#and it’s not way fucking overpricing STARES AT FUCKING ETSY.

[borom1r]

Delicious, Finally Some Good Fucking Heathen Merch

edit: link bc he said it was cool to spread it around and it is so goddamn hard to feel confident buying heathen shit online

[slothgiirl]

Y/N AND HARRY STYLES SOULMATE AU part 2

Mindlessly you scratch at your wrist like you have been for the last two days. It's only two and you're already done for the day, yet you still have work after class, which is unfair and further proof that monday's suck.

At least you won't be hungover like you were after the concert you'd been dragged to by Lydia who didn't have work the morning after.

What you needed was coffee. That would help you make it through the day. An overpriced cuppa coffee with lots of cream and sugar that was really and basically a coffee milkshake.

“Is regular milk okay,” the cashier asks, voice as dead as you felt after class, wrist sore from all the note taking.

“Um do you have oat milk actually,” you ask, feeling bad about making this mans day harder than it had to be and wondering if you should have gone with the regular milk after all.

“Yeah it's 50 cents more is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer, wincing and pretending that those fifty cents were fine in the name of self care when you could've really just skipped the coffee and saved five pounds.

You scratch at your wrist again. Looking down a you stand by the bar, waiting for your name to be called, when the sweet relief of scratching an itch stings instead.

Your wrist is red. Has been since it started itching at some point yesterday. You hadn't been able to pinpoint when it happened. Fuck.

It was just your luck, to run into your soulmate and not remember when. This wasn't the same as misplacing keys and your phone and the books you needed for class. It was your soulmate.

The words had only cleared up a little, going from a black smudge, much like eyeliner after you wiped your eyes, to distinct letters. Still too fuzzy to make out.

Well shit.

You scrolled through your phone. Checked your email like a functioning adult. Opened and closed instagram without scrolling down further than two posts.

Harry Styles walks into the coffee shop, wearing jeans and a hoodie, hair disheveled. You wondered if you should say hi, eyes on your phone to keep from staring.

Technically you had met him. And he'd been nice. But wasn't that a fan interaction. Would he be bothered? Would he rather you did?

Did he even remember you because the whole night was fuzzy for you after all the shots and beer you'd had.

You're still wondering what to do when your name is called out. It's a relief. Now you don't have to figure out what to do. You can just grab your coffee and go browse while your shift starts at that boring desk job you'd never thought you'd have.

As far as jobs go it wasn't too bad.

“Hey,” Harry says coming up to you, with none of the anxiety you'd had when you'd seen him walk in. “How have you been,” he asks, surprising you when he remembers your name.

“You know,” you shrug, “work school, wondering if making jewelry on etsy is a realistic career path? It can't be worse than getting an art history degree.”

He laughs, “that's cool. Can I ask why art history?” He's casual and relaxed and that takes the edge off for you.

You have to wonder if he does it often.

“Sounded better than straight art,” you explain. Art was what you wanted to do. It wasn't a surprise when your parents had regularly taken you to museums as a kid. It was a fun cheap way to spend the day together. You tell him all that, feeling like your babbling.

Harry's gaze holds yours, looking down at you with warm green eyes, listening and interested. “have you shown anything?”

You blush, proud as you tell him, “yeah. Small gallery and it was just one piece but it sold!” It had been a small painting you'd done on a broken plate. It had been part of a series you'd done for a class.

“That's really fucking cool,” he responds, “I’d love to see your art.”

Your cheeks heat up, under the praise. It's still surreal that's you'd sold anything at all. It was basically the same as being a real artist. “How about you?”

“Just working on writing,” he admits. “There's some music too but it's all still pretty rough.”

“Is writing lyrics or music harder?”

“It depends.” Harry says with a one shoulder shrug.

You snort. “That's such a shit answer. A complete cop out,” you tell him.

His eyes crinkle up as he laughs.

“Excuse me,” two girls ask, “can we get a picture?” One of them already has her phone in hand.

“Sure,” Harry says easily, already turning to them.

“Well it was nice seeing you again,” you tell him. You have to go to work and you don't want to be in the way and he probably has things to do.  

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly, his eyes meeting yours as the girls go to stand on either side of him, ready for a selfie. “Can I text you later?”

You're already walking away, realizing your kind of running late. “Sure,” you wave of not bothering to turn around. Works not too far you'll probably make it on time.

You're drinking down the coffee. Fuck savoring it when you mentally facepalm. You didn't have each other's numbers. How was he supposed to text you!

Oh my god was he asking you for your number.

You feel like an idiot, groaning as you clock in, taking a seat at the desk you'll be at for the next six hours.

Your wrist itches again. It was crazy how bad it did and you force yourself not to scratch, not wanting to draw blood.

Instead you reach for the hand lotion in your bag, smothering it on. The soulmate business was annoying, you think.

In a city of millions how were you supposed to find them? again? You'd bumped into so many people on the tube alone.

You're fingers trace over the smudged letters. The skin around pink from irritation. They had started to clear up again which meant-

You groan.

Soulmate marks cleared up as you spent time around each other until the name was crystal clear. A sweet confirmation.

And the first letter was a hazy but understandable H.

You'd bumped into Harry at the concert and again today...it couldn't just be a coincidence. Could it?

Fuck.

And you didn't give him your number.

You feel like an even bigger idiot than before.