrapped around you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You wake up to find that Harry is not in bed, but all the clothes from last night are now in the hamper and there is a set of fresh clothes at the end of the bed. You can hear little giggles and a few “oops” from the kitchen. You get dressed and make your way down stairs.

Layla turns her head to you when you walk in, beaming with a “morning mama!” Leaning up to give you a kiss.

“Are you stealing chocolate chips again? Some extra sweet kisses this morning!”

Layla giggles as you press your hand a little firmer and longer on Harry’s lower back as you go for the coffee pot. You lean up to give Harry a kiss, noticing that he has been dipping into the chocolate too. Harry quickly went back in for another kiss, sweeter than the chocolate that lingers. You pull away slowly looking into Harry’s sleepy green eyes and wish him a good morning.

“Morning love, banana pancakes?”

“I’d love some.”

[itsnothesameasitwas]

hiii! this month I’ve read a lot of great fics, so I decided is time to start my monthly fic rec… that means I’ll be doing a short fic rec and recap every month with my favorite fics of the month

note: the fics I’ll be mentioning weren't necessarily posted recently

!!! - please be careful and read all the tags and/or warnings before start reading and left kudos and nice messages to the authors <33

❀ Divinely Blessed by thinlines @thinlinez  | 17k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

“I heard you, Ni. But what do you mean?”

“What do you mean what I mean?”

Harry rolled his eyes as he shoved his alpha friend down onto a seat. “Did you mean you lick someone out or…?”

“Nah, mate! It was me! I got licked out!” Harry could only stare at Niall in horror.

Alpha Harry prides himself on having the bravest and most caring omega who might or might not just fulfill his sudden curiosity.

note: for some reason i don’t know i fell in love with the ABO and found this fic someway and WOW! it’s really fluffy and sweet and while i was reading all i could think about was “god! i really want someone who love me like Harry loves Lou and viceversa” and also has a great smut scene, funny and well writen (cliff ily babe)

❀ Promise me you won’t run away by thinlines | 23k | Explicit | ABO | Español

“Does kissing me stop you from having bad thoughts?” Harry asked, voice muffled into the collar of Louis’ dress shirt. Louis chuckled at this. He trailed a hand down Harry’s back, feeling the muscles tensing along with his touch.

“I guess you can say that. You’re a good distraction.”

“Then I will be the best distraction.” Harry answered, pulling back and watched Louis’ lips unashamedly.

“Come distract me, then.”

Or the Prince/ Knight AU in which Harry left Louis, but the omega never once gave up on them.

note: this fic is beautiful and really REALLY well written, i need to say i cried and im the most cold person in the world but this caught me and I LOVED IT! but also when i finished it i got mad because in the end notes was the spanish translation and i read it in english lmao; anyway i love it!!!... summing this up, the fic made me thought about that LOVE ALWAYS WIN <33

❀ Twist the knife by jishler @jishlerfics | 6k | Explicit | Angst / Smut | fic post

Infuriating, but Louis missed it. Louis missed him. His thighs and his chest and breath and warmth and toothbrush next to Louis’. He missed sex with Harry but he missed his presence more: Louis would settle for watching Harry get himself off if it meant he got to see him; hear the voice that was like a soothing balm over all his wounds.

Two weeks after their breakup, Harry wants his toys back.

note: i definetely don’t read smut in purpose and the reason i’ve read this was because i love the moodboard BUT i need to thank the person who put it on my dash because i liked it so much!! was fun to read and the smut is pretty well written :))

❀  Hold you now by solvetheminourdreams @solvetheminourdreams | 131k | Angst with happy ending | fic post | playlist

The string within Harry's own sweatpants is now dangling outside of his pocket, stretched so far out that the seams of his pants have tightened. His eyes remain hyper focused on Louis, how oblivious he is—scrolling through his phone without a care in the world, while Harry feels his tilt on its axis.

Three years ago, Harry Styles said goodbye to communications consultancy firm McQuiston Worldwide, leaving a life of travel and agency PR behind. When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

note: at the end of the first chapter i was emotional, is the kind of fic that you feel every single emotion, the one you literally feel are part of it... it’s perfectly well written and please give it a chance and  check all the stef’s works because she’s a super talented writer... if i say something else i’ll probably do spoilers so, shut up ana.

❀ The money mark by brightgolden @brightgolden | 52k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

Harry's heart beats faster in his chest as the name sinks in. The Tomlinson name is awfully familiar, and he isn’t sure how many rich Tomlinsons are out here in London, but he knew one. Seven years ago.

Like all fine things in the world, Louis Tomlinson ages exceptionally well.

OR

Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.

note: THIS IS MY FAVORITE FIC OF THE YEAR. sorry, but this fic is super well written, is omega harry + alpha louis and find smth like this is almost impossible! but i loved the fact that harry could be an omega and a sugar baby but he’s independant and strong and wow! it’s amazing; everyone should read it because it’s really good!! (ps. louis is the alpha of my dreams, he’s a complete gentlemen)

❀ Sweet like candy by neodiamond @neondiamond | 4k | General Audiences | ABO | fic post

Louis is an Alpha with an odd obsession for gummy bears. Harry is an Omega who makes friends a little too easily. They meet on the bus.

note: this is the cutest fluffy fic I have ever read! strangers to friends to lovers <333

❀ Literally making love by Brooklyn_babylon @twopoppies | 30k | Explicit | Robot/Human Relationship | fic post

Holding up one of the android's eyes to the workshop’s windows, he smiled as the light picked up the gold flecks in the pale green of his irises. Louis had always paid attention to even the tiniest details.

--

All Louis intended to do was rescue someone in need from loneliness. He had no idea it would be himself.

note: science + me = signal error BUT this fic. OMG. how to say this is one of the fics would be in my recap at the end of the year; i have read another fic by Gina and was really good but this is probably my favorite between both of them... all i know and want now is to create my perfect partner lmao. 

❀ I’m gonna keep this love, if you let me by pixies @tomlinbuns | 26k | Explicit | ABO | fic post

Louis makes Harry pretend to be his boyfriend one night out. The rest is history.

note: this one is simple to discribe... the best of the best. one of my favorites abo fics, funny, teasing and very romantic. i enjoyed so much read how these two guys fell in love with each other. god bless this fic <33

❀ Beautiful stranger by lovelarry10 @chloehl10 | 66k | Explicit | ABO / Mpreg | fic post

“Did you want to- oh. Uh, sorry, I-” Harry stuttered, licking his lips as he looked over Louis’ bare torso, not focusing on the ocean ahead of him. “You’re very distracting, Lou.”

“Trying to tell me you haven’t seen a topless Omega before?” Louis asked, walking back to his rucksack and grabbing a bottle of suncream out of it before returning to stand by Harry.

“Not one as stunning as you,” he thought he heard Harry mutter as he started to rub the cream into his shoulders.

*****

When Alpha Harry Styles attends the Gucci Cruise 2020 show, he knows what to expect: clothes, clutch bags, and a few too many pretentious people. What he doesn’t expect, however, is to run into an Omega who is more beautiful than anything on the runway.

note: this fic is from 2019 but who cares, i loved it so much and i want to thank/blame @justalarryblog​ because she unintentionally recommended it to me in her abo fic rec post and now i want someone like this harry in my life... is it too much to ask? because is one of the most beautiful abo fics i’ve read this month and wow. if you haven’t read it yet, what are you waiting for??

❀ Waiting on you by beckywritesthings @beckydoesthings  | 21k | Mature | Mpreg | fic post

“Do you want to touch?” Harry asks, taking one of his hands off to tangle with Louis’. His open invitation finally drags Louis’ attention away from his baby and up to his face, blue eyes wobbly with emotions. It’s clear that he’s too taken to really form words, so Harry takes the initiative to press their laced hands against his shirt fabric, warmth from the skin radiating through.

Louis pushes his shirt up to his chest, taking Harry’s hand and pressing it to hold the fabric in place. His hands return to warm skin, palms even more scalding now that there’s nothing in between them. And then, as if that wasn’t enough for Harry’s heart to handle, Louis leans in, pressing his lips right above his belly button.

“Hi, baby,” he says, lips moving across his skin softly. “I’m your… I’m Louis.”

Or Harry is pregnant with a stranger’s baby and Louis doesn’t know. It’s a minor detail that Harry’s both living with Louis and in love with him. No big deal.

note: this fic is really new, someone reblogged the fic post and when i saw it first i was like ‘huh?’ and then suddendly (in less than a minute) decided it was the next thing i’ll be reading and now i’m completely in love with it. Lou i need to say you’re the kind of guy everyone wants in their life <3 

-----------

❀ all the love, ana. xx

[pepsiwriteswords]

Favorite Tropes Tag!

And another one @emelkae tagged me in, but more recently this time. XP

Thanks for the tag!

Favorite Big Dramatic Fight Trope:

Wait, like . . . physical fight or verbal fight? If I even have an answer for this one. XP

I’m trying to think of fights I’ve read/seen on TV/in movies & got invested in/agreed with & that weren’t just . . . incredibly manufactured bc the characters had to have their third-act-break-up thing.

I think, like . . . when a character lashes out bc Trauma, or when the fight/argument mirrors something that has Happened Before, or the current dynamic is just so similar to one they’ve been in, so the character essentially flashes back without actually having a flashback? (Like the Jesper/Kaz argument in Crooked Kingdom, where Kaz calls Jesper by his brother’s name?)

It doesn’t always hit right, but when it does . . . oof.

Favorite Backstory Reveal Trope

I’m not sure I can choose just one. It might depend on just what the backstory is.

Scar reveal/question backstory reveals are great. Backstory revealed during an argument/after an argument is great. Any reveal happening just bc the characters are being good at communicating with one another are great. Backstory reveals where earlier in the piece the character said a thing real casually so it got brushed off just to reveal later it was actually hella serious is great. Accidentally getting pieces of someone’s backstory bc of mind-reading is great. Vague allusions to the Thing hurt a lot & I love it. (AKA, AFTG, pretty sure it’s the last book, Andrew telling Neil ‘I was six, I believed him’? Ouch, & I have read smaller allusions to different backstory things in other books, & I think I’ve seen it done well a few times in shows or movies I’ve watched, & most of my favorite fics have little one-line allusions to smth & have all but caused tears & it’s fantastic.)

Favorite Parent/Parenting/Child Interaction Trope

This will be the shortest answer, I think:

Character that is usually grumpy/rude/just a straight-up dickhead to the other adult characters is fucking great with kids.

& depending on the character, the ‘adopts every child they come across’ is usually great, too.

Favorite Romance Trope

Hmmm. Not the ‘because I love you!’ during an argument trope. XP

I think . . .  god, I dunno. Do I have to pick one? Can I just say like, ‘everything Aziraphale & Crowley have going on’? Bc like, I know I’ve seen & reblogged a post that’s like ‘they have just about every possible romance trope they could have‘ & just. Yes. Bc ultimately it’s all in how the trope is written & I’m probably pickier about romance tropes than anything, so I could love this trope in this book/movie/fic & absolutely despise it in this other thing & I really don’t know that I have a favorite.

Favorite Character Archetype

. . . Ummm . . . generally ‘the most traumatized bastard in the cast’. XD I am also very susceptible to fanon (for TV shows/movies tbh) bc roughly 50-90% of the time I don’t actually watch the source material & learn about a thing & get attached to it just bc a couple people on my dash are super into it.

(Like, I got into the Untamed very late & have never actually played or watched any LPs for undertale & am very attached to Klaus Hargreeves despite only watching like one episode of season one a couple years ago . . . etc.) XD

This should make it pretty obvious who of my OCs makes it onto my favorite list xP just look for the poor kid with 10x more trauma than anyone else. (Or watch me try to make it more equal between a couple bc I can’t pick in that given WIP)

Annd umm open tag bc it’s been a minute since I’ve done any of these tag games & I’m bad at interacting with y’all anyway lol. If you see this, assume you’re invited to play along! ^^

[queenlilith43]

Reasons Why Post Plus is a Terrible Idea

Tumblr has recently unveiled their new "Post Plus" feature. It allows people to put a paywall around their blogs, allowing them to charge up to $9.99 a month, with Tumblr taking a 5% cut of the creator's earnings. In this post, I will explain why this is a horrible idea.

@staff: You better listen up. I took a few hours away from my day for this. I had to have my friend Ashley help me with this, and that took time from her day too. (Thank you @patalliumapples) I'm explaining everything under the cut because this is long.

1. We Don't Have the Money

First of all, Tumblr is a social media site. This means in countries like the US, people as young as 13 can sign up and have an account. Most teenagers do not have the money to keep up with their favorite blogs for the low, low price of $9.99!

Second of all, a lot of adults on the site already are having trouble paying their bills, and don't have any content they would be willing to charge people on. As explained in this post, people are already struggling. (They also explain how to support creators better, which I will go onto later.) They don't have the money to spend on this. I, as a teenager myself, don't have enough money to spend to unlock Tumblr blogs. I don't know if I even can, I don't have a credit card or anything, and I don't want debt before I'm out of high school. Oh, and that leads me right next into the next point.

2. You could fix other things

Tumblr is called a Hellsite for many reasons, and how it breaks a lot is one of them. One problem are the Ray-Bans sunglasses bots that hack the site every so often. I have gotten one, Ashley has gotten three.

You can also barely even search on this website. Searching for tags brings up the randomest things. You can barely even search your own blog, this is how bad it is. Fixing those issues before we give you our credit card number would be a great thing.

3. People don't want it

The consensus so far is NO. In some cases, "FUCK NO" This is valid, people don't want it. We can't pay for it, and we really don't need it. Everyone hates it.

And you bet that the Tumblr-famous will try this out.

I, as of writing this, have 416 followers. I bet all of them would leave me if I tried to do a paid post. (Not like I can, I'm a broke teenager, but still.) That would limit the market.

And other people have expressed they would leave anyone who put their posts behind a paywall, such as in this newly-viral post.

4. Monetization of fanfic

Alright. *Cracks fingers* I get to show off my knowledge of copyright law.

Fair use that covers fanfiction does not cover having to pay for it. Monetization of fanfiction is not legal, and if someone tries, the original content creator can issue a DMCA takedown order. The person who posted and monetized the fanfiction will be forced to take down their post, hurting their earnings. This will affect Tumblr.

Also, as we saw recently with a Loki T-shirt on Etsy, big corporations are known for taking down anything they consider infringement, even if it falls under fair use. There was a scare a while back on Ao3 (Archive of Our Own) that Disney would take down their fanfiction, but Ao3 had a legal time that can fight for them. Tumblr probably does not, and would probably lose a legal battle against Disney.

In fact, Ao3 does not allow any sort of links to other monetizable websites, like Pateron and Ko-fi, on their platform to avoid potential legal trouble. It's included in their terms of service, which you can read here. I would recommend it, and to check out some other links. They explain legal issues quite well.

And as satirized in this post, trying to find posts on Tumblr for a DMCA takedown is pretty damn hard.

5. You can get around paying for a post through the reblogs.

Despite the fact that is something you're technically not supposed to do, people can just copy and paste the content. The fact is if anyone has a Post Plus post, you bet the entirety of Tumblr is going to get around that. After all "you can share a teaser of +Post Content through the reblog function on the Services" (From the Tumblr TOS)

6. We've had mirror sites that could probably get around the paywall

In the past, we have had many mirror sites. They are the exact mirror of our Tumblr, tracking everything right down to our reblogs. Last I heard they were all shut down, though Tumbex sounded like it was going to come back. If these mirror sites are smart enough, they would be another way around the paywall.

7. You can't block people who are paying for your content

This is a problem. People can harass you, and sometimes, this Hellsite won't take them off. The block button is an important tool. I, for one, currently have 11 people blocked for various reasons. Some of them were messing with me in the reblogs of a post (it wasn't even their place to do so) and I didn't think Tumblr would count this as harassment.

If you can't block people, and even with the risk of it hurting your earnings, it's not good. Even remotely.

8. There are other ways to support creators that are much better. 

As said in the very first reason, creators hate this Post Plus. They prefer being supported in other ways. People also don’t always want to be paid for the content (not even counting legal issues) And if they want to there are already platforms set up for them to use. For example, Pateron has tiers you can set up for membership, ranging up to $100. There, you know what you walked into. You’re not expecting free content, like on Tumblr, you’re building a relationship with the people in your community. Ko-fi lets people donate directly to their content creators, and won’t take any of their donations, unlike the 5% cut Tumblr is planning on taking. Both platforms also offer features that would not be available on Tumblr. Creators are also more likely to already have one of these set up, and keep Tumblr for their free content. 

9. Tumblr could make money through better ads

Tumblr ads are famously . . . what’s the word? Ah, yes, “batshit” is the word I’m looking for. I’ve gotten ads for tattoo aftercare, signs of heart disease (the picture provided was someone with their nails painted blue), maps of the USA, celebrities that has passed away, lists of bad cities in my state, graphics of chickens with Hindi (note: I am American), and apparently now I should be worried if my dog licks their paws. (?) As I went to check my dash while writing this post, I saw a small air cooler that was apparently more powerful than A/C being advertised. 

No one clicks on them except for a laugh, or if they accidentally thought it was something that was actually interesting. Most of the time, it is not. Tumblr could do something like Instagram and actually have good ads and make more money off of it. It may not be as much as they thought they were going to make, but it’s better than what they have now. (It’s a low bar.) 

10. This is the same website that spearheaded DashCon

You remember DashCon, don’t you? 

This seems to illustrate the website's stupidity in one picture and this is why you shouldn't trust us with money.

If you have any other reasons why this is bad reason, reblog the post with your reasons. I'd like to hear them, and don't forget to tag the staff.

There is a survey Tumblr wants you to fill out here, it's a step you can take. You can also listen to the protest @postplus-protest which should help. It starts August 6th, it's going to be a great time.

[t-lostinworlds]

Blurb #4: Scaredy Spidey (T.H.)

a/n: this idea has been sitting in my drafts since the first time i found out that Tom is actually scared of spiders...so along time ago asdfghjkl and just got around to finishing it a few weeks ago. i don’t mind spiders and have handled quite a few but anyway, hope you enjoy this one <3

pairing: tom holland x female!reader summary: There's a big spider on the bed and Tom is scared shitless to go near it so you're the one who has to get it out. He livestreams the whole thing for fun, so, you also chase him with it for fun. warnings: fluffy funny stuff, a spider, a person who’s scared of spiders, and a person who’s not. word count: 1.3k+

masterlist in bio & pinned post

-:-:-:-:-

"Shit!"

You hear your boyfriend scream, followed by thundering footsteps down the stairs that had you off the couch and on your feet in seconds.

"Tom? Are you alright?" you called out as you peeked in the hallway, the lad mentioned coming into view not long after. Your confusion and concern only heightened when Tom went to latch onto you immediately. His strong arms wrapped around your body, face buried on the crook of your neck as he lets out a soft groan of dismay. "What's up bubba?" you asked, rubbing his back comfortingly.

"There's a spider on the bed, like a really, really big spider," Tom muttered, pulling away to look at you with an adorable pout. You couldn't stop the laugh that's escaped your lips, Tom's pout turning more prominent as he looked at you with a look of utter betrayal on his face.

"Don't make fun," he whined.

"I'm not! I'm laughing because you're just too damn adorable when you're scared," you giggled, giving his jutted out lip a kiss. "And I thought you had broken a foot or something with how you screamed. You had me worried you goof, turns out it's just a spider."

"A very big spider," Tom corrected.

You shook your head with a playful roll of your eyes. "Okay, okay, let's get that very big spider out then."

***

Once in the bedroom, you shot Tom a pointed look after you had laid eyes on the creature that was staying still on his side of the bed. The spider was barely even the size of your palm and here you were expecting something really big. You should've known though since Tom likes to exaggerate sometimes.

"It's big for me!" he defended, both hands up in surrender.

You shook your head at him with a sigh. "Go get me a clear cup and a piece of paper. I'll keep an eye on it."

Tom nodded at that, leaving the bedroom in a jiffy and coming back not long after, the cup and paper on one hand while he had his phone on the other. "Hey guys, so, there's this really big spider on the bed—"

"Average-sized spider," you corrected, Tom rolling his eyes with a scoff before he flipped the camera so he could show the spider to the people.

"Big? Average? You guys decide," he said before turning the camera towards you. "But the lovely and amazing Y/N is here to save the day as always"—you waved at the camera before Tom turned it back on himself—"and I thought it'd be funny to do a live in case something happens also known as me dying."

You rolled your eyes at your overreacting boyfriend. "Can you hand me the stuff please before it gets away?" you pointed out, Tom chuckling as he made his way over to you. Once he gave you the things you asked for, you went over to where the spider was sat, getting ready to cover it with the cup. As you got closer—

"Oh my god it's going to get away!" Tom yelled the moment the spider moved in the slightest, already by the door in an instant with both hands holding his phone that was still aimed at you.

"You're not helping!" You jumped at the sudden shrill of his voice. "And you're just exposing yourself, you dork," you added with a laugh, referring to the live.

"Sorry! Sorry," he chuckled, placing a finger over his lip to silence himself. "Everyone already knows how I hate spiders. So, I'm not really exposing anything aside from who's the braver one in this house."

You successfully caught the spider after a minute or two—with Tom letting out noises every time it moves—sliding the paper under the cup to seal it before flipping it over, your palm flat against the opening with the paper in between. "You're still filming?" you asked, eyeing the tiny creature inside the cup before you met your boyfriend's gaze.

"Yeah..." Tom trailed off, lowering the phone slightly as he narrowed his eyes at you. You grinned, sauntering towards him with the cup containing the spider. Tom slowly backed away once he saw the mischief in your eyes. "Darling, don't you even dare—no!" he shrieked as he ran full sprint and out of the bedroom with you hot on his tail, your laughter echoing around the house along with the sounds Tom was making, which was somewhat a hybrid between a scream and a laugh.

"You're supposed to be the superhero in this house!" you joked, slowly going down the stairs before taking on a dash again to catch up with your boyfriend. He's quite a runner that lad.

"We've already established that I'm a fraud when it comes to spiders a long time ago!" he yelled back, phone still in hand as he tries his best to document the whole thing all while running like his life depended on it.

His fans are going to have a field day with this content.

You shook your head with a hearty laugh as you kept at him, Tom finding his way into the living room and behind the couch, taking one of the pillows on hand and getting ready to aim at you.

"No, don't throw that pillow!" you warned, shooting Tom a playful glare with giggles still coming out of you. "It's going to make me drop the cup and we're going to have a harder time finding it when it runs away."

"Just get it out please sweetheart?" Tom asked—more like begged—with the most adorable puppy dog eyes he can muster, pout back on his lips as he tilted his head to the side adorably.

"Okay, okay, I'm going." You shook your head with a giggle, seeing Tom turn his phone off before you turned towards the backyard door and sliding it open. "I'm so sorry for that bumpy ride little guy or girl," you said to the tiny creature, before letting the spider out of the cup and onto the nearby bush.

"Babe?" Tom called out once the door opened and you slipped back inside. "Is it gone?" he asked from his place in the kitchen as he hid behind the counter, completely at the ready in case you suddenly chase him with it again.

You can't help but laugh at his cuteness, showing him both your hands to prove that it was empty. Although he saw that it was, in fact, empty, Tom stayed put and looked at you skeptically.

"Tom, it's gone. I promise," you laughed, walking over to him with both palms open. "Come here bub."

Tom finally went over to you with a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around your form before he dipped his head for a sweet, loving kiss. "Thank you for being my hero," Tom hummed against your lips. "Even though you quickly turned into a villain," he added, earning a sweet laugh from you.

Keeping him distracted with your kisses, you crawled your fingers discreetly under his shirt with a smirk, Tom pulling away abruptly at the sudden tickle expecting that it was the spider. You let out another laugh at that, the lad burying his face on the crook of your neck as he tightened his arms around you.

"Darling," he groaned against your skin, giving it soft kisses in the process despite his slight annoyance.

"I'll stop," you giggled, turning your head to give his crown a loving peck. "I'll stop."

You tease him about it but you don't go to the point of belittling his fear or making him feel weak for having said fear. A fear is a fear after all, no matter how small or big, rational or irrational it is. You adore Tom with all your heart, imperfection, flaws, and his fear of spiders included.

"I love you, you wuss."

"I love you too, you meanie."

-:-:-:-:-

like, reblog & leave a comment if you liked it and tell me your thoughts <3

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just let me know if you want to be removed from the taglist hun! <3

[oikawaplssteponme]

• MASTERLIST

pairing: (prince) Oikawa Toru x (princess) fem! reader

warnings: none

word count: > 2k words

synopsis: A childhood lover, a perfect picture, a thoughtful risk, a dashing spark, a resurfaced fling, a beautiful mystery, and an unlikely charmer. With so many flowers in the garden, which do you pick?

a/n: hello hello! ahh im very excited to share this first part with you all! this one is a bit longer [ most parts won’t be this long ] but that’s because there is important background info since it is the first part :)) i’d love to hear your thoughts and reblogs are also greatly appreciated! enjoy xx

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ: ☾

Confidence is Key

The castle was bustling with people, entering in and out at a fast pace. The chatter bounced off of the walls and high ceilings as orders were being shouted of where to take things and what to do. You stood in the middle of it all, unsure what to do with yourself. The room was spinning, your head was spinning. In just a few hours, music would be playing as people danced the night away. In just a few hours, you would meet a potential husband.

“Your Grace! You should be getting ready! We have things under control down here don’t worry. Go, go!” Sophia, head of castle affairs, shooed you away. She was clearly under an uncomfortable amount of stress.

“Is there anything you’d like me to help with? I don’t have to get ready quite yet,” you explained. Sophia shook her head violently.

“No no not at all Your Highness. You really must go get ready, Anita is awaiting your arrival,” she insisted. You sighed and did as you were told. You walked up the grand staircase and up to your quarters.

You didn’t mind helping, you often did when you could. Nonetheless, your role as princess called you other such duties. Those included getting ready for the ball in a different way.

“Oh there you are! I’ve been searching the whole castle for you!” exclaimed Anita. Anita was your lady-in-waiting. She was also your best friend.

“My apologies, I got caught up in the excitement of everything that was happening downstairs,” you explained. You laid down onto your bed, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t want to go tonight,” you admitted. Anita sat down next to you.

“The ball is for you after all. It would be quite silly if you didn’t show up to your own event,” she chuckled.

“No more complaints Y/N, you will go to the ball and you will enjoy it,” interrupted your mother. She bursted through the doors of your room, followed by other attendants to help you get ready.

“The ball isn’t even for me. It’s for him.”

“It’s for the both of you my darling. After all, we’re here to find you a husband, not play dress up,” replied your mother. You sat up and crossed your arms.

“Well you didn’t meet father until the fifth ball. Are you expecting me to sort through all of these princes or pick the first one I find?” You groaned. Your mother chuckled.

“I just so happened to meet him at the fifth ball. He could’ve been the first suitor and I still would have fallen in love with him.”

Whenever there was a princess of age, all eligible princes from neighboring kingdoms would come and present themselves in an attempt to win her hand. In this case, your hand was what they wished to win. A ball would take place for each prince, as to welcome them and for the two of you to get to know each other. There would be seven balls taking place.

“What if I go through all seven and don’t like any of them?”

“Then pick the one you dislike the least,” joked your mother, though you knew she was serious.

“Which prince is coming today?” You asked. Your mother smiled.

“He is known as ‘The Great Prince’ soon to be Great King. His kingdom of Aoba Johsai is farthest from ours, hence why his welcome will be first,” she explained. You nodded. You had met the prince once before, but when you were children. He was more of a sweet memory now.

“What is his name again?”

“His name, my dear, is Prince Toru Oikawa.”

~

After your mother had left you, you began to get ready. It was tradition for the welcoming kingdom’s prince or princess to wear the other sides colors, as a sign of respect. You had a beautiful dress made for the event. With silver crystals and white satin, you certainly would be the belle of the ball. You would wear a simple aquamarine diamond necklace to tie your look together.

You sat at your vanity as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. It was almost time for you to head down to the ball. You could hear people arriving. Royalty, knights, dukes and duchesses, everyone would be here.

Anita cinched you up into your dress, making it a little difficult to breathe.

“I’m gonna be out of breath by the first dance if you go any tighter,” you laughed.

“I’m sorry Your Grace.”

Anita tied up the corset, followed by the actual dress. You went to look at yourself in the mirror. You looked beautiful no doubt.

“The prince would be silly not to fall for you,” smiled Anita. You sighed.

“Him falling isn’t what I’m worried about.”

You could hear the sound of violins from the ballroom as you stood outside of it, greeting everyone who entered. There had to be at least one hundred people inside, if not more.

“Oh Y/N I see him!” whispered your mother. She quickly organized your skirt and made sure your necklace was facing the correct way.

“Big smiles everyone.”

Standing before you were two men. You honestly had no idea which one was the prince.

“Your Majesties, I’m pleased to introduce you to Prince Toru Oikawa of Aoba Johsai,” said the shorter of the two. The prince greeted the king and queen before making his way to you.

“Your Highness...”

He took your hand, kissing the top of it. He certainly had grown up a bit since you had seen him last. His hair brown and fluffy, his eyes dark and hypnotic, his smile bright and flirtatious. He wore a perfectly tailored suit with his royal metals and a teal sash.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” you smiled.

“The pleasure is all mine Princess. Perhaps I may treat you to a dance later in the evening?” he smirked. You nodded.

“Until then.”

The two men parted into the depths of the ball.

“Oh he is so handsome Y/N!” your mother gushed.

“Not terrible...”

“Go mingle my dear! Get to know him!” she insisted. You sighed and went out to the floor.

You weren’t big on dancing. In all honesty, you weren’t big on fancy balls. They got old after a while.

“You don’t actually plan to just stand there all night, now do you Princess?”

You looked over your shoulder and standing next to you was Prince Toru.

“Of course not...”

“Did I mention that you look truly gorgeous tonight? My kingdom’s colors seem to suit you,” he smiled.

“Thank you Your Highness.”

“Just Oikawa please. Or Toru if you feel so inclined.”

“Fair enough Oikawa. Then please, it’s just Y/N,” you said.

“Well, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know what’s going on. Your family planned this ball as for us to fall in love, am I right?”

Your eyes widened a bit and you looked up at Oikawa.

“You aren’t wrong. However I have a feeling it won’t be that simple,” you smirked. Oikawa chuckled.

“Oh Y/N, don’t hold yourself back from fawning over me. It’s okay, every girl where I come from does so.”

“I’m not every other girl Toru.”

Oikawa moved to stand in front of you. His tall figure bowed in front of you.

“Then may I have this dance. Let’s see if you dance better than every other girl.”

You stared at Oikawa’s hand in front of you. You took his hand carefully as he led you to the dance floor.

Oikawa had one hand on your waist as the other hand held yours. The two of you spun around in time with the orchestra’s strings that played.

“Not too bad,” he laughed.

“Well I’d hope not, this isn’t my first ball.”

“It is your first of the seven though, am I correct?”

“Right again Toru.”

“I suppose then that it is my job to make sure I’m your favorite out of the seven. I hope that when you think of me, you think that I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Oikawa’s words were smooth and sultry. The way he spoke so clearly yet loud enough for only you to hear.

“You’ve got yourself convinced that I’ll be yours. That’s a dangerous game to be playing.”

“Oh Y/N, my dearest, I promise that I don’t feel threatened by those other six. I didn’t even bother to check who I was against, since it won’t be much of a competition.”

“So I’m the game?”

Oikawa’s eyes widened.

“Oh god no, not at all. You’re a crowned jewel, my love. The moment I saw you I knew that you could certainly cause the death of a bachelor.”

Your heart fluttered a bit at the sound of his voice. He was completely wrapped around your finger. Subconsciously, you knew that you were wrapped around his as well.

“You’re confident Toru. That’s an admirable trait.”

“I have to be if I’m going to run my kingdom one day. No one would follow after a weak king.”

“I suppose that’s why they call you the Great Prince, soon to be Great King.”

“You could even call yourself the Great Queen. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You chuckled.

“It certainly does. Well Toru, answer me this question: why should I pick you?”

Oikawa’s blank expression turned to a cheeky smile. He pulled you closer to him.

“Because, we have history Y/N.”

You had first met the prince when you were just 8 years old. Your family was invited to his kingdom for a banquet. Since you two were close in age, you spent all your time together. You enjoyed the small friendship you had with him. You were young and clueless after all. Oikawa had even said that the two of you should get married, since you were already friends. Your childish mind agreed, not knowing what the future had in store for you. So now here you were, dancing with your childhood love, in a ball made for just you and him.

“I didn’t think you remembered that,” you admitted.

“How could I forget the princess who blessed me with my first kiss?”

The young Oikawa had led you to the gardens. He insisted that if you two were to get married one day, you might as well get used to kissing each other. You agreed and so you kissed him. Your little lips maybe touched for a maximum of a second but still, his pink flushed cheeks were unforgettable.

“Well I’m happy to hear that I made some form of impact on you, Toru.”

“I hope I did the same. I plan to be the best you’ve ever had, remember?”

Before you could reply, the song had stopped and people began to shuffle off of the ballroom floor. Oikawa presented his arm for you to take, which you did happily.

“Excuse me Your Highness, I need to borrow the prince,” said the man who entered with Oikawa earlier. You nodded.

“That’s alright. Well, it was a pleasure Toru,” you said. Oikawa kissed your hand once more.

“Oh the pleasure was all mine Y/N.”

As the night came to an end, the ballroom soon became empty. You stood in the middle of it, alone. For some reason, you thought of Oikawa. How his charm seemed to have melted your coldness towards the situation. He had a certain glow to him, bringing out this warmer side to you.

“Even with the night finished you still look just as beautiful as when it started,” said Oikawa behind you. He stood at the top of the stairs as you stood below on the dance floor. Oikawa joined you, standing in front of you.

“I could say the same about you Toru.”

“I’m about to depart but I wanted to make sure to give you a proper goodbye,” he explained.

“Go ahead,” you said. Oikawa smirked, and slowly leaned in to kiss your cheek.

“I’ll be counting the days until I get to see you again, just as I did when we were kids. Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Toru.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ⋆*･ﾟ: ☾

[ taglist OPEN: @lealofsblog @iwaisa @bakugousmymassa @evivn1 @tetsoleil @bokutory @vangoghmusings @moonlightaangel @misszenin @marajillana @asahisimpnation @sopesmin @alaina-rose13 @shotoful @koutarousangel @shoutamajiki @definitelynottrin @sullen-angel24 ]

[thyandrawrites]

tag meme

I was tagged by @haleigh-sloth. Thank you for the mention!

Why did you choose your URL?

My original url for this blog was bloodycarnations. It was supposed to be a reference to a scene in Tokyo ghoul where Kaneki bleeds onto a bed of white carnations and they symbolically turn into red spider lilies. I switched to thyandrawrites because I'm no longer a tg blog. Thyandra is my online nickname and my pseud on ao3, and I wanted people to connect this blog to my writing more easily

Any side blogs?

only one that I occasionally use, @thyandrascorner. Since I wanted this blog to stay bnha-centric, I made that sideblog to share all the cool reblogs from other fandoms / temporary obsessions. You can probably guess from the occasional HQ post on here that I failed at keeping this blog bnha-only lol

How long have you been on tumblr

counting the blog I had before this one, since 2014. this blog only exists since 2015 though

Do you have a queue tag?

I can't remember, lol. I rarely ever queue. If I did have a tag, it was probably just "q"

Why did you start your blog in the first place?

Before this blog, i had a multifandom one. When my obsession for Tokyo ghoul became too big, I decided to start anew and created this blog with the intention of it staying tg-centric. When TG ended and my interest in the fandom waned due to drama, I simply switched to a different fandom (bnha) and now here I am

Why did you choose your icon/pfp

I wanted a picture of Dabi with white hair and that one is pretty

Why did you choose your header?

it changes all the time but right now is the lov in suits because that pic is badass

What’s your post with the most notes?

likely my disaster bi Kaminari post. I muted it when it got tumblr famous but holy shit. 12k notes. the bisexuals vibed with it

How many mutuals do you have?

I don't keep count so I have no idea. Likely a dozen, maybe 20ish people? Idk, I have a lot of friends from the ctabb server but I always forget to track down their socials and follow them back

How many followers do you have?

lemme check... 6633

How many people do you follow

437 but my dash is populated by the same 10 people lol. most of them must be inactive

How often do you use tumblr each day?

I usually scroll the dash for half an hour each day when I'm not distracted / busy with something else. Whenever a good chapter drops tho I can spend even a couple of hours on here, either writing meta about it or reading trusted mutuals' takes

Did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?

mmh, I can't remember any actual fight but I admit that I haven't always been on my best behaviour. I sometimes get snappy and very defensive when I can't parse tones well, and that led to a couple of confrontations with anons over the years (some of which were actually people trying to start shit, others were people whose tone I misread and attacked myself). It's an issue I have. I'm working on it! I'm already a lot better at letting things sit without assuming the worst than I used to be. Also because now I have severely crippling confrontation anxiety, but that's another can of worms lol

I once got vagued by a popular blogger who tagged the post with "die bitch" tho... we used to be mutual until then but that opened my eyes to how toxic she was

How do you feel about “you need to reblog this posts”

I have a strong dislike for guilt-tripping. It feels very manipulative, especially when that holier-than-thou attitude is performative. A reblog about a sensitive topic deserving attention doesn't substitute actual activism and guilt-tripping people into thinking so is straight-up shitty

Do you like tag games?

It depends on the game! But in general, yes

Do you like ask games?

Same as above. I never shared any of those super long lists of personal questions for example. I don't like talking about myself

Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I feel like all my meta blogger mutuals have pretty big followings. @/linkspooky @/hamliet @/transhawks to name a few. I'm also followed back by some big-name artists somehow...??? How did that happen (not mentioning them because hello social anxiety my old friend...)

Do you have a crush on a mutual?

I used to! I go from being a misanthrope to crushing very easily on people. No in between. The person in question was an author whose writing made me feel seen and gave me the illusion of seeing them in turn. I ended up crushing on them for a short while but it was just a parasocial relationship I created by assuming things on them from the way they described the world in their writing. Kinda dumb in retrospect, lmao. Silly old me, what did you expect from an internet relationship

Tagging: uhh I haven't been online a lot in the past days so idk who's already done this...? any mutual who wants to do it can consider themselves tagged by me

[ultimaterealmofchaos]

hello, friends.

lately, i have been having many feelings about the community. not just this one, but about the rpc in general. i have been keeping quiet about them, but when you keep quiet about something, eventually it becomes all too large to bear. some of you may disagree with me, and that is fine. some of you may even want to unfollow or block me, and that is fine too. i will not chase you down for merely disagreeing with me. but.

i am vastly disappointed in the state of the rpc as of late.

“but karla, why?” you may ask. “the rpc is fun, and i get to make all sorts of friends and write with so many different people!!”

and yes, you’re right! overall, the rpc is a very fun community to be in. it’s very fun to write your own portrayals of different muses, come up with your own ideas, meet other people who may or may not think and portray similarly to your own style.

however.

i think, as a whole, the rpc has become incredibly narcissistic.

why do i say this?

i have been roleplaying and writing here on tumblr since 2012. yes, i am old. but let’s push the fact that i am old compared to most of you aside for a moment.

i have seen quite a few people, in their rules, state something similar to the effect of “if you post too much ooc, i will unfollow and block you.”

if you have read my own rules, you will see that i do not have this rule.

now, everyone is valid in what they put in their rules, and everyone is valid for wanting to cater their own online experience to what they desire it to be. however. a problem that i have seen being developed in the past 3-4 years is that... nobody seems to care about other people. now, of course there are people who care about their writing partners/friends, i’m not saying that everyone is like that, but... the vast majority do not seem to want to hear anything about the mun behind the muses past a little bio page on the blog, and even for some, that might be too much.

when i started roleplaying, this rule overall didn’t really exist as a majority, and if it did, it was on very few blogs. but as i have gone through the years, i’ve seen it pop up on more and more blogs. and my question is... why? why does everyone seem to hate ooc posts now? are we not allowed to demonstrate that we have feelings, hobbies, interests, etc. past roleplay anymore? if someone is having a bad day or a bad mental state time, are they not allowed to confess to it on their blog, if for nothing else than to just get it out? now, some of you may say “yes, that’s bad, and tumblr rpc is no place for it. talk to someone instead of broadcasting it to the whole world.”

i disagree with that.

some of us do not have good support systems outside of tumblr, or really any support system at all. for some of us, coming onto our blogs for a little rant is the only way we can feasibly see to cope with our own bad times without doing something terrible to ourselves. and, honestly? it’s natural to want others to know when we are struggling. some call it “attention-seeking,” sure, but... yes. when you are feeling bad, naturally you want some sort of attention, if not to validate, then to distract for a little bit. the mind is an incredibly fickle creation, and sometimes, it is too big for us to deal with it on our own. and if someone doesn’t have many outlets to deal with it, they will naturally flock to the one that they know is safe, where they can let out their frustrations and depression without much backlash. but with rules like that in place, it becomes a bit more scary, a bit more threatening, even, to even entertain the idea that you are feeling anything but happy.

it is incredibly isolating, and even depressing, and it can even increase depression in those who do not currently have the proper mindset to see past their own demons that the mind has created. and the last thing i personally want is to consciously isolate someone because they’ve committed the “crime” of having a bad day/feeling terrible for some reason that may not even be related to the rpc.

it is natural to need/want to rant about things.

“but this is the rpc, karla. we are all here to write. not to read someone’s bitching on the dash about how they’re feeling so terrible.”

and, yes, we are all here to write. but i think that what the rpc in general has forgotten is that there are real people behind the portrayals and muses that we love so much. real people that have feelings, and sometimes those feelings aren’t the best ones. and i can personally speak from experience when i say that having a little rant and it seemingly being ignored only makes the feelings worse. and, like, i’m not even asking for anyone to send long essays to someone who is feeling bad. even a little like can make someone feel better, because it means that they’ve been seen, that they’ve been heard, that their being here isn’t a waste of time or a burden to other people.

adding onto my statement of “the rpc has become really narcissistic,” something i’ve also observed is that ongoing threads seem to be becoming a thing of the past. ask memes are reblogged 24/7, just about, and often times, i’ll see the same meme five times in a row. it seems that what the majority wants now are just asks that one can craft a brief answer to, post it, and then forget about it until the next one comes in. they can be great for headcanons and such, yes, but... i’ve found that, in my experience, the greatest character development comes from threads. and this just may be my frustration speaking, but threads seem to be long gone, unless they’re crack threads that last for a few hours before everyone gets bored with them. it seems to be all about who reblogs the most memes, who has the most asks in their inbox, that determines how popular somebody is. and i don’t understand that, but maybe i’m just too old and too stuck in the past to do so.

another thing i’d like to talk about is activity. some of us cannot be on tumblr 24/7. i’m not hating on the people that can, more power to you, but some of us have things like school, jobs, other real life commitments that should come before tumblr roleplay. and sometimes we just can’t be on our blogs because time has run away from us and has us devoted to other things. however, what i’ve noticed lately that if you happen to be away from your blog for a week or so, you’re just about instantly forgotten, and when you return, it’s like you never existed at all. this has been a problem i’ve seen for a long time, but i still don’t like it. why should our amount of time being active determine how good of a roleplayer we are? if others “love our portrayals so much,” then why are we forgotten as soon as we’re not constantly posting? in my eyes, if you genuinely enjoy someone’s writing, and they have to go away for some time, you’ll be excited when they’re finally able to come back, if even for only a little bit. and not just “oh, you’re gone, time to unfollow and never speak to you again.” this can also be incredibly isolating, and it creates undue pressure on those of us who just cannot be here 24/7. we feel like we have to fill our queues to stay relevant, and we panic when we don’t have anything to fill the queue with without re-reblogging something.

roleplay isn’t supposed to be stressful, guys. it’s supposed to be fun. it is a hobby. i feel like some of the rpc has forgotten this fact. no one is paying us to be here (unless you have post+ on your rp blog, in which case... why????). we’re here because we want to be, not because someone is forcing us, and we shouldn’t have to feel like we’re being held up to some invisible high standard just because some of us can’t be here all the time.

there is more that i want to talk about, but this post is long enough as it is, so i will leave it how it is right now.

if you have read this far, thank you for reading, and again, i understand if you want to change things with me because of this.

[bopbopstyles]

3. More Than a Song

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.7k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: prepare for ANGST! and dunkirk premiere harry aka one of his best looks ever :) also thank u to @havethetimeofyourstyles for making my line breaks bc i’m inept at making things xoxo

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

“Baby,” Harry said, turning to her from where he stood in his closet. “Can you help me with my collar? I can’t get it.”

Y/N set down her phone—she was ready first, which wasn’t surprising considering it took Harry ages to get ready, partially because he kept getting distracted with her. He’d touch her, run his hands all over her, ask if he could get her out of her lingerie, and she’d have to remind him that she’d barely even had it on and they had an important event. “Sure.”

Harry looked dashing—he always did. After much debate, they had decided on a simple white silk short-sleeved button down and a pair of flared black pants, cool enough for May in LA, but still perfectly Harry. Y/N had painted his nails last night a pastel purple while they had watched a documentary about sheep—which Harry had selected—and the color popped against the neutrals of the rest of the outfit. Shoes were still up in the air, but Y/N was trying to get him to wear the yellow loafers he’d gotten recently, the ones she was so obsessed with she was considering stealing for herself.

Somehow Harry always managed to mess up his collars before big nights, the nerves probably getting to him. Y/N smoothed the material on his shoulders to relax him before popping up his collar and folding it back down crisply. “There you go.” In the mirror in front of Harry, her eyes trailed down his body, from his sweet curls she had labored over styling in the bathroom, to the recently tailored pants he wore. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, a smile dancing onto Harry’s face at the action. “Nervous, bubs?”

He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Bit. More for you to hear it than anyone else.”

The honesty of his statement brought butterflies to her tummy. Harry had been in and out of meetings for the past few months getting together the release of his debut album and putting the final touches on it, but at no point had he let her hear it. She suspected it was because he was scared she’d hate it, but when she asked her dad about it, he told her to think about it as his journal. His journal of a past that Y/N hadn’t been a part of. That had made Y/N understand a bit better, the prospect of being nervous of what she’d think of him more the worry than a worry of what she’d think of the music. So she nuzzled her nose into his shoulder, careful not to get lipstick on the fabric, and told him, “I’m going to love it. It’ll be perfect, just like you.”

Harry’s arms wrapped backwards so he could hold her to him and they stood there, holding one another, basking in each other’s presence before everyone else arrived. It had been a busy couple months for them to start a relationship—Y/N was swamped at work, her boss having left so she had to take on extra work, and Harry was releasing his album, Dunkirk was coming out in the summer, and his tour started in the fall. It was a lot to say the least, and Y/N tried not to think about it too often because she’d get all in her head and ignore Harry’s texts for hours until he called her and asked her if she wanted gummy worms or Hershey’s for movie night. Then, she’d remind herself that they were doing good—really good, even. Better than other relationships that she had been in for this long. Usually this was when she got bored, but with Harry she kept falling for him more and more every day they spent with each other.

He was like a drug, and she was addicted.

“We should head down,” Y/N said, brushing back from him. “Wear the yellow ones, yeah?”

He mumbled something under his breath about her being bossy and coming for Lambert’s job and she snorted, leaving him in the walk-in closet to straighten himself out. Her phone in her hand, she slipped on her heels, a summer sandal with a platform so her feet didn’t hurt, the perfect compliment to her flowing sundress she’d selected for the release party. When Harry had seen it he’d promptly asked if she could take it off so he could ravish her, so she decided it was a good choice. It emphasized her curves in a way that made her feel confident and she’d pinned her hair over one shoulder, the earrings Harry had gotten her for their three-month anniversary on display.

Re-emerging, Harry rolled his eyes over her body and she gave him a soft smile at the way his eyes screamed with desire. “See something you like?”

“Fuck yes,” he cursed. “Can’t wait to have you all to myself later.” Hands in hers, he pressed a searing kiss to her lips, the kind that made her toes curl, before pulling back. “C’mon, Azoff is yelling at me over text about being late to my own party.”

“It’s literally downstairs,” she pointed out. “He’s just mad he can’t embarrass you in front of your friends.”

Harry laughed, arm tucked around her waist as they descended the stairs of his house. He’d bought it at the end of February, a birthday gift to himself, and Y/N had thought to herself at the time that it wasn’t about her, it was about him. But it was kind of hard whenever he had her help him pick out all the furniture, making sure she approved of the colors he painted the walls and the patio furniture.

Downstairs, the party was in full force. Harry hadn’t invited too many people, mostly the same crowd as his birthday. Since it was at his house, he was hesitant to give the address out to too many people, but ultimately he wanted to be able to do whatever the fuck he wanted to celebrate, no paps around. Also, it was hot and he had a pool, so he had told everyone to bring a swimsuit just in case they wanted to take a dip. Y/N had persuaded him to keep it simple and they’d ordered pizza from his favorite place and she made some a ton of margaritas for everyone to help themselves to. Jeff was left in charge of the door when Harry was late finishing getting dressed, and she could tell that he had done a fine job. The tunes were going, people were drinking, and everyone seemed happy. He had even put the album countdown that Y/N had spent two hours making that morning on the TV.

“Stay close to me, please?” Harry asked her, bending his head to whisper in her ear when they reached the group.

Y/N nodded, and Harry began happily talking to Jeff. Y/N started up a conversation with another one of the Full Stop employees who had come who she’d met at a brunch a few weeks ago, plucking some details from her brain about her boyfriend to check-in about. Then, a familiar face flashed in the crowd. “Hanna!”

Harry had suggested the idea of inviting her best friends to the party and Y/N had leapt at the idea. The prospect of having her two favorite people be there with her to celebrate her boyfriend was her idea of a perfect night. Hanna’s red hair popped up, her smile giddy from seeing Y/N. Cutting through the crowd, she quickly made it to Y/N, who wrapped her best friend up in a tight hug.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said. “Find it okay?”

Hanna nodded. “Security at the gate did not want to let me in though. Jamie is on his way—Cole called while he was walking out the door.” Jamie and Cole had been together for years and Y/N decided the first time she met Cole that there wasn’t anyone better for Jamie, and Jamie seemed to agree. “How are you?”

“Amazing,” Y/N replied and she truly was. She felt like she was on cloud nine right now, the energy bouncing off of Harry absorbing into every one of her pores. “Excited to finally hear it.”

“You should be.” Hanna leaned over and tapped Harry on the shoulder.

His attention shifted from some work-related conversation with Jeff quickly over to his girlfriend’s best friend. “Oh, hello Hanna,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Hanna replied. “Now can I steal Y/N?”

Harry’s eyes lingered on Y/N, but he gave her a warm smile. “‘Course.”

Y/N followed her best friend out onto the patio, giving hugs and saying hello to the friends of Harry’s she’d met during the past few months of them being together. Harry watched her with awe at how well she had fit into his life, she’d succeeded faster than any other girl he’d ever dated. The tidbits of information she remembered and the way she made an effort to be present in the conversations, her deep knowledge of music and the industry coming in handy. He loved having a girl at her side who knew what all of his team did without him having to explain it to her. It was small, but it made a difference to him.

“H,” Mitch said, pulling his gaze from his girlfriend back to the conversation he’d been having with Mitch, Adam, and Sarah. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a sip of the margaritas Y/N had made for the party. She’d slaved over them all day while he was on calls and doing interviews and he appreciated it so much. He reminded himself to tell her later when he had her alone and could tell her properly.

Sarah smiled at him knowingly. “He’s just looking at Y/N, as usual.”

Mitch and Adam chuckled, but Harry frowned. “Am I not allowed to look at my girl?”

“You are,” Adam said, “just be careful, mate. You told us about the rule, remember?”

The Rule. The goddamn rule that controlled this relationship more than he felt like he did, sometimes. He didn’t know how much Y/N thought about it at this point in their relationship, but then again it was still technically pretty early in the grand scheme of things. But for him, it was a constant reminder than their time together was fleeting, that at any point she might want to leave him, his lifestyle too hard. And it’s not that he blamed her. He just hated that it was a possibility. “I know.”

“How’s it going?” Adam pressed. Harry had been distant these past few weeks, holing himself up in the house with Y/N every chance he got when they weren’t rehearsing and he wasn’t on a call. It was hectic and he knew that his friends worried about him.

Harry took another sip of his margarita, eyes finding Y/N out on the patio laughing with Hanna, hair blowing in the wind. “Been good. She seems really happy,” he continued at the sight of her smile. “Bit nervous about tonight, if I’m being honest though.” He’d told Y/N the same thing, but the pit in his stomach still lingered. She had said she was excited, but he didn’t know how she would react to him releasing an album full of songs about his exes and flings.

They all got it though. “About which song?”

“All of ‘em,” he said nervously, and it was true. Y/N came into his life after the album was done, the idea of adding a song about her impossible. Even though he could’ve written dozens—he already had, the voice memos on his phone to prove it. Sometimes he’d sneak away to the bathroom while she slept to sing something that popped into his head, and the few that he’d shown the band they liked. It was all material for the next album, they told him. Some of them had even become full-fledged songs after a few hours locked in his office, but he hadn’t shared them yet. They still felt too raw.

Sarah reached out a hand and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “She’ll get it, H. Her dad’s a musician, you know? If there was anyone who would understand, it would be her.”

And she was probably right. But there was a feeling in his gut that Harry couldn’t shake—that tonight wouldn’t end well for them. He’d felt it when he had woken up this morning and no matter how many time he kissed Y/N to make it go away, it lingered and it was making his brain go wild.

He hoped it was just the nerves.

The night passed quickly. There were speeches, a cake, Jeff pulled out a bottle of champagne, and Y/N had rejoined Harry at his side for the most part. And at this party, there was no question as to who she was—to everyone she was “Y/N, my girlfriend,” and Harry loved it. Particularly the look on her face that she would get every once in a while when her eyes caught his. He didn’t know what to call it, but he just knew that he felt the same way.

Before he knew it, it was 11:59 and everyone had gathered in the living room. The TV had the countdown on that Y/N had designed, the album cover with the numerical countdown over it, another bottle of champagne in Harry’s hand, ready to pop. Y/N stood a few people away from him, watching him with that look in her eyes that she’d been giving him all night that made him weak in the knees and made him curious what she would do to him when they were upstairs. He knew why Y/N was keeping her distance right now—she had mentioned it once before when they were curled up in bed after Harry asked her to be put down as a co-host for the party, that this success was his and his alone. That she was here at the end and she wanted it to be all his. She was here to support him and give him kisses after, but it was all his.

“10, 9, 8.” This was it. It was Harry’s debut album, his first solo record. It was weird for the rest of the guys to not be here when an album dropped. Usually, they were all standing together with bottles of champagne, ready to celebrate with one another.

“7, 6, 5, 4.” And Harry didn’t know which one was worse and which was better. Maybe they were both equally as wonderful, because he had other friends here to stand by his side. Jeff, Sarah, Mitch, Adam. James, floating around somewhere. His mum and sister tried to be here but Gemma got sick and Anna wanted to stay behind to take care of her.  

“3, 2,” He had Y/N. He had Y/N’s excited expression, her wide eyes and flushed cheeks, the look of pride on her face that he treasured.

“1!” But this was his, his success, his win. With the first notes of the album playing in the room, he popped the bottle of champagne and with the bubbles running down the side of the bottle, he took a long swig.

Cheers went up around him, his best friends celebrating his biggest success of his career thus far, one he’d fought long and hard for. One he was immensely proud of and he hoped he would always look back on fondly. And the sound of his album blaring in his house’s sound system—the sound of Meet Me in the Hallway, it brought him to tears.

“Aww, man,” Adam brought him into a hug, patting Harry softly on his back. “Y/N! Come here!”

Y/N was there in an instant, wrapping Harry up in her arms, his head falling onto her shoulder, sobs wracking his body as they stood there. He didn’t even care that his friends were all there witnessing him crying into his girlfriend’s shoulder, he was just so overwhelmed.

“You okay, bubs?” Y/N asked, petting the back of his head softly.

“It’s a lot,” he replied softly, trying to find the words. “Happy. But also just…”

Her hands ran up and down his back, rubbing circles. “I know, baby. You don’t need to explain, okay?”

Harry didn’t reply, just tried to find his breath and stop the tears that were welling in his eyes. And when he did, he lifted his head and his lips met Y/N’s, the sound of whoops and cat-calls breaking out around them. The middle finger that Harry raised to them all did nothing to stifle them either. “Thank you,” he said into her hair when they broke.

The feeling of her lips on his neck, a soft kiss, brought him to his knees. “Always.”

And Harry hoped it was true.

While the rest of the party swirled around her—dancing had broke out, James had started making themed drinks, his favorite being the Sign of the Times one—Y/N sat right in front of the speaker, listening to every word of the album. It was her first time hearing it and she knew Harry would probably play it for her later, but she wanted to hear it now. She wanted to hear his pride and joy, the thing that had him beaming and laughing with his friends, belting out the lyrics with Mitch and Adam in a conga line that was worming its way through the room.

And what she heard broke her heart in so many ways.

Y/N knew that music, and much of art, stemmed from pain and hurt. A good amount of it was also about love, but the songs that were some of the rawest, the ones that hit home for most people, were the ones about our darkest moments. Harry’s album was full of them. Heartbreak, heartache, regrets, addiction to people and things. It was chock full of every one of his deepest darkest secrets, especially the women who he had loved before he met her. There was a part of her that knew that he would tell her in his own time about the stories of some of these women—he had mentioned a few when she’d asked about them—and that she didn’t need to push, but there was this disgusting, self-sabotaging part of her that wanted to know every sordid detail, even though she knew it would hurt her.

This was one of the many reasons she had always told herself she would never date a musician, but more importantly that she would never fall for one. Because their relationship, their joys and pitfalls, heartache and brightest moments, it was all fodder for a song, an album, a career. It wasn’t the artist’s fault, that’s how it worked, but that didn’t make it any easier to be the person they were writing about.

Was that all she was? Another girl for Harry to write a song about?

She wanted to be happy for him, to be glowing and beaming for him, but the part of her that she hated, the part that conjured the worst possible parts of people, it was crawling out of her head. It was twisting Harry and she knew it, but that didn’t mean she didn’t believe it.

The album only lasted 40 minutes, but in those 40 minutes the party died down. People had jumped in the pool while Y/N sat by the speaker, they had finished their drinks, they had said their goodbyes, the object of the event passed. Hanna and Jamie came over and gave her hugs, concerned looks on their faces, and told her to call them if she needed anything. When she looked up, the last notes of From the Dining Table fading, it was just her left.

A light from the patio twinkled and she could see the water rippling under the moonlight. Harry.

She left the stereo silent, not cuing up another playlist, and tugged off her shoes, then her dress. Following the pull of the man who had written such a beautiful, heartbreaking, hopeful record, she walked to the patio.

“There you are.” He was floating on his back in just his boxers, which didn’t surprise Y/N in the slightest. The fairy lights they had strung up together were dim in the nighttime darkness, but just bright enough so she could see Harry and all his beauty. “Look bloody gorgeous, love.”

Y/N tucked her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, knotting the hair so it stayed. “Finished the album,” she said, walking to the water’s edge.

“Yeah?” Harry swam over to her, leaning his head on her thighs that rested on the concrete that lined the pool. “What’d you think?”

She couldn’t help the heartbroken smile that graced her features, because she was too tired to lie to him. Exhausted from trying to pretend that she didn’t think about the fact that he could leave her at any moment, that the insecurities of who she was and who he was didn’t catch up to her sometimes. His fingertips brushed at her cheeks and Y/N realized she was crying.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” He hoisted himself out of the water and hooked one of his legs around her waist, pulling her into his wet skin. It was cold against the night air, but somehow Harry was still warm to her.

“I don’t know how to say this,” she said slowly, struggling to find her words.

Fingers drifted up and down her back. “Just do your best.”

She tried not to think about the fact that she was crying on his album release day, that they were having this conversation now. One that sat in the back of her mind when she was alone and Harry couldn’t banish it. “The album is beautiful, Harry,” she started, “but it’s about a past that I wasn’t a part of.” Harry was quiet, but his arms didn’t move from their place around her, so she forged on. “I know that artists write from their experience, and that this album was done before I met you, but there’s this part of me, this horrible part that I utterly despise, that is jealous of them. The women who you wrote about. And the fact that it’s them that you’re going to sing about on stage every night. Does that make sense?”

The brush of his chin against her spine showed her that yes, he understood.

“And,” she continued, voice breaking, “I can’t stop thinking about the fact that maybe I’m going to be a song.”

“Of course you’re going to be a song,” Harry said, his voice soft and sweet.

He didn’t get it. To him, being a song was an honor, but to her, it was a threat almost. “No—it’s that I’m going to be only a song.”

The man next to her didn’t say a word. The chirp of the crickets stretched between their bodies, which were still close on the concrete floor, not a muscle moved.

“I don’t want to only be a song.” Y/N’s voice was hoarse, sobs wracking her body she didn’t expect, didn’t want. She couldn’t have this conversation if she was crying, but she couldn’t hold them in either. It was her biggest fear, the one that festered below all of the others, threatening to consume the relationship she had with a man she was falling for. And falling was the only way to describe it—without any support, a free fall that was utterly terrifying but also blissful peaceful.

Suddenly, his fingers swept across her neck, brushing against her sensitive skin. “Y/N,” he whispered, “you could never be just a song. You’re—you’re like the stars and the moon to me. In that room I could always feel you, wherever you were, and I didn’t want to be anywhere where you weren’t. And maybe this is too fast and too soon, but what I feel for you, fuck Y/N how can you not see how much you are to me?”

He pulled her head so she faced him, his eyes teary to match her own. “Do you hear me? You’re so much more than a song. You’re an album. You’re my life’s work, my masterpiece, a symphony. A song can’t contain how I feel for you, it’s just a piece of a billion I could write.”

Soft as a feather, his lips pressed to her cheeks and then up and across her forehead, over her eyelids, barely leaving a mark but a searing fire in his wake that shook Y/N’s core. “And Y/N, you’re better than a song. You’re my life. You’re here, you’re real, you’re with me. Y/N, you will never be just a song to me. You never could be. Not to me.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his, inhaling his cologne and exhaling her feelings for him. He managed to rip down all her defenses, the ones she had spent years building up, and it was frightening. But then she looked at him, the way he smiled at her, the way he kissed her, the way he said her name, and it wasn’t quite as scary. She hoped he could feel how much she cared for him in the way she kissed him, their tears blending into one as they scrambled for each other. Lips breaking and meeting, desperate for more and more and more. Her fingers gripped the back of his head, holding him to her, wanting to have his whole body imprinted on hers.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “you heard me? You understand?”

“Yes,” she replied softly, “I hear you.” She brushed her fingers through his hair gently, curling the wet strands back. “You may need to remind me sometimes.”

“Always,” he whispered, catching her kiss with his own, tugging her into him, arms around her body in a vice grip.

She lost herself in Harry, him an ocean and her a boat lost at sea. Maybe it was their conversation or the night or the alcohol flowing through their veins, but it felt different. The way he kissed her felt heavier, her moans a prayer, his fingers on his back a weight she never wanted lifted. Her legs wrapped around his waist so she was firmly in his lap, arms thrown over his shoulders, their bare bodies except for their underwear pressed against each other without a molecule of air between them.

His lips drew a line across the top of her shoulder, a fire building in her belly as his fingers fumbled with the clasp of her bra. It was a light pink she’d worn just for him and when he nudged at the strap with his nose, letting it slip from her shoulders, she didn’t care that he could barely see it. She’d show him tomorrow morning. He pulled the fabric away and bent his head, licking at one of her nipples and then the other, gasps falling from her mouth like poetry. Without meaning to, her hips rolled over his cock, the thin fabric of their underwear doing nothing to keep the heat of her center from touching his sensitive skin.

He moaned her name, the sound muffled against her neck as he sucked a love bite into the spot that made her keen every time he nipped into it. She rocked again on him, his fingers digging into her skin so hard it would leave marks tomorrow but she didn’t care. In fact, she wanted to have his marks on her tomorrow, she wanted to show the world that she wasn’t just a song, she was his, she was his girlfriend and she made him feel this way.

Hands on skin, he pressed her down onto the concrete so she was lying down, her ankles tucked around his hips, anchoring her to him. When his hips bucked into hers, she let out a sharp cry, the angle brushing her clit perfectly. “Right there?” He mumbled, nipping and tugging on her nipple, laving a circle that left her squirming against the concrete.

“Off,” she whispered, tugging at his boxers with her hands. “Wanna feel you.” With his help, they shimmied off his boxers without too much difficulty and Y/N let out a sigh of relief when she could feel his cock brush against her covered folds. Reaching a hand down, she brushed the pad of her thumb across his tip, a pained hiss flying from Harry’s throat. He was sensitive and Y/N loved it.

They didn’t have a condom, but she didn’t care. She’d been on birth control for years and she knew Harry hadn’t slept with anyone else since she found her way into his life. Plus, she needed him—she wanted to feel him, raw and bare inside of her.

They were going to have sex on the concrete next to his pool, but she didn’t care. They had had sex before and they would have sex again. She just needed him in a desperate, crawling way. When he nudged at her underwear she pressed into him, letting him pull them down her legs without a second thought.

“Condom,” Harry mumbled as she chased after his lips, open mouthed and heavy.

“It’s okay,” she said, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Want you like this.”

Harry’s head dropped to the space between her neck and shoulder, the groan that filled the air unlike anything she had heard before. “Gonna ruin me,” he whispered, brushing his cock against her folds. Y/N whimpered at the sensation, her fingers begging him for more, for anything she would give him. When his fingers brushed her clit, his name tumbled from her lips without abandon.

“Harry, please,” she panted, fingers deep in his hair.

That was all it took. She was so wet from the foreplay and just him that he didn’t even need to stretch her out. Her mouth fell open as he pushed inside, a mewl landing on his lips as he kissed her. Slowly, he pulled out and then back in, both of them groaning from the sensation of him being bare inside her. He felt impossibly close, every ridge and edge of him pressing against her in the most perfect way. She didn’t know if she could use condoms again, because holding Harry to her chest, arms around his shoulders as he fucked slowly, deeply, into her, her able to feel every inch of her, it was bliss on a new level. A sensation she didn’t know she was missing with him.

Her ankles hitched higher on his hips and when he pushed back in he hit a new angle, a groan ripping from his throat that set her on fire. “Can I go faster?” He said with a grunt. “I—I don’t know how much—“

“Yes,” she whimpered at his words.

He didn’t wait. He drew back and into her, pistoning his hips at a pace she couldn’t even describe, hitting that spot deep inside of her that made her eyes roll back over and over. How he managed to do that she didn’t know, but he deserved an award. Fingers grabbing at his skin in desperation for something to hold her together, Y/N gasped and exhaled his name, a plea and a beg and a prayer all in one. Her back hurt from the concrete but she didn’t care, she just wanted to finish, to feel him release deep inside of her.

Then he thumbed over her clit and she arched up, back leaving the concrete as the fire deep within her threatened to bubble over. When he start brushing circles there, Y/N gripped his shoulders like they would keep her anchored to Earth, her body possibly transcending. Harry bent his head and sucked a love bite on her breast, the puncture of skin forcing her head back, unable to keep it together.

“You close?” He asked, littering her chest with kisses, “Please tell me you are, I can’t, I can’t hold on…”

She mumbled a yes as he drove deep inside of her, swiveling his hips in a brutal way that left her hands squeezing his butt cheeks to get him to do it again. When he did, she swore she saw stars. “Gonna come,” she said, eyes searching for his lips in the low lighting. “Kiss?”

Without hesitation, he kissed her, open mouthed and dirty and sloppy and perfect. She wanted every rough-edged and sweet part of him, every kiss and press of his body against hers. “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” he chanted as he pressed into her again and again, her body drawing tighter and tighter. Then, he pinched her clit and she came, the ball in her tummy unravelling, hips bucking up against him as she rode out her high. Her eyes stayed trained on him as she did, not wanting to miss his face when he came inside of her.

His hips stuttered, release unloading inside of her in ropes that left him cursing like a sailor. Hair wet and sweaty, sticking to his forehead, and irises blown out, he looked beautiful. She held him close until his body settled, shaking as he came down from his high, forehead resting on the swell of her breasts.

Slowly, he rolled off of her, tugging her body into his so she wasn’t on the cold concrete anymore. He was fiery hot and it kept her warm in the cold air. “Can we never use a rubber again?” He asked softly, and she giggled, hiding her face in his neck.

“Don’t see any reason to,” she replied and he hummed with joy. Tucking her hands under her chin, she looked at him with a smile. “Congrats on your album, baby.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear tenderly. “I’m so happy I shared today with you.” She kissed him softly and let him hold her close, not wanting to move even to go to bed because it meant leaving his grasp. And as much as her head told her that it wasn’t forever, she couldn’t help but hope it would be.

It had been four days since Harry had texted her. Five since he called her. Six since they FaceTimed.

He was in London for the press junket for Dunkirk and Y/N was supposed to fly out for the July 13th premiere—it was decided a month ago, the tickets booked and her time off from work already approved. But as the days stretched on and the silence grew longer, she couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. If she had done something wrong.

It wasn’t the first time he had been away from LA. They had a conversation about how they were going to handle distance when he travelled back in April, before the album came out and he had to fly around and do press for two weeks. That time, though, he handled it well—he called every night before she went to bed if he could, if not, he sent a long voice memo that she listened to when she woke up. They texted all day, him sending photos from dressing rooms and backstage at talk shows, even FaceTiming her so she could meet the stars he shared the nights with.

But this time was different. Since he left he had texted her just a handful of times and it was when he was at his mom’s house visiting home before press started. And then once press kicked into gear, he was gone, her texts ignored, calls not returned. She was trying not to seem desperate, but with the more time that passed the more anxious she got. It wasn’t how this was supposed to go, this wasn’t what they’d agreed on. He knew her fears, the dark thoughts that crowded in when she spent too much time worrying about their relationship, and yet he wasn’t taking the actions that helped her calm down. Even though she knew it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of her brain, it helped to know he thought about her, at the very least.

The morning before her flight was supposed to leave, she called Hanna in a panic. Her suitcases laid open on her bed, clothes scattered around her, tears streaming down her face. She had tried to call Harry again to confirm her arrival plans, only to be met with his voicemail, again.

Hi, you’ve reached Harry. I’ll give you a call back when I can!

Somehow, the sound of his voice made it worse.

“Han,” she choked out when her friend picked up, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Did he not answer?” Hanna had been counseling her through the whole thing, helping her stay calm and sane, as much as possible at least. From Y/N’s lack of response, just more sobs, Hanna knew immediately. “That prick.”

Y/N wiped a tear from her eye and looked at the ticket in her hand. Harry had forced her to accept his offer of first-class, booking her flight through his agent and everything. “Does he even want me there? Should I not go?”

Hanna was quiet, thoughts rolling through her head. “No,” she finally said. “You should go. Even if it’s just to talk to him in person. You deserve to hear it face-to-face, not by him ghosting you.”

“Even if that means I end up in London and he breaks up with me?”

“Yes,” Hanna replied softly. “But I really, really hope that is not what’s happening.”

At first it had been that he was busy, that he would text when he had time, but it had been six days. Now, both Y/N and Hanna were increasingly worried that it meant the end of their relationship and Y/N was simply not ready for that possibility. She had let Harry in—he had begged her to let him in—and he was going to end things like this? When things got hard with the distance he just…cut her out? “Can you take me to the airport?” Y/N asked, sniffling. “If you don’t I don’t think I’ll be able to force myself to go.”

“Was already planning on it,” Hanna replied. “I’ll bring snacks for the flight.”

“Love you,” Y/N told her. Hanna was her one constant, who knew Y/N better than she knew herself.

“Love you more. Now go finish packing and call me if you need me, okay?”

Y/N told her okay and hung up, her gaze shifting to her suitcase. If he was going to break up with her, then she was going to look so magnificent he would regret every second of it.

Eleven hours in the air meant plenty of time to run over her entire relationship with Harry. She had sat curled up in her seat scrolling through her camera roll and listening to Bon Iver, which was the sappiest thing possible and she didn’t care. Y/N didn’t want to break up with him and the photos and the texts and the memories proved it. Her time with Harry had been so beautifully bright, his presence in her life making so much better, from her confidence to her knowledge to her music taste. And she cared about him in a way she hadn’t let herself do—ever.

She had texted Jeff before she took off, telling him she couldn’t get a hold of Harry and asking where she should go when she landed. He replied with Harry’s Hampstead address and the door code, saying there was a key waiting for her, hidden in the garden, an apology on Harry’s behalf for how busy he had been. The words meant nothing, though, to Y/N. If Harry wanted to apologize he would have to do it in person, not through Jeff.

It was eleven by the time her Uber pulled up to Harry’s house and she thanked the driver as he tugged her luggage from the boot. She waited until he pulled away before she typed in the gate code, not wanting to reveal Harry’s security to anyone—she have been mad at him, but she still didn’t want anything happening to him. The door unlocked for her and she slid inside, shutting it quickly behind her. Pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked up the path, searching for the garden statue Jeff had told her the key was hiding under. When she found it, her fingers ran across the ridges as she made her way to the front door.

His house in LA was warm, it was the Harry she knew. But this house felt colder, the design modern, his personal affects not as visible. Although to his credit, he hadn’t been here for more than a few days in months. A few photos of Anne and Gemma were scattered through the front hall, some framed photos of his time in One Direction nestled between them.

“Harry?” She knew he wasn’t there, but the idea of walking into his house without checking felt too uncomfortable for her. She locked the door tightly behind her, typing in the security code Jeff had sent before re-arming it.

Y/N took her time exploring his house. She perused the main spaces, testing out the couches and peeking at his bookcases, studying the art lining the walls. Then she made her way upstairs to the bedrooms, running her fingers along the edges of his One Direction album plaques that lined the walls of his office, the ones from his debut still resting on the floor waiting to be hung. She found the guest bedrooms with ease and she spent a good five minutes standing on the landing deciding if she should go into his bedroom or set herself up in a guest one.

She settled on a guest bedroom. If he was going to break things off, she didn’t want to know what his bed felt like or smell his clothes or take a shower in his bathroom.

Instead, she showered in the guest bath, washing off the plane smell that lingered on her body. She dressed in shorts and a tank top, letting her hair air dry since she would have to just re-style it for the premiere later. Jeff hadn’t told her what time Harry would be back and she was ravenous, so she wandered downstairs to fix herself some lunch. To fill the silence in the house she turned on The 1975, playing the music from her laptop she had open on the counter as she cooked some pasta she had found in the cabinet. As she ate at his dining table, she tried not to think about the fact that this could be the last time she was in a space of Harry’s. The last time she sat on things he had picked out, the last time she rooted through his fridge, past his obnoxious green juices and leftovers since he hated eating out if he didn’t have to. Her fingers brushed at her eyes, trying to stop the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks.

Reaching down for her fork to take another bite, she suddenly heard the lock click in the front door and the security system begin to beep.

He was home.

She slid her bowl away from her and turned to look at the doorway, waiting to see his face for the first time in over a week. And when he appeared, she couldn’t the return the stretched across his face at the sight of her in his house. He looked the same and somehow that was worse. In a nice shirt from interviews this morning, his hair slightly tossed from running his fingers through it, the sheen on his upper lip from the heat outside. He looked like her Harry, but she didn’t know if he was hers anymore.

“Y/N!” His voice rebounded off the walls, filling her heart with a kind of hope that was crushing.

“Hi,” was all she could muster before looking back down at her pasta. An anger rose in her, replacing the hurt that had lingered for so many days. How could he pretend like everything was okay? How could he smile at her like he hadn’t been ignoring her for days, too busy to even check and see how her flight was?

His footsteps were heavy on the hardwood floors as he made his way over to her. “Baby? What is it?”

“Do you want to break up?” She asked, her question hard compared to his kind, gentle, tentative tone.

“What?” Harry dropped into the seat caddy-corner to the chair she sat in. “What are you talking about?”

She pushed away her bowl and looked him dead in the eye. “I haven’t heard from you in days, Harry. Days. I flew halfway across the world for you and you couldn’t even manage to check-in to see if I was alive?”

He flinched at her words, eyes dropping to the table they sat at. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, words barely audible above her heart beating a mile a minute, pulsing with anger.

“That’s not going to cut it,” she told him, standing up and taking her bowl to the sink. “You fucking ghosted me like I was a girl you’d just met. We’re about to celebrate six months together. And you know what this shit does to me.”

And he did. She could see in his eyes that he knew he was in the wrong, and yet he was quiet. “I was busy.”

“So was I! But I still found two seconds to text you asking how it was going, I found fifteen minutes before bed to call you, and I kept trying even though you couldn’t even manage to reply to me. You’re not that busy, Harry.”

He stood too, walking over to where she stood in his kitchen so that he was a few paces away from her. “I was in and out of interviews from morning to night and when I wasn’t, I was with the cast who I haven’t seen in almost a year. And when I wasn’t doing that Jeff was harassing me about tour details or I was sleeping. I’m sorry if my schedule didn’t allow me to talk to you at every second of the day, Y/N, but this is a huge moment for me and I had to focus on that.” His words were measured, but she could feel the tension rising between them, words unsaid bubbling over.

“And your career is more important than our relationship.” She nodded sarcastically, wiping her wet palms on the dish towel and turning to face him. “Got it, heard loud and clear.”

“Fuck—you know it’s not!” His hand ran through his locks and down his face, struggling to get a handle on his breathing.

“Harry,” she said, trying not to yell, “I’m not going to force you to stay in a relationship that you don’t want to put the time in for. But you know exactly what I need from you—I have been very clear. You know my fears and my insecurities, and you know what triggers them. We had a plan for how to deal with this, and you completely disregarded it!” Her voice rose at the end, the fact that he couldn’t even meet her eyes pushing all of her buttons. “Fucking look at me when I talk to you!”

His eyes met hers and she didn’t see the Harry she knew, the Harry who cared for her, the soft, gentle man. Instead, she saw someone who was pissed off and hurt and grasping at straws. “I can’t dance around your fears every moment of the day,” he said, voice spitting anger. “And I’m sorry if that breaks one of your rules,” the word hitting her in the face, “but you’re going to have to get over it because I can’t spend every second of the day wondering if something I did or said has made you think I don’t care about you! You should know that I don’t want to hurt you, that of course I want to be with you!”

“Well, how am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me!” His words stabbed her right where it hurt, hitting her fears right in the heart.

Harry turned, his body facing the counter, fingers gripping the edge of the marble. He sucked in breath after breath trying to calm himself down and Y/N tried to find it within herself to have sympathy for him, but she just…couldn’t. She was so pissed off at him she couldn’t think straight.

“I’m not some girl waiting around for Harry Styles to come home, begging him to never leave me,” Y/N said. She was done. She was done with this fight, with him expecting her to be someone she wasn’t. “I’m me and I’m waiting for Harry, the person I care for so deeply it hurts—you are held to the same standards as every other guy, no matter how busy your schedule is. I should not be expected to fit into your schedule all the time. It goes both ways and you operated this week as if it was entirely my job to stay in touch with you. And I am not going to stay in a relationship like that.”

Harry’s head whipped to hers, eyes boring straight into her. “Are you saying you want to break up?”

Y/N tried to keep her head high, tried to hold back the tears. “If you’re going to do this when you’re on tour, I’m done. You know what I want—it’s the same thing I wanted from this relationship the moment I met you. You’re the only one who seems to think things have changed.” And with that, she stormed out of the room, which was probably petty but she didn’t care. She was so mad at him for his actions and his words that she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

Harry didn’t follow her.

At 1 o’clock, a knock came on her door.

“If you still want to come, we have to leave for the premiere in an hour. It’s up to you.” And with that, he walked away, not even waiting for her to open the door.

She sat on the bed, considering her options. Did she go and support him anyway, pretend everything was fine? Or did she stay here—or maybe find a hotel—and leave him alone for the premiere?

He had told her how nervous he was about this. This was his first time on a movie red carpet as an actor and he was freaking out about it before he left, a ball of anxiety that she had to carefully untangle. The thought of him being up there alone pained her, despite how his hurtful words lingered in her head. That she had to get over it as if it was that simple.

The red dress she had bought for the premiere hung in the bathroom where she had left it while she showered so the wrinkles would leave the fabric. It was beautiful—a tiered taffeta skirt that cinched in at the waist, a caged bodice showing off her shoulders. When she had tried it on she had felt beautiful, powerful, as if she could take on anything and everything. She had spent a ton of money on the dress and she didn’t want to waste it.

So she got up, turning on BANKS and set about her hair and makeup in the bathroom, praising Hanna for teaching her how to do her makeup in college. She painted her lips red, in the shade that she adored wearing, and twisted up her hair into a chignon that emphasized her neck. Running her fingers along the skin she remembered when Harry had kissed it, but the love bite he had left behind was long healed. Was she asking too much of him? She wondered as she looked at herself in the mirror. Was he right, were her fears stifling him?

Then she remembered what Hanna had told her. That he wasn’t anyone different from other guys she had dated, and what she was asking from him wasn’t out of left field. Any guy she would date she would except to check in with her when he was traveling and Harry was no different, no matter what his job was.

Harry was waiting downstairs for her, probably having heard her rummaging around in the closet. When he heard her heels on the stairs, he looked up and his eyesight on her skin burned because he looked gorgeous. Maybe this was a horrible idea, she thought as she made her way towards him. She would have to touch him all night, look at him in his tailored suit, gaze into his green eyes as they were photographed on the red carpet.

“You look beautiful,” he said, words gravelly in his throat.

She stopped a few paces away from him. “Thanks.”

He fiddled with his keys, the silence stretching between them. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you have no reason to, but having you there…It means a lot.”

Instead of replying, because she didn’t have words for him, she just nodded. Because she did have a reason—even though she was mad at him, she still cared for him. Despite not wanting to, she still craved him giving her a kiss on the cheek as they walked out the door.

The drive to the red carpet was quiet, the radio playing softly in the background the only sound. They sat on either side of the backseat, Y/N staring out the window while Harry fiddled with his phone. She hadn’t been to London since she was 18 for her graduation present from her mom, and the city held warm memories for her. She wondered if that would change after today.

When they pulled up, an anxiety Y/N didn’t know she was holding started building, the sight of the photographers and the screams from the fans barricaded in. With all that had been happening, she had somehow forgotten what going to the premiere meant for her. Her eyes fell to Harry who was staring at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She had never done this before and he knew that.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he said, trying to calm her fears. “Promise.” It helped. At least she wouldn’t be completely alone. “Ready?” He stretched out a hand to her and she took it, letting him help her from the car.

The second her feet hit the pavement, the screams got louder. Fans with signs and their phones outstretched on either side of the wide red carpet, the word DUNKIRK in large white letters closest to the entrance to the theater. Harry’s hand gripped her as she stood, thankful for his body to help her keep balanced.

“Just smile as best you can,” he whispered in her ear as the car pulled away behind them. “And if your eyes start hurting from the flashes, just look at me, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and with his hand in hers, fingers entertained, they made their way down the carpet. He stopped a few times to take photos with fans and sign cards, but all that time he never strayed too far from Y/N’s side. With his arm securely wrapped around her waist, they stood for photos, Y/N trying to stand up as straight as she could and smile sweetly. Harry was a pro at this, a smile practiced for years, but she didn’t have the same experience. She was just a regular person who didn’t know which side was her bad side and had her eyes closed in half her photos.

The cameramen screamed questions at them, about their relationship, if they were married. They’d never quite publicly announced their relationship, Harry preferring to keep his private life private, so this was the first time they’d ever even publicly been out as a couple. And for it to be like this…Y/N hated it. She wanted to stand there and be utterly infatuated with Harry like she usually was, but this time her spine was rimrod straight, trying to keep her emotions in check. It was awkward, the way he tentatively touched her body, not wanting to overstep but also wanting to present the aura of normalcy.

Then they took a few steps and rotated to another set of cameras and Y/N understood what Harry had meant about her eyes hurting from the flashes. She turned her head to him and he found her eyes, giving her a wide smile meant just for her. Without thinking about it, her hand pressed to his suit right over his heart, the soft material of his suit jacket butter under her fingers. Then, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, softly and sweetly and to most it wouldn’t have meant much. But to Y/N, it was the first time he had kissed her since she’d seen him. And the feeling of his lips on her skin lingered, a tingle moving through her body. Her hand gripped his back a little tighter and he just kept smiling at her, utterly entranced by her eyes.

Their bodies had betrayed them. To anyone who looked, they would have seen perfectly fine, not that they had been fighting only two hours ago. But they knew the reality, and this moment, their bodies close together and emotions running through them without being able to stop it, it made it clear that neither of them wanted to break up. They would just have to find a way to move through it.

TAGLIST

@smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019 @laula843 @afterstylesmadeit  @kait-brin @harrys-watermelons @groovybaybee @clumsywithlove93 @1142590m @erin0717 @ketchuplukehemmo​ 

Would you like to know when I update The Only Exception? Let me know here!

NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 11TH @ NOON CST

[ofmusingsxandmayhem]

Laws of the Land [updated Oct 2022)

T h e   M o s t   I m p o r t a n t :

This is probably the rule that will make me sound mean, I promise I’m not. I’m going to be real with you all here. I am very, very old and tired of being used as people’s personal resource blog. I get it, you see something on your dash and you think ‘that’s awesome!’ and reblog it. Well, since rebooting my blog, I’ve made the unfortunate but necessary choice to become more firm on my stance here. So I ask that any content (be it photographs of FCs, aesthetics, musings, plot ideas, and especially ask memes) please be reblogged from the source wherever it is possible to do so. I completely understand that the source is not always available, so I’m not here to say “nEvEr ReBlOg FrOm Me!!”, But I always try to reblog content from the source myself, so that way the source is easily accessible to you all. I’m literally making life as easy for you as possible. I also use tags to remind people to reblog from the source on posts where I know for a fact that the source is available. If you do this despite how crystal clear this rule is, then you will be soft blocked.  The only exceptions to this rule are 1) if you are reblogging an ask meme that you have sent in to me, then I am 100% ok with you reblogging it directly from me and 2) if I have tagged you in the post. Like I say, I don’t want to implement this to sound like some asshole or whatever, it is just an accumulation of ten years in the tumblr RPC and a massive amount of that time being treated like a resource blog - mostly by people who don’t even have the time to interact with me or acknowledge my existence. So thank you for your understanding on this front, and now onto the general rules.

A s k s :

Anyone is welcome in the ask box, both RP and non-RP. If you are a non-RP blog, I ask that you do not send in memes/asks that will involve me ‘roleplaying’ with you as if you are a character.

If you wish to send memes, my meme tag is right here :) This link is not to be used for reblogging memes.

If you send a ask/meme, please feel free to specify which muse you are directing it at. If no one is listed, I will choose. 

Anon hate will not be tolerated and will be deleted.

F o r m a t t i n g :

I can do any kind of style - para, dialogue, icons, no icons. I don’t mind how you write, however I’m not personally a fan of excessive formatting. It just makes it difficult for me to read your replies and for me, the writing is way way more important than how the writing looks.

I generally tend to use small text (just the regular small) and medium sized gifs. Sometimes I use gif icons if that’s all that I can find for a FC. But you never have to match in your replies :)

If you don’t have access to resources of your muse, then I’m 100% ok to go without in a thread, I don’t mind not having any visual. I’m not really a fan of the big gifs found in the gif search or photos/gifs that don’t match the setting. It just really throws me off, that’s probably my only real no-no for this.

F o l l o w i n g   B a c k :

This blog is selective with follows; I will not follow everyone back. I also will often wait until we start writing before I follow people back too, so if you follow me and I don’t follow back straight away, don’t get the impression that I won’t ever follow you.

If I don’t follow back, please do not assume that lack of a follow means I will not write with you - I am NOT mutuals only. I merely wish to keep my dash from being cluttered. I will always make every effort to write with everyone if I can find a way for our muses to interact. 

Some other reasons why I may not follow back are things like: frequent and explicit nsfw content (I don’t mind reblogs of this stuff but excessive just gets a bit much), posting anon hate or callout posts, too many uncut posts that take up the entire dash. 

If you are mutuals only and I have not followed back, please don’t take it personally. And please don’t message me asking me to follow you. 

Please note that before interacting with anyone, I will always read your rules and about pages. If you have a rules password, I will 100% send it in to you should I initiate contact.

I n t e r a c t i o n s :

When it comes to the muses I have and their interactions, there’s no concept of ‘you must do X if you want Y’ here. We are all interested in the muses we’re interested in, some characters jump out to us more than others - we can’t force ourselves to be interested in a muse that just doesn’t click for us. So if you only want to write with male muses or only my female muses, I don’t mind. I’m just pleased that you want to write with me at the end of the day :) 

I don’t do ‘do not interact’ lists or anything, but if you are a blog that mainly/only writes smut and nothing else, or if you are a blog that exists for finding discord partners, then probably would advise against following me or liking my posts. Got nothing against either of those kinds of blog, 100% supportive of both, it’s literally just because I don’t write smut and I don’t rp on discord, so I unfortunately have nothing worthwhile to offer you. Saves both our time. 

L i m i t s / T r i g g e r s :

I have no ‘banned faceclaims’ (there are some actors/celebs who I’m not 100% comfortable with, however I don’t believe that the face you choose to represent a fictional character relates to anything that face might have said/done).

I will not RP with people writing as real life celebrities and I will not RP with people using faceclaims who have explicitly expressed that they do not wish to be used.

This might seem super specific, but if you have muses who are drastically different in age to their fc and resources, then I’m not really a fan. Like, if you have a muse who you state is 22, but you use a fc who is blatantly in their late thirties or older. Or the opposite, you say your muse is 40, but you use a fc who is 24. I’m just really not a fan of this, and I feel it perpetuates a lot of the issues I see around age in the rpc. 

If you have any triggers/fears that you wish to be tagged, please let me know - I want my followers to be comfortable on my blog. I generally try to tag the most common/logical things by default anyway, but if there’s something else I’m missing or if you have a less common thing you’d like to be flagged (such as a phobia or something), please let me know.

In turn, I kindly request that you tag the following content: rape/non-con/dub-con, suicide, self-harm, drowning, incest, mpreg, miscarriage/pregnancy difficulties. I will also never ever write this content under any circumstances - please do not try to get around this, as you will be blocked. If you have any of these things in your muse’s bios, I respectfully ask that it not be brought up in threads as it makes me uncomfortable. 

I do not have an issue in writing some darker topics, but I will only do so if they are being treated respectfully and with care. I’m not here for romanticising awful things, so please respect that. 

M u n   A c t i v i t y :

My activity can be spotty due to work, however I will always endeavour to reply to messages and threads as soon as I can.

Majority of my replies run on the queue to help stop me from being overwhelmed (although it still happens somehow haha).

Please note that I do not RP on discord.

O p e n   S t a r t e r s :

My open starters are quite literally open to everyone! As long as your muse fits the bill for the plot, just go for it!

Please check who the open is aimed at. I specify things like gender, age, and other things relating to the connection I’m looking for. Please adhere to these, as they are specific for each muse and each set up. So if an open is aimed at males, please don’t respond with a female (and vice versa), or if there is a minimum age for any responding muses, please do not respond with muses younger. These are especially important if the open is directed towards a ship. 

Please avoid liking my opens, as I find that if there are notes on an open, people seem less likely to respond? If you’re saving for later, just go ahead and save to your drafts if you’d like to.

P l o t t i n g :

I love plotting. Give me all the plotting.

Plotting is a two-way street. Do not leave me to do all the work and I will do the same. This means no “I don’t mind, you decide” - I want input from you too.

R e b l o g s :

If you are not involved in a thread, please do not ever reblog it. If you do this, you will be warned once. If it happens again, you will be blocked.

As per the top of this page, please always reblog content (memes, aesthetic, fc pics, wishlist etc) from the source wherever it is available. 

S h i p p i n g / S m u t :

Even though I’m well over 18, I do not write smut. I will write some build up and then fade to black. I am absolutely not uncomfortable with that content, and I am happy to allude to things that have happened between characters in threads, and will happily discuss their intimacy in plotting if it comes up in conversation. 

I am also comfortable sending in nsfw ask memes for my partners if our muses are shipped, and I may even reblog the occasional meme that discusses nsfw aspects of my muses and on the rare occasion maybe drabble memes, but I won’t write out any sexual content in threads with other people. If I do reblog any kind of sexual meme, I will be VERY selective on who I accept asks from - generally only people who I have existing dynamics will and who I feel comfortable writing them for. If I do not respond to an ask from you, please don’t take it personally. 

That said, while I’m 100% comfortable with nsfw content, if you come to me in the IMs and your plot idea involves “can my muse fuck your muse”, we’re prob not going to be a good match. Power to you, but I’ve made it pretty clear in these rules and I keep getting people saying stuff like this to me. 

Shipping will vary from muse to muse - their information is available on their bios so please be sure to check them out. I have listed the minimum age of shipping partners for all muses who are open to ships - this can be found where their sexuality is listed on their bios. Some muses will be happy to date people who are quite a bit older than them, however they will never go below the listed age in their bios. I ask that you please respect that. If you have a query about an age gap, please don’t hesitate to check with me.

Please note that ALL of my male muses (with the exception of Jack, who is asexual/aromantic) will only ever be shipped with male muses (even if they are listed as bisexual). I don’t want to go into too much detail, but I’ve had some godawful experiences shipping my males with females and it’s just much more comfortable for me to only write them in m/m ships. Please do not send m/f ship memes for my male muses, as they will be deleted. Platonic interactions with females are 100% wanted and encouraged though!

T h r e a d s :

If you request me to write you a starter and you never respond, the starter will be deleted. I will check your blog for activity first, because I understand you may be on hiatus. But if you have been frequently active and the starter goes unanswered, then it will be deleted/recycled for someone else.

I am a believer in ‘take your time’, however unfortunately my muse for threads can die out after a while. It’s sadly how it is for my writing muse, and I can’t force it. If you disappear for six months and then want to pick up a thread we had before, please don’t be surprised if I just don’t have the muse anymore. If I drop our thread due to lack of muse, it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to write with you, so we can certainly start something else.

If I owe you and it has been a long while since I replied, feel free to gently and politely poke me about it - it will either be in my drafts or my queue, though there have been times where tumblr has not notified me of a reply.

[imissjoongsmullet]

My Prince (2)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 1

Part 3

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 3.5k

Author’s Note: thanks to everyone who was kind enough to reblog and/or leave feedback on the first part! It makes my day ♥ ♥ ♥  This isn’t my most popular thing on here but it’s got such a special place in my heart  ♥  Also, I promise the next part will have a bunch more fluff so look forward to that~!

►

“Come on,” you hissed under your breath as you attempted to mold your hair into the shape it was supposed to be. If Tou Ma found it messy again she’d do more than just tell you off. If she found you late on duty on the other hand she’d do even worse, so you had to get going.

It had been a whole two weeks and you still felt like a complete novice at just about everything that was expected of you. You kept getting lost and forgetting the many forms of curtsies, you’d over-bubbled the prince’s bath, lost one of his hunting coats. One time you’d even dropped a platter of fruit in the presence of the empress. You were reaching new levels of embarrassment every day and slowly but surely longing for the days spent getting your nails dirty in the gardens with your parents. At least you’d been somewhat good at gardening. In here, everything you did was wrong; everything you were was wrong. And now, you couldn’t even get your hair to sit right.

Groaning as as yet another strand of hair fell down over your eyes, you twisted around and left the maid’s quarters, hoping no one would notice. Dashing through the castle you retrieved your things, trying desperately not to look as panicked as you were. By the time you arrived at the prince’s chamber doors you were panting. You pressed a few fingers against your chest, as if that would magically calm your heartbeat — it didn’t.

To your great relief, prince Minghao was still asleep. You set down your tea tray went to pull back the heavy drapes covering the opening towards his balcony. Now the morning light fell onto his soft features you found it hard not to stare. To tell the truth, you often found yourself staring at the young prince. Minghao had grown up well. He was only one year older than you, but he already looked so much more mature, both in good ways and bad. The way he held himself in body language and conversation astounded you. It was so far from how you’d known him all those years ago and, as handsome as you thought he’d become, your heart sank at the coolness in him. It was as if someone had turned off the lights behind his eyes.

Though when you looked at him now, there was a softness about him that didn’t often show itself while he was awake. His skin looked soft as peach and his plump lips curved into a slight smile that made you not want to wake him at all.

He looked happy. You drew nearer, smiling yourself. He looked so comfortable in the soft plush of his royal bed. For the tiniest moment, you kind of wished you could just slip under the silk covers with him and forget about your duties. He had quite long eyelashes; you’d never noticed that before. They began to flutter and before you could do anything, Minghao’s waking eyes were on you.

With a small gasp you fell back, tripping over your robes and falling onto the rug on the floor. Mortified, you jumped back up, unable to look at him. Hoping he somehow, magically hadn’t seen yet another blunder of yours, you bent over your tea set and began pouring the water.

“You, um, you’re expected at breakfast shortly,” you said. Even though you’d told him this exact sentence every morning for the past two weeks, you hadn’t been able to say it properly once. You couldn’t tell whether it was due to you being clumsy or the fact that Minghao always looked like heaven in the morning.

You heard him groan behind you.

“Your tea, your highness,” you added, twisting around to find him sitting up in the bed, disgruntled frown plastered across his face.

Ignoring the biting feeling in your chest, you walked over and set the tray down beside him.

He didn’t even look at you as he took the cup and lifted it to his lips.

You took that as your cue to leave.

You saw him in the dining room next, where you were supposed to make sure the prince’s breakfast experience was on point. In reality, it was a lot of standing around and waiting. The emperor and empresses’ servants were there as well, one a bit friendlier than the other.

“You’ve messed up your hair again,” Mie whispered when no one was looking.

“I know,” you replied as the short girl’s nimble fingers ran through your hair, swiftly pulling back the loose strands into their proper place.

The room was unusually tense this morning and when the emperor finally opened his mouth you understood why.

“I think we should call forth a meeting about these protests,” he said in a deep, droning voice, rubbing a bony finger against his temple. Emperor Xu Yilan was a tall, slender man with hair down to his waist. He had been a promising presence when he’d first ascended the throne but had lost most of the people’s support in recent years, after his naivety had led to the loss of some of their land to a neighboring empire called Yientan.

The empress placed a hand on her husband’s wrist.

“What am I to do?” the man went on, eyes flitting to his only son for the swift fraction of a second.

“I’m sure your men can put an end to the protesters,” the empress said.

“No,” replied the emperor, “the people are right to protest. We need the highlands back. I’ve got to—” he balled his hands into fists on the table.

“Let us talk about something else, no?” the empress suggested, picking at the pickled vegetables in front of her with her chopsticks.

But the emperor’s head seemed to be swarming with thoughts of only one thing. Minghao didn’t speak at all during breakfast and when he rose from the table you noticed he’d barely touched his food at all.

“Follow me,” he said as he passed you on the way out.

Doing as you were told, you slid out the room, shuffling after him through the many maze-like hallways. The tense atmosphere from breakfast seemed to follow the two of you as well. Minghao was stiff as ever and quiet as night.

Through a side door you found yourself on an outdoor walkway. You’d seen it before; you’d had a pretty good view of it from the apple orchard while you’d worked with your parents but you’d never known where it led.

You looked out into the vast gardens spread out before you, hoping to catch sight of your parents. You hadn’t seen them since you’d come to the castle. You saw some tiny heads here and there behind the various greenery but couldn’t make out anything defining. You wondered whether the wisteria were blooming yet. You couldn’t quite see them from here and they’d always been your favorite. You stood on the tips of your toes to peak over the apple trees obstructing your view. Maybe you could go see them after dark, after the prince had gone to sleep and you’d be— the prince.

You spun around, half expecting to have been abandoned, yet there here was. Minghao was standing a bit further onto the wooden path, staring at you in silence.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, remembering one of Tou Ma’s many slogans: to keep a royal waiting is an act akin to treason — over-dramatic of course, “so sorry, your highness.” You bowed toward him and when you raised your head again found he was still looking at you quizzically. He blinked a few times, his eyes never leaving yours. You opened your mouth to say something else but were too scared to make a fool of yourself even more than you already had and closed it again.

Finally, Minghao turned around and continued down the wooden path. All you could do was follow. At the end of the walkway, you came upon a tall structure, protected by a pair of heavy doors. Minghao parted them, revealing the most peculiar square room. You walked in after him, gazing up at the impossibly tall walls of the place. They were lined with books upon books upon books, inter-spaced by large, circular gaps, letting in an abundance of soft sunlight. At the center of the room was a considerable open space, in which only a few low tables stood, their legs digging into the soft rugs underneath.

“Wow,” you couldn’t help but let out. You’d never seen this many books before. You hadn’t even known this many books existed.

The prince turned around to you once again, and, at seeing your amazement, a tiny, smug smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He lead you to the very center before speaking.

“I need your help with something.”

A little pang of angst shot up your spine.

“Help, from me?” you questioned, “here?”

He nodded. “I’m looking for a book but I can’t remember where I put it. It is called A Vast Unfathomable Secret, about this big,” he held up his hands.

“A Vast Unfathomable Secret,” you repeated nervously, “this big…”

“I’m not asking you the world,” he said, scoffing a little as he sat down, “I’ll be here, reading until you fetch it for me.”

You felt yourself go red in the face again and turned away from him. Looking up at the massive walls of books, your legs went weak. Did the prince not know?

You didn’t know how to read.

Where would you even begin? Dread filling your sandals, you realized you had only one option.

“Um,” you started, turning around, “your highness?”

He raised his head out of a book that looked like it contained a whole universe worth of stories.

“Could you maybe tell me a bit more about what the book looks like?”

He gazed at you bewildered for a small moment before sighing.

“It has a brown cover with gold foiled lettering… quite elaborate in style, and if I recall correctly, there’s a small lily indented on the the cover as well.” He finished the explanation with a gentle nod in your direction.

You nodded eagerly back at him.

“Will that be enough?” he asked, already with his head to his book again.

“Yes,” you said at once, “yes, your highness, thank you.”

You walked up to the nearest bookshelf and began your search, thankful the prince hadn’t asked any further questions about why the title alone didn’t suffice for you to find what he needed.

Regrettably, the large majority of the books on the shelves were brown with gold lettering. It took you forever to pull out book after book, only to determine they were most likely not what the prince was looking for. It wasn’t your fault you’d never learned how to read. How could you have? Your parents didn’t exactly have the money for such luxuries. You’d always been curious though, when you’d seen the upper class sit in the sunlit grass, their noses so deep within the folds of the leather bound objects they wouldn’t even notice if a mouse darted right in front of them. What was it about books that enthralled people so?

Minghao seemed to understand. You sneaked a glance at him from behind a large brown cover, finding him hunched over the little table in deep concentration. His index finger treaded gracefully across the page as his eyes devoured the contents. His lips formed inaudible words as he read. Every once in a while he’d run a hand through his hair, only for it to fall back into his face the next moment. You were staring again; you couldn’t help it. Everything about him made you not want to look away, which was definitely not helping you find the book.

No, you thought to yourself, twisting back around towards the shelf and forcing your hand to wrap around yet another brown spine with gold lettering. You kept going tirelessly, working your way up in silence until you needed the ladder that ran all the way up to the topmost shelf, at least twenty feet up in the air.

Your concentration was cut abruptly with the dull thud of a heavy book. You looked down to see Minghao rise from the floor. He walked over to the bottom of the ladder and beckoned you down.

“I’m sorry, your highness,” you said, still finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eyes as you addressed him, “I couldn’t find it.”

“That’s okay,” he replied and you were surprised to find him… calm? Content? Kind? Happy even? All of the irritableness from this morning seemed to have fled out of him. Books really must be wonderful things, you thought.

“You can keep looking next time,” he went on, “I really would like it at some point.”

“Yes, your highness,” you breathed in disbelief at his sunny demeanor.

That night, all you could think about was Minghao. Minghao and the way he’d sort of smiled at you, Minghao buried in his books, Minghao looking at you from across the walkway. Minghao. Minghao. Minghao. But paired with these wonderful images were sickly waves of dread.

Ever since coming to the castle, you’d known you’d had to be careful; you’d known there was a chance you might…

But he’d been so cold towards you that, in the first few weeks, you’d been able to oversee the tiny flutters in your chest. Now, it was as if the lid of the jar had been lifted and a thousand butterflies tickled your insides mercilessly, making you squirm in the sheets of your bed. It seemed almost cruel, how all of a sudden you couldn’t sleep from the thought of his deep, brown eyes. Especially because the prince would be married off in a couple years’ time and you’d be left alone once again. No, pining after the prince was about the silliest thing you could do at this point; you shouldn’t waste your time. The biggest thing you could hope for was for him to smile at you again the way he had when you were children — when you’d been friends.

“Things are getting out of hand, don’t you see that?” a voice boomed over the long, low table, where five men sat.

Emperor Xu Yilan sat at the head of the table, looking flustered. Around him sat his three most trusted advisers, a pudgy, red-faced man, an elder with a beard so long it lay in his lap, and a youngster with heavy-lidded eyes. Lastly, was Minghao, who looked anything but happy to be there.

“I understand that,” said the emperor calmly, hushing the passionate man to his right, “but we can’t just declare war on Yientan. We’re not ready for that.”

“Perhaps it would be more prudent to send another delegation to plea for the freedom of Shingmin,” the elder suggested.

“As if that will work this time,” the red-faced man grumbled, shaking his head, “listen, the Shingmin highlands belong to us. Shingmin people are our people!” he raised his voice again, slapping his palm onto the shiny, wooden table, “it’s time to take back what’s ours!”

“And how do you propose we do that?” the emperor interjected in a high pitch. You’d been watching the scene from the sidelines, waiting to refill Minghao’s cup should he require it. But he hadn’t touched his drink since the start of the meeting. He’d merely kept his head down and let the other people speak. You gazed at him worriedly, wondering what was going through his head.

“This will not just blow over, your highness,” the eldest adviser said, “the people are angry, they demand justice for Shingmin and rightly so!”

“I will not go to war,” the emperor snapped back, putting a bony finger down onto the table.

“So we have lost.”

“How cowardly!”

“Silence!” the emperor hissed, before putting his head in his hands to rub at his wrinkled face, “we are simply not ready. I’ve led our troops once and failed. I cannot live to see that happen again.”

The silence that followed weighed so heavy, you felt like you could barely breathe.

“Your highness,” the youngest of the advisers spoke up at last, making heads turn. He folded his fingers together calmly and addressed the emperor himself. “Forgive me for speaking so boldly but,” he paused, thinking, “there is one option we have yet to discuss.” His eyes then went to Minghao, who looked like he was holding on by a fraying thread.

One by one, everyone’s attention turned to the young prince.

“I understand he is only seventeen years of age and the enthronement usually happens at twenty,” the young adviser explained, “but given his… reputation,” another pause, in which the entire room held its breath, “wouldn’t it be wiser to hasten the ceremony a little?”

Minghao sat very still, but you could see in his eyes that his whole earth was shattering.

The emperor looked at his son, bushy brows furrowed, contemplating what had just been suggested. You wished he would just say something because the tension was becoming unbearable, even for you. You couldn’t imagine what Minghao must be going through.

You knew what the young adviser was suggesting, of course, and why. There was a valid reason to believe Minghao could do what his father couldn’t, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying for the young prince.

There was a story, a myth, concerning the imperial family of Namin that went back nearly a thousand years. You’d heard this story told as a lullaby when you were a child and couldn’t sleep. Your mother would point to the top of the imperial castle, where the golden dragon statue sat, overlooking the empire, and she’d tell you how that statue used to be a real dragon, how the first ruler of Namin had befriended the dragon and even saved its family from death. In return, when Namin came under attack of a foreign army, the dragon had fought for Namin, giving its life to protect the emperor he’d come to love. As the dragon breathed its last breath, it turned into the golden statue that now sat at the top of the imperial castle, promising that it would come back should the empire ever need it.

Only, the dragon had never returned since, even when Namin fell in deep trouble. Skeptics said it was because the whole thing was fake, but most believed the reason the dragon hadn’t returned was because the emperors that had followed the first hadn’t been worth fighting for. Most believed the dragon was waiting for a worthy ruler to fight alongside of, which is where Minghao came in.

The day of Minghao’s birth was the brightest the land had seen in a long time, making the dragon shine like never before. On top of that, there were various accounts of people saying they’d seen the dragon move that morning, this all leading to the common belief that prince Minghao would be the one to awaken the dragon and bring Namin back to it’s former glory.

After what seemed like forever, the emperor finally spoke up.

“What do you think about this, my son?”

Minghao’s lips parted but it was clear no sound would come out. He closed them again and looked down.

"An enlightened idea," the old adviser said, nodding slowly.

"Precisely," the younger adviser replied, "if we have the ceremony this summer we could—"

"He's too juvenile!" the red-faced adviser cut in.

"He's proved himself more than capable I say—"

"He doesn't even know how to wield a sword properly!"

“He's not bad with a bow, I've seen him—"

"The guards barely take him seriously!”

The sharp scrape of a chair brought the heated conversation to a halt. All eyes went to Minghao, who had risen, eyes still cast downward. Without a word, he turned around and strode out the door.

“Son!” the emperor called, though he didn’t follow.

“See!” the loudest of the advisers sneered, “young and reckless! How would he run Namin?”

It took you a few moments to realize what had just happened. The conversation had been so heavy it had sucked you right in. You shook the daze from your eyes and spun around, following the prince’s hurried footsteps. It was hard to catch up to him; you still weren’t too comfortable with the tight sandals and the restricting robes you had to wear. All you could do was shuffle awkwardly after him, watching the back of his head as it went.

“Minghao!” you called after him, forgetting all about proper terms and honorifics. You didn’t even know what you were doing. The only thing going through your head was how dreadful Minghao had looked and how you wanted to help him. It didn’t matter you hadn’t the slightest idea of how exactly to help him.

“Minghao, please wait!” you yelled, watching him approach his chamber doors.

You reached them just a moment after he opened them.

Abruptly, he turned around to face you in the door frame, the grave sight of his face making your insides churn.

“Leave me,” he ordered, his voice loud and stern, before slamming the doors in your face.