#her patterns are well written and she is very nice

[apiptosis]

Part 2 while I try to figure out tumbler.

The second one to meet Danny was one Cassandra Cain.

Cass ran into the thermos guy about five weeks after the incident with Tim. Unknowing this would Kickstart quite the changes in her life.

It was chaos for a while after Tim's 6 day long coma. For the first time in a very long time her brother was completely awake and refreshed. His completion returned to the healthy shade it's supposed to be and the bags under his eyes disappeared completely for a while.

The cause of Tim's coma was a caffeine overdose well that and an untreated concussion. According to Dr Leslie the last lingering traces of the larzarus pits managed to bring him back from the edge and now everyone in her family was religiously monitoring his caffeine intake. His time at the bat computer. How long he was allowed to be at WE. Etc.

Her brother was a saint for how long he lasted but eventually he got so fed up with everyone that he started a fight with Jason and Damian at the same time and after a brutal fight she, Alfred and Bruce had to break up Tim stormed off to buy the first apartment he could find that was reasonable enough.

So there she was in the early morning hours breaking into the old aparrment, room no. 404 was supposedly haunted, to give him the dented thermos she stole back from Bruce and Alfred as an apology. She even went to the Coffee shop at the corner of her studio that Tim liked and refilled it. No masks needed.

Cass was barely into the unfamiliar room when a frighteningly familiar voice appeared behind her accompanied by the singing of an unsheathed sword. "Truly Daughter, that you have allowed-"

An abnoxiously loud slurp interrupted her mother and in retaliation she stabbed the source. Said source had barely managed to turn one of the desk lamps on before he released a grunt of pain as Shiva stabbed him in the gut and he dropped his coffee mug to shatter on the floor.

A normal sized man would have recieved a mortal wound but the guy was atleast seven feet tall and struck his now vacant meaty paw out to grab Shiva by the forearm hard enough that she had to let the blade go.

The moment she let go he hefted her in the air by her arm uncaring of her kicks and merely chastised her with the barest hints of a Midwestern accent. "That was incredibly rude and since you stabbed me with it this saber is now mine." With a clean motion he tossed her out through the open window.

The whole scenario threw her off kilter and the few seconds it took her to realign herself he had already defenestrated Shiva.

With a grunt he pulled out the blade and set the bloodied thing on his sink with his ruined shirt before pulling out two chairs. 'Why would he do that? Everyone knows you don't just pull out something sticking into you, that was a sure way to bleed out.'

"I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you miss but that was rather unpleasant, you have my sympathies if that was truly your mother. So why dont we start over while I make us a cup of coffee."

"Names Danny and you are welcome to the Astral Apartments room 304." The man, Danny, said as he busied himself with the coffee machine.

"304?" For the first time Cass' rattled mind found it's voice that night. Danny immediately ought onto her confusion and radiating concern asked. "Yep 304. What room were you looking for?"

"404. Brother. My name is... Cass."

"The new guy? Moved in 5 days ago? Yeah, he left about an hour ago. If the pattern repeats he should be back in about four to five hours. It's nice to formally meet you Cass."

That was not good.

"Here," Danny said as he placed the a carton of milk and some sugar cubes down on the table next to the - yeah no that was not a cup of coffee - while it may look like an odd cup that was definitely a rather large steaming mug of coffee.

As Danny moved to take a seat Cass could find no trace of hostility from him. Her skills with spoken and written language might not be the best, it has gotten better though, her skills with the language of the body and emotion however was. Danny gave her no hostility or even dislike. Just pure concern, a lot of warmth, and comfort and a little bit of curiosity and some interest. Definitely a sense of protectiveness.

Her own worries and concern faded to curiosity and interest as she saw the wound much smaller than it was before.

"You can stay here till your brother gets back. He's usually here by the time I have to leave for Gotham U."

Slowly Cass sat down and prepared her coffee the way she liked it. Tradings one basic facts like her being a ballerina and prodding about here and there with the occasional prompt she soon found him rambling.

About his classes, how studying at Gotham U was going and how different they were from his schools in Illinois. He was studying to become an aerospace engineer. Random tidbits of space. It was kind of cute in a way how this behemoth of a man with a smile a little too toothy and bright or ears a bit too sharp rambled about his interests, eyes shining lie stars.

Eventually she had to leave when Tim arrived no matrer her own reluctance. That he was shirtless and easy on the eyes was a bonus and not one of the reasons she stayed.

As she left she concidered her options. This man with stars in his eyes would no doubt attract attention from the rogues. If she patrolled here as Orphan no one would really care all to much. It's just her way of lightening Tim's burden and keeping an eye out for Shiva.

She can come visit as Cass as well, perhaps get him to eat something. His fridge was very empty when she saw him returning the milk.

Grabbing one of the sticky notes she always kept by her she wrote down her number for him alongside a mental note to look at the academy a little but.

A few seconds after Danny closed the door Danny again. "So that's where by thermos was! I could have sworn I looked there."

[blackjackkent]

@astreamofstars suggested my next dive into the parsed dialogue files should be looking at the various Vicious Mockery lines available for player characters, and the ways the different companion character VAs speak them. This turned out to be quite challenging, as there are a LOT of them!

There are a total of 97 unique Vicious Mockery lines, each of which was recorded by all ten companion character VAs PLUS all twelve custom character VAs, for a total of 2,134 recorded lines, which is wild. (This is not including Ethel's 60 unique Vicious Mockery lines as well, which brings the total to 2,194.)

In this video, I've collected all 97 VM lines across all ten companion VAs, along with notes (where applicable) on things like

references to Shakespeare (or other pieces of media)

places where BG3 continues a time-honored tradition of the series by butchering archaic English grammar

interesting inconsistencies between the VAs or with the written dialogue

(If you notice any references I missed, please let me know and I might edit the video! :D )

In making this video, I ended up listening to all these lines a LOT, and I do love that some definite patterns emerge which are very on-brand for the characters in question.

Astarion often sounds deeply disdainful and at times almost bored. He barrels through some of the lines as if he doesn't think the recipient of his insult is even worth his time. (Also him calling someone a "parchment-pallored villain" is a bit rich, don't you think? :P )

Gale is deeply pleased with his own cleverness and laughs at his own jokes.

In my opinion, Dave Jones by far most Understood The Assignment; Halsin bellows out the lines like a Shakespearean actor playing to the back row and really relishes the language.

Jaheira is in full mother-tiger voice and clearly ready to kick ass and take names; she's not messing around. (With one exception - I have been laughing over Tracy Wiles's reading of "Mouthier than an arse, twice as full o' shite" for the entire duration of this project, because solely for that line she sounds like she's been possessed by some unknown force and is utterly baffled by the words coming out of her own mouth.)

Karlach reads most of these lines as either battle-cry or schoolyard taunt and seems utterly delighted in both cases. I enjoy that she adds a fun roll on her r's to sound all mockingly fancy.

Lae'zel generally sounds like she's about to rip someone's throat out and often seems completely oblivious to the humor involved, even on lines like the delightful pun, "As the leg, you'll end in defeat."

Minsc definitely doesn't know what most of these words mean but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. I enjoy that "Mouthier than an arse" becomes "mouthier than a butt" only for him. XD

Minthara, like Lae'zel, is mostly not coming at this from a place of amusement; she's MAD. She sounds like a judge handing down sentence in the most disdainful manner possible. (That said, she has my favorite deliveries on some of the lines with timing-related humor: "Thou art saucy... as gruel," "Thine eyes! Pools of tepid piss," "Like a summer's day... thou art sweaty," etc.)

Shadowheart just sounds deeply offended that her target is existing anywhere near her. She's practically spitting on all her plosive consonants and it's delightful.

Wyll sounds remarkably fierce given how nice a dude he is, but a lot of his lines have some righteous indignation (appropriate for a former noble and the Blade of Frontiers) - or he just sounds like he pities his opponent. His reading of "It vexes me to know of you" is my favorite of the whole cast; he just sounds so disbelieving of his target's stupidity.

Overall I think my favorite of these lines is towards the end: "Your body's a temple - to an idiot god!" All ten companions really stick the landing on that one. :D

Thanks for watching! Hope you enjoy.

(Got requests for other investigations into BG3 dialogue? Drop me an ask and let me know! )

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems, Part Two

IT"S FINISHED! whew, that only took forever. part of the reason this took so long to write is that i was obsessing over if it would be as good as part 1, so hopefully y'all like it (but please be nice if you don't). final word count is about 22-23k words...so buckle in, grab a snack, and enjoy!

Part One

*.*

Japan

Harry walked alone through the busy streets of Tokyo, his chin tucked close to his chest and his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his long overcoat. There was a cadence to his steps as he kept time with the song that played on a loop in his head. It wasn't one that anyone here but him would know. Well, him and one other person, but she was a world away.

Rounding the corner, Harry turned into the cafe he'd been frequenting since he'd arrived. He nodded to the shopkeeper before heading over to the counter, pulling an old, weathered vinyl from his bag.

"This is the one I was talking to you about," he said by way of greeting. "It truly is a phenomenal record."

Harry handed over the record, hesitating a little before letting go of it. He'd been listening to it nonstop since he'd left Los Angeles, and parting with it was more difficult than he originally thought it would be. When he first came to the cafe, he'd looked for it within the crammed shelves huddled in the corner. The shopkeeper had never even heard of it, and Harry could only imagine what Y/n would say if she knew. She'd been the one to introduce him to it, the memory of that conversation in her apartment seared into his brain.

"Wings?" Harry had asked, not quite suspiciously, but the glare Y/n sent over his shoulder made it seem like he'd already written it off. Her glare is so cute, he remembered thinking, admiring the adorable furrow of her brow as she rooted through a collection of vinyls that was bigger than anything Harry had ever seen.

"It'll change your life," she'd promised, before sliding the record out of its sleeve and putting it on the turntable. Her record player was littered with stickers, some too faded or covered by others to see them properly.

She'd grinned as the opening chords to the first track played, settling next to Harry as she picked up her wine glass, her lips puckering around it to take a sip. She hadn't noticed him staring until about a minute later, when her eyes met his. Her brows had furrowed once more, but this time it was more confused. She'd nudged Harry's leg with her foot, which was covered in a purple patterned fuzzy sock.

"It's your turn, isn't it?" she'd asked, eyes darting to the Scrabble board on the coffee table.

Harry remembered taking the wine glass from Y/n's hands and setting it on the table next to the board. He remembered taking her face in his hands and kissing her. He remembered her squeak of surprise but that she didn't pull away.

Their very first kiss.

The memory of her delicate hands sliding into his hair, of her crawling into his lap, the little noise she made as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip—it was all-consuming as Harry sat down at his usual table at the cafe a million miles from Y/n and Los Angeles.

"It'll changed your life," she'd promised him. Little did he know, she already had.

*.*

A week after Harry left, you received a text from your ex, a total surprise seeing as you hadn't spoken to him since you'd broken up.

Gavin: I heard about what happened with you and my sister. Can we meet somewhere and talk?

That message sat in your inbox without a response for hours as you tried to work up the courage to say yes. You knew you needed to, you knew you would feel better after the fact, that both of you deserved closure after the colossal end to your relationship, but every time your thumb hovered over the keyboard, you chickened out.

Until finally, you wrote, Okay.

Seeing Gavin again was a trip. He looked the same, yet so different at the same time. He had facial hair for one thing, and his hair was a couple inches longer than it had been when you were together. Deep down, you assumed a public shaming on his part, you feared he would just berate you for all the ways you'd hurt him and that he hated you for breaking his heart and humiliating him.

But that had never been who Gavin was. Your ex was kind and honorable, he tipped generously on dinner dates and warmed up socks for you in the dryer because he knew how cold you got after a long day at work. He was the definition of a sweetheart, and assuming the worst about him was just the fear and insecurity talking.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Gavin," you said, trying to hold all the excess of emotion brimming to the surface as you walked beside him. You'd agreed on a walk through the park as opposed to sitting down somewhere, both of you perhaps too nervous to sit still.

Gavin merely nodded, which was more than you could've asked for given the circumstances. "Thank you. So much time has passed, but...it feels nice to hear."

It was a while before either of you said anything. Los Angeles wasn't a frozen tundra by any means, but it was quite brisk by the ocean, and you crossed your arms across your chest to retain a bit of heat.

Then, Gavin said, "I...I just need to know why. Did I do something? I thought things were good between us. I mean I wanted to—"

Maybe it was the cold, but his cheeks were rosy as his voice tapered off. "You didn't do anything wrong, Gav," you said, wanting to take his hand but refraining. It didn't feel like something you could do anymore. Even if two years had come and gone, you couldn't make yourself cross that line. It didn't feel right.

You didn't know how to sugarcoat your words, but you hoped time would soften the blow. "I just...I realized that you were in love with me and I—I just wasn't. I wanted to be, I wanted to be in love with you, but—And then I panicked. I overheard your mom and sister talking about you wanting to propose, and I just couldn't lead you on. I couldn't let you do that knowing you deserved better than what I could give you.

"But it killed me, Gavin," you said, tearing up just thinking about it. "Hurting you is the worst thing I've ever done, and I've—I've hated myself for putting you through that, and I couldn't face you after, which was unfair of me."

"I just wanted an explanation," Gavin said quietly, his head bent so you couldn't see his face. "All I ever wanted was to understand. I think that hurt more than you breaking up with me, that you couldn't offer me that decency."

You nodded with a sniffle, keeping your eye on the slate blue of the ocean and the clouds covering your favorite shade of sky blue. "It was selfish of me to ignore you, I know that. I just...couldn't. I was scared that you would convince me to come back when that wasn't really what I wanted, and with your family and friends constantly messaging me, I just thought staying away was for the best."

"Y/n, what—what messages? What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know?" Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Gavin's family would never do or say anything to him that would make them look bad in his eyes. But so much time had passed that you thought it would've slipped. He'd heard about the coffee house incident, after all.

With shaking hands, you reached for your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. After scrolling through your messages, you passed it to Gavin, letting him look for himself. He was quiet as he looked over the messages from his sister. There were others, but Larissa's were the most vicious. A more mentally sound person would've deleted them ages ago, but you liked to punish yourself when you were feeling particularly low.

"I don't hold any of this against you," you said. "I know you're not your family, but I just...I don't know."

"I wish I'd known about all this before," Gavin mumbled with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry for them."

"Thank you."

You didn't know what to say after that, you weren't even sure you wanted to dwell on the past anymore. It had gone by so quickly in your eyes, but two years suddenly felt like ten. You felt older, more jaded as you walked next to the man you were almost engaged to.

"Are you happy?" you asked suddenly, stopping at a bench and sitting down.

Gavin sat down next to you. He handed your phone back before sighing. "I am. I wasn't for a while, but I am. You?"

You nodded. "Learning to be. I think I was...in a rough place before I started seeing you, and now I think I'm finally on the other side of it."

Gavin's grin was familiar. It felt good to see it, but it didn't give you the butterflies that it used to. Maybe just a little relief. You smiled back, nudging him with your shoulder. "You seeing anyone?"

The blush on Gavin's cheeks told you everything you needed to know, and knowing he moved on settled something in you. "Yeah. We've been together about a year now."

Sometimes you daydreamed about who Gavin would be with when he eventually moved on. Someone perky, but not in an obnoxious way. Maybe she liked to paint and drew pictures of his profile while they had picnics together, because picnics were the kind of dates they would go on. They would hold hands in the popcorn bowl at the movies and wear matching sweaters on Christmas. The girl who would truly steal Gavin's heart would be just as sweet and generous as he was and would make his lunches for work and wipe his mouth at dinner with a smile and love him with her entire being because he deserved it.

"That's wonderful, Gav," you said earnestly. You took his hand in yours and squeezed, hoping he knew you were telling the truth. The only thing you hoped was that he kept her far, far away from his family.

"Are you? Seeing anyone?"

A simple question, and yet you didn't know how to offer a simple answer. Eventually, you shook your head. "Uh...no."

"Brothers scaring the line of willing suitors?" he joked, knowing full well how your brothers could be.

Laughing, you shook your head. "No, nothing like that, I just—It's complicated, I guess."

You couldn't quite believe that you were having this conversation today, especially with Gavin. But talking to him had always come easy, it was one of the things you liked best about being with him.

"If you can believe it," you added, a little humor in your voice. "I was the one who was ready to take things further."

For a moment, you worried you'd taken things too far, but his brows just raised amusingly. "No shit. Really?"

"He wasn't ready. Just my luck. I finally get my shit together and he takes off to another continent."

You didn't resent Harry for leaving. He'd done what was best for him, but that didn't mean the timing didn't suck. You finally felt comfortable and confident enough to be open with someone, and they fled the country.

Okay, so Harry didn't flee the country, but you felt the blow to your ego no matter how rational you were about the situation.

"He'll come around," Gavin promised, which took you by surprise. "You're probably not aware, but you're very easy to fall in love with, Y/n."

Your cheeks flushed, feeling Gavin's words right down to your toes. It didn't feel romantic in any sort of way, but there was some reassurance. Gavin knew you well, and he had been a good friend.

And yet, the only thing you could think as you continued to catch up with your ex was, Then why is it so hard for me to fall in love?

*.*

Harry hadn't realized it, but he'd started to keep a list in his head, a mental tally of all the little things he learned about Y/n and that made her who she was.

The list had started with small trivial things like her coffee order and that she seemed to be particularly fond of wearing bandanas in her hair or that she always carried the same canvas tote on her shoulder, one that read, "You're Doing Great," in squiggly blue writing. From there, the list grew, and he suddenly began to collect bits of information from Y/n like valuable trading cards—what it was like growing up with three older brothers, how long she stayed in Nashville before moving out to Los Angeles, and what the perfect record was for when she was feeling sad. Harry wanted to know everything, every little piece she was willing to give him until he understood even the smallest gesture.

"Why don't you perform your songs?"

It was a question that lingered in the back of his mind for weeks now. Harry had heard Y/n sing on multiple occasions as they wrote together, and he couldn't help but think that she was the whole package. She could sing, had the kind of voice that was soft and low, a little raspy but easy to harmonize with. She wrote incredible songs that held so much depth and emotion and she could play multiple instruments. Harry could see her selling out stadiums and connecting to people through music that she wrote and performed. Yet she didn't.

"I never really had the desire to," Y/n said with a shrug. They were in his backyard, sitting around a bonfire with a bottle of wine between them. It was her turn to pick, and Chris Stapelton was crooning through her phone's speaker.

"Is it like a stage fright thing?"

"No, not at all," Y/n said. "I just don't think that life was made for me, you know? I don't know if I could handle being famous."

Harry supposed he understood what she meant. He loved his life, but it wasn't always a walk in the park. But it did make him wonder if she would ever be with someone like him, someone who did lead a life that she thought she couldn't handle. For the first time since he'd met her, Harry decided he didn't want to know.

"What about...singing backup or joining your favorite musician on tour once he releases the greatest album since...So?"

"I didn't peg you for a Peter Gabriel fan," she murmured, immediately recognizing the title, and Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the fact that she knew exactly what album he was referring to. "But, I guess so. If it was for a friend."

Harry tucked that little nugget of information away. Tour was worlds away at the moment, but it was always good to think ahead, especially when he knew he needed a keyboardist replacement.

Looking up, he admired Y/n in the glow of the bonfire, his heart beating rapidly even though she wasn't even doing anything. Ever since their first kiss a week ago, he just wanted more. His brain could hardly keep up with his heart and how badly it longed for her. And she didn't even realize the effect she had on him. She drove him crazy.

And that scared him. Harry had only recently broken up with his ex, and he didn't think it was possible to feel so strongly for someone after coming out of a pretty serious relationship with someone else. He knew he should untangle the strings, that if he let things get too far, they'd get messy, and he and Y/n would both end up hurt.

But that voice in his head that told him to be careful became a low buzz as Y/n stood up and shuffled over to him before placing herself in his lap. Her fingers came up to play with the hair that curled at the nape of Harry's neck, and he couldn't help but close his eyes at the feeling, at her closeness, at the smell of her perfume that lingered on her clothes.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself and not to Harry. "And I don't have any expectations, but I'm okay with it if you are."

Yet. Y/n didn't have any expectations yet. He knew the familiar thudding of his heart, the excited flutter in his stomach as he leaned into her touch. Of course there would be expectations, but Harry found himself nodding anyway, unable to deny either of them the pleasure of her lips sliding lightly against his. Y/n had never initiated anything between them before, and her tentative kiss told Harry she was unsure of herself. At first glance, she came off as unsure when it came to most things, but Harry learned that she held within herself a quiet confidence that he admired.

Harry stood up with her in his arms as he led them back inside. He didn't know where this would lead, tonight or any night to follow. He didn't know if Y/n was ready to sleep with him, and he honestly wasn't sure if he was either. But he wanted her close and to feel those gentle hands a little firmer in his hair. That was all he knew, and he let himself not think about anything else.

The tangles of his feelings were positively knotted, and despite his long list of things he knew about Y/n, he still didn't know where her heart truly lay. But if she was willing to walk through the fire blind, then so was he.

*.*

Two weeks into Harry being gone, and you were starting to wonder when you'd become so pathetic.

In the time since Harry left for Japan, you hadn't written a single song, not even a lyric. It was ludicrous. You'd written by yourself your entire career, but after a couple months spent with a writing partner, you were rendered insipirationless.

Not to mention semi-friendless.

It wasn't that Harry's friends didn't want to hang out, you just weren't sure you could. Outside of Sylvia, you didn't hang out with Harry's team without him, and it just felt weird to start doing so now. You didn't shy away from them when you saw them in the hallways of the building you all worked in, but you never knew what to say past a casual greeting.

Funnily enough, though, you'd said everything you needed to say to Gavin. Meeting up with him eased a heaviness in your chest you'd been carrying around with you for the last two years. You both were able to get the closure that you'd been denying yourselves, and it felt good to get everything out in the open, to receive Gavin's forgiveness after punishing yourself for such a long time.

Seeing Gavin and talking to him left you feeling lighter, but it also left you a little hollow to. With no rain cloud hanging over your head anymore, you didn't know what to do with yourself. The concept of happiness was something you'd never thought you would get, and now that it was within reach you were hesitant.

"Maybe we need a sabbatical, pookie," you said to your dog, kissing his nose. "What do you think?"

Buddy Holly didn't have a response for you, he just tilted his head at the sound of your voice. Sighing, you scratched his head and pressed play on the movie you'd previously been watching before your dog unceremoniously climbed into your lap.

Now that Harry was gone on his journey of self-discovery, you'd gone back to spending your nights alone. In theory, it should've been easy. Before Harry, being alone was second nature, but your first night alone you were at a loss. You kept wanting to reach for your phone and call him, send him a text about the record you were listening to or the ridiculous thing Buddy had done that day. You didn't realize of much Harry had engrained himself into your life, and now he was half a world away.

Reaching out wasn't an option, either, no matter how much you wanted to. He didn't tell you much for his reasons for leaving, a "writing retreat," he claimed, but you knew it was more than that. There was shit he needed to figure out, shit regarding his past relationship, so you felt the ball was in his court.

The next day, you were on the elevator going up to work, arguing with your brother on the phone.

"Nothing's wrong, Hayden," you insisted, rubbing a tired hand over your face.

"No, there definitely is. Evan, Andrew, and I all agree," Hayden said. "Something's definitely wrong with you. And when something's wrong with you, it's usually one of three things. Menstruation, a guy, or one of us, and seeing as we haven't done anything, and your period doesn't—"

"Oh my God, Hayden!" you groaned as the elevator doors opened. "I'm not...menstruating. Jesus! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Hayden kept jabbering in your ear, but you weren't listening anymore because the elevator doors had opened to reveal someone on the other side. Mitch, Harry's friend was standing there, eyes wide as he looked at you, clearly having heard your side of the conversation with your brother.

God, could this day get any worse? you thought. Shutting your eyes, you wondered if you stood there long enough with your eyes closed, the elevator doors would close and take you straight to hell or you would maybe just disappear on the spot. Either would be appreciated.

"Hayden, I have to call you back."

"You're still coming to my game this weekend right?" he asked.

"Wearing the other team's jersey," you muttered, hanging up as your brother began to protest.

Since the elevator doors stayed open and you didn't spontaneously combust, you opened your eyes. "Hey."

Mitch nodded. "Hey, Y/n."

The air was so incredibly awkward, and you wondered why you weren't sprinting toward your studio and locking yourself in permanently. But neither of you moved, and now you felt the need to explain yourself. "I...I wish I had an explanation other than my brothers still seem to ruin my life from hundreds of miles away, but I don't."

You finally stepped out of the elevator and moved around Mitch, who stepped inside. He still had that tense smile on his face, and you wondered if the two of you would ever be able to make eye contact again. Not that you ever did all that much before this God-awful incident. Just another reason to avoid Harry's friends.

"Right. H mentioned you had brothers," he said. "See you around, Y/n."

For my own sanity, I hope not, you prayed to whoever was listening.

*.*

"Do you ever think about what you would be doing if you weren't doing...this?" Y/n asked, gesturing vaguely around her.

Harry looked down to where she was spread out on the floor, her head rested in his lap while he leaned against his sofa. He wasn't quite sure how they ended up on the floor, but he didn't dare move, resisting the urge to run his fingers through her hair. It was shiny, and smelled faintly of apples. He wondered if it was as soft as he imagined.

Blinking, he stumbled around in his brain for an answer, clearing his head of thoughts of silky hair passing through his fingers. "Honestly? No, not really."

"You don't?"

Harry shrugged even though Y/n's eyes were closed. She did that often if there was music playing, as if she was trying to absorb every note into her body while maintaining a conversation. Right now they were listening to one of Harry's current favorites: a Joni Mitchell album he'd grown up listening to with his mum. He remembered when he used to scramble for answers in interviews when he was asked about his favorite artist or album, trying to come up with an answer that the media would want to hear without appearing fake. He'd list classic rock bands like Fleetwood Mac and wear old band t-shirts from the seventies. He didn't not like those artists, he loved them. But when Y/n asked about his favorite record in his collection, he didn't hesitate to reach for Joni Mitchell, knowing she wouldn't judge him for his answer.

"No. I was so young when I auditioned for the X-Factor," Harry explained. "I don't even think I knew what I wanted to study in school then, so it's hard to know what I would be doing now if it weren't for all...this."

And I wouldn't have met you, he thought but kept that to himself. Neither of them was ready for those kinds of words if he was being honest. Y/n was skittish about feelings at the best of times, and he didn't know where his feelings for her started, and getting over his ex ended. It gave him a headache if he thought about it too long, so he didn't.

Y/n sat up, and Harry resisted the urge to pull her back to him. As they hung out more and more, he had this overwhelming desire to be near her as much as possible. A hollowness would form in his chest if he didn't seek her out at the studio, leaving him blushing like an idiot every time he left his friends behind as he walked down the familiar hallway to her door. None of them ever said anything outright, but he could practically hear their teasing thoughts, but he couldn't help it. Y/n had drawn him in from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

"Maybe you'd be a florist," she said with a small grin.

"A florist?"

"Yeah." Y/n's grin grew, and Harry swore his heart grew with it. When he initially started spending time with her, or bugging her, more like, she hardly smiled. He thought it was such a shame. Not only because Y/n had a beautiful smile, but because she felt like she couldn't. Harry never wanted her to feel like she couldn't be happy, least of all around him. "You could have this big truck and deliver flowers to baby showers and weddings and other big occasions."

"Oh yeah? And where are you in this scenario?" he asked, somewhat nervous to hear the answer.

A blush crept up Y/n's cheeks as she looked at him. "In the passenger seat."

*.*

The third week Harry was gone, a stranger popped into your studio. A sense of deja vu had run through you as you looked up to find someone occupying the space in your doorframe, only Harry never knocked to make his presence known. You'd always just been aware of him when he entered the room.

"Can I help you?" you asked. You were working on a song that you actually quite liked. A new angle, a different approach to songs that you wanted to see through, and interruptions weren't going to help.

"Mitch said to come find you," he said. He looked a little nervous at having disrupted your work, so you eased up on your stare. "He said you could help us?"

Us? you thought. You supposed that it wasn't too far fetched that Harry's team would make themselves busy while he was off on sabbatical, or whatever it was he'd been doing in Japan. You hadn't heard from him much, and you tried not to let that hurt your feelings too much.

Brows furrowed, you said, "I'm sorry, I don't know how I would help—"

"He said you've written for country artists before?" the guy said. "We're sort of stuck and he said to come find you, so..."

Sighing, you stood up, but not before jotting a couple notes down in your journal. Perhaps it was kismet that the song you'd been playing around with today had been country in your mind. The prospect of writing with anyone other than Harry felt odd, uncomfortable. But Harry wasn't here, and you didn't know when he would be back and you couldn't just hide in your studio because he'd left.

You didn't know what to expect as you followed the man, Daniel, he'd finally introduced, led you to a studio a couple rooms away from yours. You'd met Harry's writing and production team a number of times, but Harry wasn't a country artist, so Mitch was clearly helping out with a different project, which meant introducing yourself to a whole new group.

Mitch was waiting with one other person, a young woman who was about your age or younger. She had blond curly hair and light blue eyes, a smile on her face at something Mitch said. When you entered the room, you couldn't help but think back to last week when you'd completely embarrassed yourself in front of Mitch. You hadn't seen him since, and even though it was probably unlikely, you'd hoped you'd never have to again.

Introductions were made quickly before a chair was pulled out for you. The young woman's name was Cam, and she was working on putting out her first ever single. "And album eventually, but we're starting out small," she said with a bashful grin. "I'm such a huge fan of your work, and when Mitch said you were just down the hall, I told him he had to introduce me. I swear I love every song you've ever written."

Nodding, you gripped the soft leather binding of your journal, wondering what Mitch was angling at here. From the short amount of time you'd spent with him, he seemed rather quiet. A chill person who mostly kept to himself. You weren't sure why you were being dragged into one of his projects.

"Yeah. That's where I started my career," you said. "I'm sorry—Did you want my help with a song?"

"The whole album too, hopefully," Cam said, and you could see it in her eyes how bad she wanted this. She was ambitious, but not in a way that made you want to run back to your room and have nothing to do with this project. You eyed her scuffed boots and the worn friendship bracelets on her wrists and the hope that lined her body as she waited for you to say something.

"I usually work alone," you said. "But, I—I did happen to be writing something a little country today if you wanted to take a look."

You handed your journal over to the young woman, trying to decide if you wanted to be part of this little team. On the one hand, you thought Harry would be the only person you'd feel comfortable writing with, but...if he had a team, why couldn't you? Perhaps Harry had opened you up to the possibility of branching out and trying things you'd closed yourself off to in the past.

At the very least, you decided, you would hear her out, see how you gelled with this small group. If not for any other reason than as a small favor to an acquaintance. You didn't know Mitch all that well, but you considered him someone you knew.

And to be honest, maybe you were getting tired of staying holed up in a studio by yourself all the time.

So now you were meeting with Cam, Mitch, and Daniel regularly. That first day, you stayed at the studio late at night workshopping ideas and getting a feel for the sound and vision Cam was going for. And it was easy. Bouncing ideas off each other, picking up the guitar and playing a potential riff and letting Mitch carry it somewhere else, working out harmonies and melodies with Cam. You'd left the studio later than you ever had that night, but energy coursed through your veins as you left the building.

You'd never been a part of something at the start with the means to see it through. You usually wrote songs and sold them to whoever wanted them, and with Harry, you'd joined in songwriting when he and his team were well underway, but this...this was new, and you didn't hate it. In fact, you were looking forward to meeting the next day, and the next, and the next...

Weeks flew by as you worked on this album, and you suddenly lived off takeout boxes and snacks as you spent many a late night as you worked on song after song, eager to see this project come to life. There wasn't necessarily a deadline, but you were all just eager to keep working on what you all knew was something special. And today Mitch was going to teach you how to play the drums while Cam met with her record label for an hour. It felt like there was finally light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel, one that you'd been winding through the last two years. It felt good to feel this light again, even your brothers got off your back a little, though you knew that wouldn't last very long.

"I'm on my way right now, and I'm bringing Buddy because he's being extra clingy today," you said into the phone. "He's also my reason for going home at a reasonable hour—"

Time stopped as you opened the door to your apartment. Your heart was in your throat, partly because you were startled to find someone on the other side, and then because your eyes finally registered who was on the other side.

"Y/n?"

Blinking, you quickly told Cam you had to go before hanging up the phone, slipping it in your coat pocket before letting it drop to the floor. You ran a hand over your face, wondering if you'd magically conjured him to your door, or if you were so tired you were suddenly delirious, but when you uncovered your eyes, he was still there, hands tucked in his pockets and a suitcase resting by his feet, a cat carrier on top of it.

"Harry? What—What are you doing here? When did you—"

There was no time to think or speak or breathe as Harry surged forward, his hands suddenly out of his pockets and settling deep in your hair, and kissed you.

The kiss was bruising, making it hard to think straight, making it hard to think about anything but him. His cologne flooded your senses as if you'd never smelled it before, making you sigh against his mouth and giving him ample opportunity to slide his tongue against yours as he backed you against the doorframe with a soft thud.

Your hands flew of their own accord, reaching beneath Harry's coat and gripping the shirt he wore beneath it. You needed to feel him, to know he was really here in front of you, that he wasn't going to evaporate in your hands leaving you with only the memory of his kiss. You'd had that particular dream one too many times.

Harry's hands smoothed down your sides, rucking up your shirt and setting your skin on fire when his thumbs brushed your ribcage. Your breaths stuttered until you finally had to pull back to catch it Instinctively, Harry followed, his mouth searching for yours, then your neck, but you held him in place for a moment.

"Wait," you said, breaths shallow. Harry stopped immediately, eyes roving your face in a similar way to how you were doing so. When he finally met your gaze, a small, shy smile, spread across your lips. "H—Hi."

Harry's responding grin was radiant. "Hi."

*.*

"I don't understand, when—when did you get back?"

It was safe to say you weren't going into the studio. There were about ten seconds of protesting before you finally caved, and it had nothing to do with Harry's lips on your neck or his hands sneaking beneath your shirt. "Stay," Harry had mumbled. "Please? There's so much I want to say."

So you stayed, though you hadn't really spoken much. You and Harry had ended up on your couch huddled up together under a blanket, Buddy Holly dozing at your feet. You kept waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say, but he kept quiet. It was nice for a while, but you began to itch with the need for answers. You didn't want to immediately fall back into old habits the second he came back, even if laying flush against his chest was the most peaceful you felt in weeks. You were nervous to talk to him, to hear him say that after staying away for two months, he still didn't want a relationship. But even so, it would be better to know the truth and start getting over it now than to hold out hope.

"Today," Harry said. "I came straight here from the airport."

"Why? Wouldn't you want to go home? Get settled. Sweet Pea probably misses home."

Harry raised his head from where he'd been resting it in the crook of your neck. His brows raised suspiciously to where his cat was dozing on top of Buddy, as if she'd never left. "I think she's rather comfortable."

"You're awfully comfortable too," you said under your breath. Then, even though you felt so warm in his embrace, you sat up, putting some distance between yourself and Harry.

You could tell he wanted to protest, his sleepy eyes and mussed brown curls covering his forehead in a messy tangle told you that all he wanted was to fall asleep next to you. You wanted that too, but your mind kept drifting back to that last conversation, to that last exchange of words, and you let them keep that small bubble of distance between you and him.

"I need to know why you're here, H," you said, raising your knees up to your chest.

Harry could hear the seriousness in your voice, his expression sobering a little. He sat up too, facing you as he took up his place at the corner of the couch. There were only a couple inches between you, but it felt like Harry was still in Japan with how distant you felt from him now. He was home, but was he really? You didn't know how your friendship was going to evolve from here. You supposed you could be okay with just being his friend. It would sting, but you would get over it.

Eventually.

You hoped.

"I...just knew that this was where I needed to be," he said, not meeting your eye. "I came home and the only person I wanted to see was you."

His words meant more than you cared to admit. They filled you with warmth, bringing a flush to your cheeks that you prayed Harry didn't see.

"I missed you too," was all you could think of to say.

"And I—I want more," Harry said. "I was halfway across the world, and I was writing and walking around the city, and all I wanted was to share those moments with you and write with you and wake up next to you. I just...I want you in my life, Y/n."

"As your friend?" you asked, your voice stuck somewhere in your throat.

"However you'll have me."

Your heart leaped in your chest, but you stopped yourself from launching across the couch into his arms. It was all too good to be true. Harry wasn't ready for a relationship before he left, and you'd been gracious and understood where he was coming from. And now that a few weeks had passed, he suddenly wanted to be whatever you wanted him to be. In the back of your mind, the fact that he hadn't said "boyfriend" pricked a sensitive part of your brain. It was silly and minuscule, and it shouldn't have mattered, so you tried not to let it.

Still, you were unsure. You knew Harry would never be so cruel as to feed you words for the sake of placating you, but something left you hesitating. Maybe it was that the last time you saw Harry, he told you he couldn't give you what you wanted and now he was saying he could, or maybe your heart was still protecting you from potential pain, you weren't sure. But you couldn't give in.

Almost as if he could read the jumbled thoughts running around in your head, Harry inched toward you, his expression soft and open. "I can tell you're unsure, and I don't blame you," he said, taking a chance and reaching a hand across the couch to hold yours. "Let me prove it to you."

Brows furrowed, you tilted your head to the side. "Prove it?"

"We'll go slow," Harry said as he nodded and moved closer. Close enough to tip your chin up with his knuckle. "We can do that, can't we? We don't have to rush things. We can just...go on a date and see what happens, right?"

Despite the hesitation, a smile twitched at the corner of your lips. "Harry Styles...are you asking me on a date?"

Harry's responding grin was wide and sweet as honey. "Only if you're saying yes."

Eight weeks ago, you'd stepped out of your comfort zone by asking Harry for more, and watching him walk away hurt more than you ever thought it would. Your instinct was to hide, to crawl back into your shell before you could get hurt again. But you knew Harry had been hurt before too, and now he was trying. Even though they'd both had their hearts broken for different reasons and had every reason not to give into their feelings and hide, preferring to be alone.

It took you two years to..."forgive yourself" didn't seem like the right words. To be ready to put yourself into the world again, to allow yourself the possibility of hurting and being hurt in that way again. Your scars had healed over into faint white lines after two whole years. Nearly imperceptible, but still there, a subtle but constant reminder of what you stood to lose if you ruined things again. But also a reminder that you could love and lose and still heal, and maybe even love again. Harry hadn't been there when he left, and at the time you hoped he would be. And maybe part of you knew he would be, because you'd gotten there too in your own way.

The hope that kindled in your chest made you nervous, but it made you excited too.

"I—I don't want you to feel like you have to do this because—"

Harry's index finger was on your lips before you could say anything else. Your eyes nearly crossed as you looked down your nose at it, and you heard his chuckle at what was most likely a silly look on your face. "I know I don't have to do anything, Y/n. I needed some time to clear my thoughts and untangle all of my feelings. I want this. I want you."

Over your time spent with Harry, you'd come to realize he had expressive eyes. While he kept a lot to himself and didn't share much unless it was through songwriting, his eyes said everything. This close to his face, you could see the honesty, the earnestness. You decided to believe him, to believe in whatever had been forming between you since the first time you'd met.

Not holding back, you did lunge for him this time, but gently, seeing as he was so close. Harry seemed surprised by your sudden movements but didn't stop you as you took his face in your hands and kissed him for all he was worth. You felt his face slowly split into a grin as his hands roved up and down your back, as if he was finally reacquainting himself with your body. Or maybe it was that this kiss was different from all the others, with different expectations and intentions and promises for more.

"What happened to slow?" he asked, teasing as you nipped at his ear.

"Tell me to stop," you said, feeling out of breath.

He didn't, you knew he wouldn't, but that only made him grin even more. "I still want to do things properly," he told you, leaning back against the couch and taking you with so that you were on top of him, your body flush against his. "I want to take you out, I want to hold your hand and pull your chair out for you at dinner."

Resting on your elbows, you lightly traced the delicate planes of his face with your finger. Harry's eyes tracked your movements while he waited for you to answer, kissing the pad of your index finger when it passed over his lips. You smiled a little, unsure of where all this giddiness was coming from but hoping it wouldn't go away.

"I want that too," you murmured before kissing the tip of his nose. "But maybe that can start tomorrow."

Harry's hand came up to cradle the side of your face, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. Everything already felt different. New and fragile and breakable. So, so breakable.

"Your heart was glass, I dropped it," you'd written way back. You had the potential to break Harry's heart. But the notion that you wouldn't was so intrinsic in that moment, you felt like the only way you would crack the glass this time was by squeezing too hard, by liking him too much.

You didn't know what you would do if Harry would drop yours.

It was a terrifying thought, one that was too dreadful for the peaceful bliss taking over your apartment. Harry was looking at you like your hair was made of stars or pure sunlight, and it warmed every inch of you down to your bones as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.

"I can get behind that," he said quietly.

After that, you finally relaxed. Your head found purchase on his chest, comfortable against the soft material of his sweatshirt despite the firmness of his body beneath you. You breathed in deep, holding it in for a few seconds before letting it all out in one soft exhale. With that breath, you felt the last of your doubts flutter away—for now, at least—allowing you to believe in the promise Harry offered you.

*.*

"Come on. If you're not going to let me go to work, you're gonna help me here."

You managed to untangle yourself from Harry, who pouted at you as he remained sprawled out on your bed. Leaving him there, you went to the front door to where you'd left your guitar case when you found him on your doorstep yesterday. Slipping your well-loved guitar from the case, you walked back over to Harry, who was now sitting up on the couch. His eyes tracked your every move as you made your way back over to him. His stare felt heated, causing a flush to your cheeks, but you ignored it as you settled on one end of the couch, resting the guitar in your lap.

"Looks like you already have something in mind," Harry said. He still sounded playful, but you knew he wasn't going to try and dissuade you from this. He was just as eager to write as a team as you were.

Writing without Harry while he was gone was strange. At first you thought you'd be fine, seeing as you'd preferred working in solitude most of your professional career. Yet when he left, you were unable to write. You found yourself looking for him, raising your head to ask what he thought of a melody when he wasn't there, thinking out loud as if he was still in the room to bounce ideas off of.

You'd missed him in more ways than one, that was certain. This new dynamic with Mitch had been good, fun even. You attributed your openness to teamwork to Harry, and now you were nearly finished with an album, a project you'd been part of from start to finish, something you'd never really been able to say before. You'd enjoyed going into the studio to work with Mitch, to share song ideas with Cam and see where she took them. If given the option, you would do it again in a heartbeat.

But something in you settled as you began to idly pluck at the strings of your guitar, Harry sifting through his duffle bag until he produced his leatherbound journal from it. You felt comfortable, complete, not an atom out of place as you began to sing the lyrics of a partial song you were going to work on with your team today.

"There is a town, somewhere down a country road," you sang softly. "I see it now, take it everywhere I go. The river sways, I can almost here it now. As if to say, 'You're not the only one who wants a way out.'"

"That's nice," Harry said, his thumb tapping against his knee in time with the music coming from your guitar. "Something new?"

"I've had the idea for a song about a small town for a while," you said, fingers still plucking at the guitar strings, though not with much intent while you spoke to Harry. "My hometown."

Nodding, Harry said, "You don't talk about your home much."

"Not much to say," you shrugged. "At least I thought so. Now I just keep thinking how so much has changed since I moved away. How much I've changed,"

"Good changes, I hope," he said.

You shrugged again, trying not to let the topic make you squirm. You normally didn't around Harry, but perhaps being away from him for so long had you shying away just a little. "Good and...neutral, I guess. Sometimes I feel like I've changed so much I can't even reconcile who I was then and the person I am now. Not really sure if that's a good or bad thing yet. To be determined, I suppose."

Harry processed the information quietly, letting the conversation end there. You fell into a comfortable silence as both of you played around with lyrics and melodies in your own heads. You eventually grabbed your own journal to jot notes down in, and at one point Harry took your guitar into his own lap to play around, humming quietly to himself.

His plucking of the strings slowly became something less abstract and more concrete, and it eventually became the backdrop to your thinking process. You liked the tune he played better than what you'd originally come up with, and you let it guide your pen as you jotted down words and phrases until you eventually had something that might've been a pre-chorus or a bridge. Shifting closer to Harry on the couch, you showed him what you had so far, hoping he'd be able to fill in the gaps like he normally could.

You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he took your journal and pen from your offering hands. For a minute, the only sound was the tapping of the pen in his hand in time with the melody he'd been playing moments ago. You watched with slow blinking eyes as he eventually began to scribble his own little notes beside yours, sometimes writing lyrics of his own and occasionally circling a word you'd written and putting a suggestion above it.

The scratching of pen on paper was an unusual lullaby, but sure enough, the warmth emanating from Harry's body and the familiarity of this moment, yet something precious and new blooming between you, was enough for your breaths to deepen, your blinks to become fewer and far between. Even after being on a plane all the way from Japan, the scent of Harry's cologne and whatever laundry detergent he used lingered on his clothes. It was so familiar, as much of a welcome home as him actually being here beside you.

Breathing in deep, you huddled closer to Harry. Feeling your movements at his side, Harry shifted so that you were leaning against him more comfortably, his body solid yet soft beneath your cheek. "I missed this," you murmured, the words clinging together as you inched closer and closer toward sleep. "I missed you."

There was no stiffening of his posture at the words, no hesitation or uncertainty as he said, "I missed you too."

*.*

"Don't leave again," Y/n said.

Harry was pretty sure she was already half asleep, was sure she wouldn't even remember this conversation when she woke up in a couple of hours. But even so, the words made him pause, the pen in his hand jerking almost imperceptibly.

Y/n hadn't brought up his departure since he'd come back yesterday. Even now, she didn't sound resentful, though that could've been the fact that she was seconds away from falling asleep, but Harry didn't think so. Yet in her current limbo between states of consciousness, she revealed something that she probably wouldn't have if she'd been fully awake.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you by going," he said, and he knew he was a bastard for saying it when she was seconds from falling asleep.

A deep breath, then another, then another.

"Don't leave me again," was all she said in reply, perhaps all she could muster just before unconsciousness finally settled over her like a blanket.

Harry's heart clenched. Don't leave me again, she told him. He'd learned rather quickly that despite all that she'd been through, Y/n hid a gentle heart behind all those walls she put up. A heart that had been battered and bruised and hidden away after so much unhappiness. Harry realized early on in their semi-friendship that he never wanted to be the reason for another wall between Y/n and the rest of the world; he wanted to be someone she could entrust to protect her gentle soul, to be someone who helped her realize she was much more fierce than she knew.

Knowing he'd caused her pain by leaving dug at him, even if leaving was in some ways very necessary. Harry needed that distance, that time away to clean up the mess his ex had left in him. Nothing about his previous relationship's demise was simple, and the things he'd begun to feel for Y/n while still trying to untangle himself from his ex only complicated things. Harry knew it would be a disservice to both himself and Y/n if he jumped into something he wasn't ready for. He felt horrible that night she'd laid all her cards on the table before him. He knew that it had taken a lot to state what she wanted from him so plainly, to realize that she was still deserving of more after what she'd been through. And Harry had to offer the same honesty, even if it was something even he didn't want to hear.

But it had been the right thing. For both of them. Of that he was sure. Harry had done a lot of introspecting, had allowed himself to simply be alone in a way he hadn't been for a long time. His last relationship was perhaps the most significant, but it was one in a rather long list of failed attempts to find love. His friends often teased him for not knowing how to not be in a relationship, and after this last breakup, he realized how right they were.

Harry liked Y/n. He was fascinated by her talent as a songwriter and enamoured by the person she was outside the studio. He liked her chunky patterned sweaters and the array of rings on her fingers that changed from day to day. He liked that she wasn't perfect, that she was shy to an almost stubborn degree, that he had to work hard to piece together who she was bit by bit until a beautiful mosaic was laid out in front of him.

But he needed to know that he knew how to be alone before giving himself over to her entirely. Who was he outside of a romantic relationship? Harry honestly had no idea, and while that had never even so much as itched his brain before, it terrified him after things ended with his ex. He owed it to himself to try to stand on his own two feet, to live on his own and know that he could be content to do so. He didn't need a relationship to be happy, that was what he set out to discover.

And once he did. Once he lived and wrote songs and got coffee and ate by himself, and didn't feel like an utter disaster, he knew he'd be okay.

Harry enjoyed himself in Japan. He'd committed himself to this soul-searching endeavor and actually came out on the other side of it pleased with himself. And at the end of it all, when he knew a relationship with Y/n wasn't something he needed but something he wanted, he knew he was ready to go home. He wanted her a lot, to be fair, so much so that he often wrote about her, and talked about her to the few friends he made in Japan. But being alone didn't kill him, and he was able to see that for himself the two months he was gone.

He left his feelings for his ex in Japan, letting every last bit of baggage he'd been quietly carrying around with him slide off his shoulders, holding onto those precious little blossoms of feeling for Y/n and bringing them home, right to her doorstep.

The plan hadn't been to go straight to her apartment, but that was where he told his driver to go when he slid into the backseat of the sleek black car his manager had sent to pick him up. Harry was actually supposed to go home and rest so he could meet with his label and discuss the progress of his album, but he stayed at Y/n's place anyway. He knew these next few months as the album went into recording and production mode wouldn't leave much time to spend alone with Y/n, and he needed these fleeting moments. He needed to hear all about the new album she was helping to write and what she and Buddy Holly had gotten up to while he was gone. He needed to kiss her, to touch her, to let her fall asleep against him while they wrote a song about a small town.

"I won't, I promise," Harry murmured, even though he knew Y/n was already asleep.

It was perhaps a promise to himself. He knew Y/n would never be that vulnerable, wouldn't reveal just how much she cared for him if she'd been entirely conscious. She'd been forgiving, if not a little hesitant when he showed up on her doorstep, but she'd never resented him for leaving. At least he thought she didn't. She'd been understanding when he left, but in her sleepy state, he saw a little bit of the hurt he'd inflicted by leaving, by rejecting her desire for something more with him.

Harry knew he'd done it for the right reasons, but guilt curled in his chest at the thought of hurting Y/n. He would commit himself to not doing it again, to be someone worthy of her vulnerability. Harry was aware of how precious it was for Y/n to open herself up to him like this. He wouldn't take that gift for granted.

Shifting around a bit, Harry took Y/n into his arms and stood up. He padded down the carpeted hallway to her bedroom, where a large, four-poster bed with a mountain of pillows and one stuffed animal lay on. He set her down on white sheets with little red polka dots, pulling up the covers over both of them. Y/n curled into Harry immediately, and he didn't even bother trying to shove away the warmth that spread through him.

With Y/n's cheek squished adorably against his chest, Harry rested his arm behind his head as his eyes flitted about her bedroom.

He'd been inside it a handful of times, but it never failed to amaze him, because for someone so convinced they were undeserving of love, they sure loved heart decorations. Retro Valentine hearts were mounted on one wall, twinkly lights dangling between them; pink and red heart-shaped candles remained unlit on her vanity, a heart-shaped guitar on a stand next to it. Everything centered around something pink or red—the sheets, the pillows, the jewelry dishes and mirrors, even the stuffed bunny under her pillow that Harry knew Y/n slept with, even if she wouldn't admit it.

It was a mystery he'd yet to solve, but he imagined that would come in time.

Soon enough, Harry's own eyes began to droop. He nestled deeper into the bed, trying not to completely drape himself over Y/n. They'd never actually spent the night in the same bed before last night. Sometimes they'd fall asleep together on the couch, but this was different. Last night, they'd collapsed into bed after staying up late talking, nearly well into the morning. There had been no tangled limbs or breaths keeping time because they slept so close together, just two people in dire need of sleep.

In some ways, Harry wondered if it was too much as they were only just beginning to explore this thing between them, but he couldn't make himself leave. He turned over so his back was to her, trying to provide a modicum of space should Y/n want it, but not even a minute later, an arm snaked around his waist, a cheek pressed against his back as one of her legs slotted between his.

It was safe to say Harry fell asleep with a small grin and a full heart.

*.*

The following weeks flew by, and you saw Harry every single moment that you could.

Now that his album was in the later stages of production, he was constantly in meetings for promotion—release dates, interviews, live performances, and concept art for the album. You stayed out of those conversations, as you had your own projects to complete and deadlines to meet. But you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious. You'd never been part of those conversations before, as you merely wrote your songs and sold the demos to artists or bands. Seeing an album from start to finish was intriguing, though perhaps part of the reason was the hand you played in it and how important Harry was to you.

But even with all of that going on, Harry stayed true to his word.

He made every moment count. Suddenly there were flowers on top of the grand piano when you entered your studio, and he stopped by whenever he could. Each petal, each little note attached to the bouquets, filled your stomach with butterflies. And after you were both done for the day, Harry invited you over to cook dinner and listen to records. The atmosphere was different than before Harry left, a more romantic feel in the air as you sat across from each other, the warm glow of candles the only lighting in the room.

With the public attention Harry tended to get, you both agreed to keep things quiet for now. You'd always preferred anonymity, and although you knew your relationship would eventually become public, you wanted it to stay between you and Harry and your friends and family. Hopefully in the future, when this precious thing between the two of you wasn't so new, you would feel more comfortable. Until then, it would be secret dates and romantic dinners from home, but that didn't make it feel any less special or real.

It didn't take long for your friends to notice, though.

You and Harry didn't have much to hide in front of Sylvia and the rest of the people who made up your little group, but neither you nor Harry really went out of your way to tell anyone about the slight change since he had come back from Japan.

One night, Sylvia decided to switch up the usual gatherings from game night to a night at a karaoke bar. You didn't mind. In fact, you loved watching everyone drink and take up a mic in the private room that had been rented out. Harry stayed by your side most of the night, an arm wrapped around your waist, his thumb subtly sneaking beneath the hem of your patchwork top to graze your skin and leave goosebumps in its wake, and a neat tequila in his other hand, your leather jacket draped over his arm after he insisted on carrying it for you. You opted for a margarita, sipping on it idly while you went between talking to Harry and watching the chaos unfold in front of you.

"What do you say, are we up next?"

"We?" you asked incredulously. "You go. I've actually been wanting to see you perform."

Harry chuckled, his nose brushing against your temple. "Come on, love. For me?"

You both knew you had a soft spot when Harry pleaded with you. Just one more hour at his place, just one more kiss, getting his favorite takeout, all of it just required a slight widening of his eyes and him saying, "Pleeeease," or, "For me?" as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose, and he had you. It was mostly harmless, but just like all the other times, it was working now.

"I don't know..." you said anyway, a small grin creeping its way onto your face. Harry only doubled down, which was exactly your goal.

"Please? I'll make it worth your while."

So that was how you ended up in front of the rest of your group of friends, a mic in your hand as you waited for Harry to pick the song. When the opening chords sounded through the speakers, you beamed, looking over at him with raised brows. Harry just sauntered over to you with a small grin, dancing over to you in that silly way of his that you learned was a unique trait he possessed.

"Islands in the Stream" was one of the songs the two of you had bonded over the last few months. You'd played it for him on the drive to Buddy Holly's favorite dog park, and the two of you sang it most car rides ever since.

Harry started the song, and you joined in, keeping your eyes on him for most of it. He definitely had more stage presence than you did, which you were fine with, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy yourself. Harry's eyes were on you the whole time too, his hip bumping against yours and spinning you around occasionally.

By the time it was over, there were cheers all around, and not just because Harry kissed you at the end. You'd made it all of two steps off the makeshift stage in the private room before you were tugged into a corner away from everyone else.

"What the hell was that?"

Sylvia was looking at you with wide, surprised eyes, though a grin stretched her cheeks. You couldn't hide your blush, opting to take the drink that Harry handed you once he found you again. "What?"

"You—You two are unbelievable," she laughed. "So this is real now? You two aren't acting like children anymore and pretending you aren't in love with each other?"

Trust Sylvia to make things between you and Harry awkward. Both of you laughed, though yours was more nervous because she'd revealed a truth you weren't quite ready to accept. Harry merely draped a hand over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

*.*

"You look nervous," you said, taking Harry's hand that rested on the gear shift.

"Me? Never," Harry insisted, though he gripped your hand a little too tightly for you to believe it.

"It's just one brother," you said, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders.

You wouldn't lie to him and say meeting all three of your brothers at once would've been a walk in the park. But this was just Andrew, who was only in town for a night. You were pretty sure Hayden and Evan sent Andrew to investigate your relationship with Harry. For that exact reason, you hadn't divulged much to any of your brothers. After the whole, "Are you sure you're not menstruating" incident, you'd been giving Hayden the cold shoulder, so you knew for a fact that he'd enlisted Andrew's help to, at the very least, get back in your good graces, and hopefully get a little intel on your budding relationship.

"Andrew's harmless, I promise," you said. "He's about as threatening as a puppy."

Harry chuckled as he pulled into the trendy bar you had agreed to meet your brother at. "See, I want to believe you, but I've seen your brother play hockey, so...I don't."

Leaning across the center console, you kissed his cheek, quickly wiping away the lip gloss you'd left behind. Even in the dim lighting of the car, you saw Harry blush, which made you nudge him with your nose playfully. "I'll keep him in line, I promise."

You led Harry inside the bar, entering through a side door to remain relatively unnoticed, neck craning for your brother. Andrew wasn't hard to spot, his long arms waving back and forth from a tall table tucked in the corner of the bar. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you walked over to where your brother stood by waiting with open arms.

"How's my little sister?" Andrew asked as he squeezed the living daylights out of you.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to remind him you were older. Instead, you stepped back and introduced him to Harry. For all his nerves, Harry didn't show it as he shook Andrew's hand and asked how he was doing. Even when you knew your brother squeezed his hand too hard, Harry just smiled and sat down on the barstool.

Things went surprisingly well. Despite your earlier reassurances, you'd been a little nervous about the questions Andrew might ask, ones not necessarily thought up by him, but by the brothers who were absent tonight.

"So, Harry, where do you see this relationship with my sister going? I noticed she didn't introduce you as her boyfriend."

Perhaps you'd spoken too soon.

"Andrew, seriously?" you said, kicking him under the table. "Tell Evan to butt out."

"Evan's not—"

"Oh please," you said. That question had your oldest brother written all over it. "Andrew, you leave our brothers out of this or I'll tell Harry what they used to call you in high school."

Blushing, Andrew backed down immediately, a flush crawling up his neck. You didn't like stooping to your brothers' level, usually the silent treatment got your brothers to grovel after pissing you off, but they really couldn't be surprised when you did from time to time. You learned from the best after all.

Clearing his throat, Harry broke up the stare down you and Andrew had been locked in. "Um, to answer your question, I think we both—not to speak for you, Y/n—but I think we both see this evolving into something more, we just haven't had that conversation yet."

His words filled you with warmth. You'd been thinking the same—you wanted more from Harry when he came back, and things had progressed from there. You didn't think boyfriend and girlfriend titles were far off, but now that you knew where you and Harry both stood, you were okay with taking things slow.

Not that Andrew, or your other brothers, for that matter, needed to know that.

The rest of the night went much better. Andrew eased up and was finally able to ask questions that had nothing to do with the intimate details of your relationship with Harry, and when Harry began asking Andrew about playoffs, it was all your brother could do to not talk about hockey.

Your brother left you and Harry in the parking lot with a final farewell of, "You're alright, Harry Styles, and you," he said facing you with a pointed stare. "Stop ignoring Hayden, please. You know how he gets when you don't give him attention."

Huffing, you said, "I'll think about it."

Andrew grinned. Your brothers were a lot of things, but from the moment you became a part of the family, you were a little princess to all of them. Evan, Hayden, and Andrew had their moments, but they never liked to make you too mad. Most of the time. Still, you knew Andrew, and you knew he liked to be the unspoken, "favorite brother."

Harry took you home, his hand in yours the whole way back. Neither of you said anything, unwinding from the interesting night. It honestly could've gone a lot worse, in your opinion. Andrew really was the least of your worries.

Like a gentleman, Harry walked you to the door when you got home. You held back from unlocking your apartment and stepping inside despite the cold, taking his hand in yours. "I'm sorry if things were a little tense tonight."

Harry shook his head. "You really have them wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

"They have good intentions. They just...they were all I had for a long time. They're protective. Especially Evan."

Growing up, your brothers were pretty much your whole family. You were all bonded by the same shitty father, growing up raising and protecting each other. You knew the questions and the protective attitudes came from a good place, especially after the way things broke down with Gavin and his family. Evan saw how much it affected you, and probably just didn't want to see you get hurt again.

"Well, I'm glad. Even if they do slightly terrify me."

"They're big pushovers," you said with a laugh. "And like you said, they're wrapped around my finger. You'll be fine, I promise."

Harry smiled, tipping your chin up. "Yeah? You promise?"

"Mhmm," was all you could manage as he began to kiss your neck, a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk weather licking down your spine. The excitement that surged through you almost had you leaping into his arms. You settled for wrapping your arms around his neck. "I know we've been taking things slow, but I—I wouldn't mind it."

"You wouldn't mind what?" Harry teased, pulling away slightly when you tried to kiss him. "Might need to do a little better than that if you want me to be your boyfriend."

Everything was so easy with Harry. The playful teasing, the serious conversations, getting drinks with your overprotective brother, all of it. You hadn't wanted someone this much since—well, since forever. Harry just made you so happy, and you wanted to chase that feeling, not hide from it. You spent way too much time hiding from life, from love.

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your fingers curling around the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Harry backed you against the door to your apartment, the hum coming from his chest once your tongues brushed together reverberating through you. His cheeks were cold as you held them in your hands, and you wanted nothing more than to haul him inside and never let him leave. But he had to be up early tomorrow and had to go back to his cat. You would make sure he'd regret leaving, though.

Eventually, you let go of him, your hands smoothing down the knit sweater he wore. You'd spent ages on the phone with him as he freaked out over what to wear. One coat was too flashy, but that t-shirt said he wasn't putting in any effort and didn't care about meeting a member of your family. On and on until you eventually made him turn the camera around to face his closet and pick something out for him. Black jeans and a black sweater with colorful depictions of the solar system eventually convinced him to finally leave the house. It was a little silly, but you appreciated how much effort he wanted to put into meeting Andrew, who absolutely would have reported back to Hayden and Evan what Harry wore, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"I don't want to be scared of feeling good anymore," you whispered. "I don't want to feel guilty for chasing something that feels right. Please tell me you feel the same."

"I do," Harry murmured. His forehead rested against yours as his hands found the perfect place on your waist, finding the sliver of skin revealed between your halter top and your jeans, and the look in his eyes was something so comforting, a safe assurance you hadn't felt in a long time.

Harry made you feel safe. He made you smile and knew things about you no one else did, not even your brothers, and he didn't seem put off by it. He understood your creative process, gave you space when you needed it, and was there for you when needed someone but didn't know how to ask.

You were still perhaps too scared to even think about the word love, but looking up at Harry then, you thought there might be a day where you felt brave enough to tell him how you really felt.

*.*

The club was packed tonight, bodies surrounding you on all sides. As someone bumped into you from behind, you gripped Mitch's arm on instinct, determined not to fall over or get swept up in the sea of people waiting for the band to start their set.

"Remind me why we're here again?" you asked, shouting over the crowd and thumping bass.

For a moment, you worried Mitch hadn't heard you, but then he shouted back, leaning in close so you could hear him. "Because they asked us to be here. We heard their demos, and you said they had potential. And—"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I just didn't think there'd be this many people."

"Kind of a good thing though, isn't it?" a voice said from behind you.

Turning around, you couldn't help the wide grin that took over your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mitch give you a pointed look, but you ignored it, throwing your arms around Harry. "You found us!"

"Course. I could spot my two best friends from a mile away."

Being regarded as Harry's friend made your stomach tighten despite knowing he didn't mean it that way, especially since you were around so many people. And yet, it had you overthinking.

Don't be stupid, you thought, blinking those thoughts away. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you let go. "Did you get into the venue okay?"

You, Harry, and Mitch talked to—talked at, more like—each other before the show, huddled together and trying not to draw attention to yourselves. Because of the packed venue, you and Harry were able to stand relatively close to one another, your hands brushing occasionally. With Harry so close to you like this and unable to kiss his cheek at the very least, and you could tell he was having the same struggle. He was pressed up against your back, at one point, then his arm was draped over your shoulders, and when the lights finally dimmed as the set began, he was as close as he could be, his arm wrapped around your waist as you watched the band perform.

The band played music that was loud, full of heavy base lines and guitar riffs and drum solos that had the crowd jumping and jostling around. Harry was a steady force at your back until you eventually joined in with the audience, dancing along to the music beside Mitch.

In the few weeks you and Mitch worked on writing Cam's album together, you'd ended up spending more time outside of the studio as well. It was almost always music related, the two of you going out to see live performances in some form or another—local bands, shows at the Troubador and the Whiskey, performers just starting out in dive bars. It was something you typically did on your own, a good way to discover new artists and experience different sounds, and Mitch was more than happy to join you, showing you a couple of his favorite haunts, ones that he played in from time to time.

It was nice to get out of your apartment, to hang out with someone who appreciated discovering new music as much as you did. Mitch had helped you expand your horizons and had even taught you a thing or two about playing drums after you were particularly enthralled by a grunge band. It had become part of your routine as much as writing in the studio had—going out once or twice a week to find new talent and sometimes meeting up with the artist or band afterward to see if they were interested in collaborating. That wasn't always the goal, but there were moments when you couldn't help yourself.

"You were right. They do have potential," Mitch said. Both of you were buzzing after the performance, talking animatedly about the band and their set.

"I know! And I really liked their sound. There was something so nostalgic about it, but not in a gimmicky way, you know?"

Harry walked a couple paces behind you and Mitch as you ambled down the sidewalk toward where you'd parked. He'd been quiet coming out of the show, but you didn't think anything of it.

You kept talking to Mitch, promising to stop by the studio for another drum lesson when you had the chance, or when he had the chance, more like. Now that Harry's album was less an idea and more a fully realized project with a release date, Harry and Co. had been pretty busy lately. And once the album finally came out...well, you'd cross that bridge eventually.

When Mitch was gone, headed home in his car, you walked a little further to your side-by-side with Harry. You leaned in close, not really caring if anyone saw. Even through the layers of his heavy coat, you could feel the warmth that he emanated naturally. You loved being tucked into his side or curled around him, or just being as close to him as possible, an alarming amount. The word "love" fluttered through your mind every now and again, but you swatted it away every time. It was much too soon, and while you'd made many strides, there were still parts of you that remained afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if you got too attached and things ended, afraid of the distance rapidly approaching once Harry's album came out, afraid of your inner saboteur. It was all there, lingering, waiting to strike at any moment.

"Good show, right?" you said to Harry, eager to shake off the dark turn your thoughts had taken. "Mitch and I have been wanting to see them for ages."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes remaining on the street ahead. Then, "I...I didn't realize you spent so much time with him while I was gone."

"I honestly didn't expect to, but he was still working in the studio. We made quite the team."

Because you were so close, you felt Harry's whole body stiffen. A split second too late, you realized your poor choice of words.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Y/n," Harry said, and he didn't sound mad at all. Maybe just a little hurt, but you had a feeling he was trying his best not to make you feel bad. "I can't be upset that you kept working when I left. That's silly of me."

"It's not," you assured. "I—You're kind of the reason I pushed myself to work with him, and others," you admitted.

"Really?"

Nodding, you said, "I've always worked on my own. Always. But then we started writing together and things just clicked, and when you left, I—I didn't want to deny myself the opportunity to make great music. I mean, you and your team were doing incredible stuff even before I came along. I guess I just wanted to be a part of something great in that way too. Mitch helped introduce me to a new artist and we collaborated on a project of our own. I didn't...I didn't want to go back to being alone again.

"But it isn't the same," you said, stopping Harry in his tracks. Looking up at him, you smiled, for no other reason than he was there and he was yours. "We...We work differently together. You have to know that."

Harry's responding grin was small. "It is quite magical, isn't it?"

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your hand cupping his cheek gently. The kiss was slow, gentle, a reassurance for the both of you. When you leaned back, yours and Harry's cheeks were flushed as you grinned brightly at each other.

As you slid into the passenger seat of Harry's car, you said, "I can't believe you'd be jealous of Mitch."

Harry ducked his head bashfully. "Oh hush. I was not."

"He's your best friend, H," you giggled. "Not to mention very, very taken."

"I believe I mentioned it was silly, didn't I?"

Taking his hand, you kissed the top of it. "You did."

Harry peeled out of his parking space, promising to make it up to you as he handed his phone over to choose the playlist for the ride home.

When you unlocked his phone, the home screen wasn't what popped up. Instead, the messages app was open, a string of messages that hadn't been replied to yet, going back a few weeks.

Can we talk?

I miss you. I miss us.

The silent treatment is childish, H.

Please call me.

Your hands suddenly felt cold and clammy, and Harry's phone nearly slipped out of them and onto the floor.

"Everything okay?"

Harry's voice dragged you out of whatever headspace you'd been launched into. Looking up, you mustered a smile, hoping the car's darkness would mask how flimsy it truly was.

"Yeah. Fine," you said, your voice not sounding like your own.

Quickly exiting out of the app, you pulled up his music, choosing a playlist at random before setting his phone down in the cup holder.

You felt like you were on one of those theme park rides, the ones that reach the heights of tall buildings just to fall straight down. You felt weightless, but not in a good way. It was as if you were falling and there was nowhere safe to land. That feeling in your stomach only grew until you were sure you were going to be sick.

Harry continued on none the wiser, chatting about this and that. You weren't exactly sure what he said, his voice was suddenly white noise. But you must've given him coherent responses because he didn't question your behavior. The only time he did was when you didn't invite him up to your apartment.

"I'm just really tired," you managed to say. "One too many margaritas, I guess."

Not putting up too much of a fight, Harry grinned and gave you a kiss. Despite the dread you felt, it still filled you with butterflies. You cared for him so much you didn't know what to do with yourself sometimes. And now there was...this.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, a sweet smile on his face.

He acted as if nothing was wrong, and it was convincing too. Almost to the point that you wanted to believe it too. Those messages were days old, save the most recent one, and Harry hadn't replied to any of them. That had to mean something.

Right?

*.*

After mentioning what you found to Sylvia, she demanded that what you needed was retail therapy. Shopping wasn't your favorite pastime, but you desperately needed a friend.

You met with her at an outdoor shopping mall, bundled up in your softest sweatshirt and puffy coat for comfort more than because of the weather. You hadn't wanted to go out at all today, or the last couple days since you saw Harry's messages. There had been an attempt to have Sylvia just come over so you could day drink together, but she wasn't having it.

So now you were wading through store after store, internally freaking out about where your relationship was headed. It was just getting off the ground, and now it was crumbling before your eyes. Harry was none the wiser, of course, but that was only because he was busy this week and you pretended to be busy because you weren't sure if you could keep it together in front of him. You needed a third-party perspective, a voice of reason before you sat down and talked to him about all this.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Sylvia asked gently.

One thing you liked about Sylvia was that she was bold and brash and didn't try to mince her words, but you appreciated her tone now. Friend of Harry's first or not, she was here for you, and seeing as there weren't many people you could turn to, you needed her now more than ever. You could talk to your brothers, but you didn't want them to come out and hurt him. You would go to them if there was something serious going on.

"I...I thought we were finally on the same page," you said, and then it all came spilling out of you. You replayed that night in Harry's car as you combed through a rack of dresses. Sylvia was quiet through all of it, not saying anything until you were finished. "I don't know what to do. Is he—I never asked because it wasn't really my business, but he was clearly torn up over their break up. Do you think it's possible that he's not over her?"

Because that was what kept you up at night. Before he left, Harry hadn't been ready for a relationship. You knew there wasn't an exact timeline for healing a broken heart, but the seed of doubt had been planted, and now all you could think about was him leaving you for his ex. The thought terrified you. It made you want to run before you learned the truth, spare yourself the trouble of looking like an idiot.

But you called Sylvia instead, knowing running was not the best option, even if it was the most familiar.

"Oh, babe," she sighed. "I'm not going to lie, Harry was in love with her. They were...there's no other way to put it. They loved each other."

The whimper that escaped your lips was an accident, and when Sylvia heard it, she pulled you in for a hug. "He was in love with her," she repeated as she ran a soothing hand up and down your back. "I truly believe he's moved on Y/n. Harry wouldn't do that to you."

"But what about her?" you said. "She wants him back, and he—he didn't tell me that she's been reaching out, and I just can't help but feel like their history will win out."

"I don't think you realize how happy you make him," Sylvia said. "Yes, Harry loved her, but they broke up for a reason. I don't see him giving things a second go, especially now that he's with you. He's happy, Y/n. He's happy because you make him happy. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all this. You just have to sit down and hear him out."

"You really think so?"

"He lights up at the mere mention of your name. You—You're like the sun to him," Sylvia promised. "So don't run from this, okay? Talk to him. Hear him out. Make him sweat a little for keeping this from you, but you owe it to yourself to hear his side of things."

You nodded, feeling a little reassured by what she'd said. You wouldn't feel a hundred percent until you talked things out with Harry, but this is a good start. At the very least, it kept you from wanting to run and hide from all this.

Laughing a little, you wiped a stray tear from your eye. "You know, when you said you were Harry's life coach, I didn't imagine you'd end up being mine too."

"It's what I'm good for," she said. "Now, let's see about doing a little shopping, hm? Ooh! And maybe we get our nails done."

Looping her arm through yours, she dragged you into the next aisle, feeling lighter with every step you took.

*.*

"Where is he? I'll kill him!"

This was the third time you'd heard that in the last couple of hours.

"Stand down, Hayden," you said from beneath your mountain of blankets. "He's not here."

Your brother's eyes widened as he looked in your direction, as if he didn't expect the pile of blankets to speak. He stalked over to where Andrew and Evan were standing in front of you, taking on a perplexed disposition. None of your brothers had ever really seen you this way. All the pranks, all the times they royally pissed you off when you were younger, you never really let it get to you. You could tell that although they wanted to be here for you, they weren't entirely sure how.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just let me know where he is, Y/n."

They were doing their best to help, and you knew you owed them answers. You did call them after all. Well, that wasn't entirely true. You called Evan, who proceeded to call Andrew because your younger brother was closest in proximity to you. And Andrew called Hayden because of course he did. It was sweet that they all dropped everything to come see you, but now you felt put on the spot.

And you knew Hayden would make good on his word, and your other two brothers would have no trouble helping him, and that wasn't exactly what you wanted.

"I ended things with Harry," you said quietly.

"You said as much in your text, Y/n," Evan said. "But what happened? It seemed like you guys were really happy."

The thought of last night's events replayed in your mind, bringing a fresh wave of tears to the surface. Taking a shuddering breath, you said, "I thought we were too."

It all started last night at this party Harry invited you too. Something about fundraising and live music and dancing, and he said it was the perfect opportunity to get dressed up and go out and not worry about being photographed. You agreed, wanting to put the text messages from his ex that had yet to be discussed far from your mind. You knew you should've said something, but you wanted to give Harry the opportunity to come clean himself. The fact that he hadn't kept you up at night, but you promised yourself—and Sylvia—that you would bring it up after the party.

"Just one more night of normalcy before we have this conversation," you assured her. It was all you wanted. Just one night where this cloud wasn't hanging over your head.

So you went. Harry picked you up in a sports car that usually sat in his garage, practically mauling you when he saw you in your dress. It was simple, but you felt great in it—a short black number with white ruffles at the top and bottom. With your hair blown out and curled to perfection, little pearl droplets hanging from your ears, you felt like a dream, and every time Harry's gaze fell on you to track your figure up and down, your entire body was filled with butterflies.

And the night carried on perfectly. You and Harry sipped on champagne and kept to yourselves most of the night. You didn't really know anyone, and he was perfectly happy to keep you all to himself, kissing your cheeks and neck whenever he could, his hand never leaving your waist for a moment. It was exactly what you needed to take your mind off everything that had been swirling around in your head the last few days. When Harry was dancing and spinning you around in and out of his arms in a corner of the event space, it felt like you were the only two people to exist. There was no way he had any lingering feelings for his ex when he was smiling so brightly and laughing as you spun him out and back into your arms.

And then...it all just fell apart.

"Harry?"

At the sound of the woman's voice, Harry dropped your hand, coming to an abrupt halt beside you. You looked up, confused by the tension that suddenly lined his shoulders, but when you looked at the women who'd come up to your little corner, you just knew.

"H—Hi." Harry sounded breathless, his eyes never leaving hers once. All you could do was watch it all unfold in slow motion, all you could feel was the loss of his touch now that his hand was no longer in yours.

You cleared your throat when Harry didn't say anything. It was as if you had to pull him from whatever trance he'd fallen into at the mere sight of her. Dread filled your belly as he seemed to remember where he was, as he remembered you were there, blinking as he embraced his ex and introduced her to you.

"This is my friend Y/n."

His words felt like a sucker punch, all the air stolen from your lungs. You knew you and Harry hadn't put a label on your relationship, but to hear him refer to you as his friend right in front of his ex was devastating.

Your heart was glass, I dropped it.

Was this what it felt like? You never imagined you would be in this position, you never thought you would love someone enough to feel like you were coming undone at the seams at this kind of rejection. But perhaps that was just the universe coming to collect after thoroughly breaking someone else's heart yourself.

"I—I need some air," you heard yourself saying, not even looking to see if Harry noticed you leave or if he was too caught up in seeing his ex.

You didn't just get air, you Ubered home, unable to handle everything rushing through you. That was when you texted Evan, who merely responded with, I'm on my way, and twenty-four hours later, he was there, along with Hayden and Andrew.

You explained to your brothers what happened briefly, doing your best to not go into detail so you wouldn't start crying uncontrollably, though you'd be surprised if you had any tears left. You mostly just felt defeated, almost as if deep down you knew the happiness wasn't meant to last.

"He's an idiot, Y/n," Andrew said, resting a hand on Buddy's head to scratch him behind the ears. Your dog had been resting by your side since you came back last night, somehow sensing your despair. "Don't let him steal your happiness."

You nodded, but only because you had nothing else to say. You knew your brother meant well, but you just didn't believe him. This was par for the course in your eyes. Of course, when you fell for someone, they chose someone else. Maybe you were destined to be on your own, maybe love was overrated.

"Do you need anything?" Evan asked you, Hayden standing next to you. You could tell that they didn't really know what to do in this situation but that they wanted to be there for you. It was sweet, but there really wasn't anything to do.

"I'm okay," you said, convincing no one. "I think I might just take a nap."

"We can take Buddy for a walk. Maybe grab some food while we're out," Evan said. "Andrew, why don't you stay here and make sure she doesn't text him."

You rolled your eyes. "I literally just said I was going to sleep—"

"On it," Andrew said, hopping up to take your phone from where it was resting on your kitchen counter and slipping it into his pocket.

It was utterly ridiculous, but you were sure that was what your brothers were going for. The four of you weren't the touchy-feely type, you never had been. But one thing your brothers could count on was their ability to make you smile, make you laugh. And that was maybe exactly what you needed.

Making good on your word, you retired to your room, but you didn't sleep a wink despite how exhausted you were. Instead, you stayed up listening to records, shared favorites of yours and Harry's, the ones you bonded over together. It was hard to imagine that after such deep connections, the number of stories shared and late nights talking over bottles of red wine. Harry meant so much to you, and it killed you to think you didn't mean as much to him.

At some point, you must've dozed off—your eyes fluttering shut to the sound of Joni Mitchell—because suddenly you were jolting awake with a start. Muffled shouts could be heard through your closed door, which could only mean one thing.

Taking a couple minutes to wake up a little more and bolster yourself for unwanted confrontation, you finally stepped out of your room. The voices grew louder as you walked down the hall—Andrew kept telling Harry to leave while Harry claimed he just wanted to talk to you. You weren't sure if you were ready for this conversation yet, but it was here whether you liked it or not, and it would probably be for the best before Evan and Hayden came back or the argument happening at your front door drew unwanted attention.

"You can let him in."

Your voice was quiet, but not unsteady, which came as a surprise to you. It surprised your brother and the person who would've been your boyfriend too, their argument ceasing immediately as they looked over at you.

"Y/n," Harry breathed.

For better or for worse, he looked about as awful as you felt. There were bags under his eyes, and he was in the clothes he wore to the party last night. His tan trousers were rumpled, belt missing; his satin shirt was heavily wrinkled, the buttons mismatched in the wrong holes. His hair was a mess too, as if he'd been tossing and turning all night.

You didn't like seeing him like this, hated it, in fact. This wasn't supposed to be yours and Harry's story. You thought both of you had experienced the heartbreak and had found each other on the other side of it. Now you felt like you were right back where you started, and you hated it.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Andrew said, glancing warily between you and Harry. "Hayden and Evan will be back soon—"

"It's fine, Andrew. I promise," you told him, stepping closer to the front door cautiously, worrying that getting too close would ensnare you in Harry's magnetic pull. One whiff of his cologne might send you right into his arms, where your heart still thought it was safe. "Keep them occupied for me?"

It was clear that Andrew didn't agree with you on this decision. He stood there by the door for a long while, trying to assess your mental state. But he finally relented, taking a few steps toward you to hug you tightly. "Don't be afraid to give him hell," he murmured in your ear. Then, after passing back your phone, he left, but not before glaring murderously in Harry's direction.

When you and Harry were finally alone, your apartment was silent for the first time in hours. Almost too silent. Harry just stared at you with this broken look in his eyes, and you...you couldn't dredge up the energy to start this conversation. It was clear Harry didn't either. You watched as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but you had no desire to help him out.

"Can we sit?" he finally asked, his voice sounding tired and raw.

Unable to handle the look in his those devastated green eyes, you looked down at where your sweatshirt engulfed your hands. "I'd prefer it if we didn't."

Sitting meant forced proximity, and you were already pushing yourself to have this conversation. This distance between you and Harry would be where you drew the line.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding surprised. "Okay. I—I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/n."

"For what exactly?" you asked, not expecting the bitterness in your tone.

"For making it seem like we were just friends in front of her, for freezing last night. I—She'd been texting me the last few days and I've ignored her, but I didn't expect to see her."

"I know about the texts," you found yourself saying.

It was clear Harry hadn't expected that. A look of confusion passed over his face as he asked, "Wh—Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?" you said, unable to hide the hurt, the betrayal.

"It was nothing, and I didn't want to bring any attention to it. I thought if I just ignored her enough, she would stop, and she did eventually stop, but then I saw her last night, and I didn't want to make her feel worse by showing her I'd moved on—"

"But you haven't," you said. "You're...protecting her. Sparing her feelings while fucking me over. I—I could've gotten over the texts. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt because you hadn't responded to her. But watching you call me your friend was such a slap in the face."

"I'm sorry, I fucked up. I know I did," Harry said, tears pooling in his eyes.

You could tell he meant it. You knew he realized what he'd done was shitty, but could you move on from it?

"I believe that you're sorry," you said. At that, something like hope flickered in his face, but you snuffed it out just as quickly as it came. "But I also think you still have unresolved feelings for her. And I—I don't want to be second to you. Not in that way."

"So that's it?"

You knew Harry like the back of your hand. You knew what the little quiver of his lip meant, understood the tight clench of his fists around the hem of his shirt. You could read every line of emotion on his face, and you wondered if he could pick you apart the same way.

"You know, all this time we've bonded over our respective heartbreak as if our pain was the same," you said, more to yourself than to him. "But what I'm realizing now, what I started to realize last night, was that mine stemmed from feelings of inadequacy, of never being enough for someone. I broke up with someone because I wasn't in love with them, and that devastated me. But you...no matter how the relationship fell apart or who ended it, you loved her, and she loved you. That feeling doesn't just wash away with the evening tide."

"Y/n—"

"And that's...that's okay, you know?" you continued. "You loved her. Love her. That's not a bad thing. But—But I'm in love with you too, and I can't—I'm not going to compete with someone who already has your heart. I won't."

Tears kissed your cheeks as you blinked. Your hands shook, but your voice was clear. Harry could deny it all he wanted, but you saw the truth laid bare before you. You weren't the only person occupying space in his heart, and after everything you'd been through, you didn't want to settle for anything less than what you deserved.

"That's not true, Y/n," Harry implored. He looked a little frantic now that he knew your mind was practically made up. "I fucked up, I know that. I saw her, and I froze. It was just—"

An instinct, a gut reaction, that was what he didn't want to say. "I don't want someone's initial reaction to be to let go of my hand," you said softly, wiping away a tear with a sleeve-covered hand. "I want—"

Your mom's ring in your pocket, my picture in your wallet. That song you'd written all those months ago, the one that held your deepest regrets and insecurities, all the little things you'd run from. You didn't want to run from it anymore. You thought you found someone to run toward, but you were wrong.

"I don't want what we have to be over, Y/n," Harry pleaded.

I don't believe you, you thought, and you couldn't be with him if you didn't trust his sincerity. "I think you need more time," you said instead of voicing what you felt.

"There's no convincing how much I feel for you, is there?" he said, sounding resigned to the fate that had come to pass.

You shook your head, your heart begging you to hold onto him and not let go, to drag him to bed and sleep until you both forgot. But you didn't do any of those things. "No. Not right now."

Harry finally bridged the gap between you and him. He kept a sliver of distance, the only contact he made being gentle fingers tilting your chin so you'd meet his eye. There was so much emotion swirling there, and you longed to kiss away all the anguish and pain until only love was left, but that wasn't in the cards. Not today, or in the days that would follow.

"I promised you that I wouldn't leave again," Harry said, his gaze unrelenting. Your brow furrowed, not recalling when he made that promise, but he continued before you could ask. "Not in the ways that count anyway, but I intend to keep that promise, Y/n. If you want space, I'll give it to you, but don't think for one second that I won't spend every single moment we're apart wishing we were together. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that's what it takes."

It was a surprise your body didn't turn to jello on the spot, that Harry couldn't hear the steady thump of your heart as it beat wildly in your chest. He said all the right things, every perfect word, but right now, that was all they were. And you didn't have it in you to believe him.

"I'm sorry that I did this to us, to you," he said. "I'll never not be sorry. "

Harry stood there, his fingers gingerly holding your chin, for a few moments longer. It was as if he was imploring you to read the message in his eyes, to understand everything he wasn't saying, but you just didn't have the energy.

When he finally left, one last promise that wasn't giving up on you and him yet on his lips before the door clicked shut, all the warmth in your body went with him. You briefly thought of all the times you clung to him to warm up, slipping his hands beneath his shirts and sweaters and nuzzling your face in his neck.

That last touch of Harry's fingers to your chin wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and now he was gone. The person you fell in love with, who knew you better than anyone else in the world, walked out the door, head held high as if this wouldn't be the last time you'd be standing so close.

You weren't convinced. Not when all your mind wanted to replay was his hand dropping yours, his dismissal of your relationship, and his disregard for your feelings to protect those of his ex.

*.*

You didn't see Harry in the weeks that followed, but you weren't sure if that had more to do with him working on his album. Sylvia kept you semi-updated, even though you insisted you were fine with not knowing what he was up to. It was a lie, of course, and she saw right through it, letting you know when Harry was gone for music video shoots, recording and producing music, album cover shoots, and meetings with his label.

Part of you was grateful he wasn't around because it made keeping your distance easier. After everything that happened, you convinced yourself Harry didn't know what he wanted, even if he claimed he was. The proof had been right in front of you, though, clear as day. There were unresolved feelings lingering in the corners of Harry's heart and mind, and he needed to deal with them or get back together with his ex, but you wanted no part of it.

That wasn't to say Harry wasn't on your mind. He was there constantly, taking up space and making you lose focus while writing or walking your dog. You'd never been in love before, and now that everything had imploded, you didn't know how to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

Blinking, you looked up to where Mitch stared at you, an acoustic guitar in his lap. You weren't sure why you agreed to meet with him for a writing session. You hadn't written much since everything fell apart, save the occasional depressing poem, but when Mitch reached out, you figured it was as good a time as any to get back to work and start writing again.

In theory, it was a good idea, but your heart just wasn't in it. It was thousands of miles away shooting a music video.

"Sorry, I thought this would be a good idea, but my head is just all over the place," you said, closing your notebook that only had a few disconnected lines written down.

"I'm sorry about everything," Mitch said. "I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but he really does care about you. Like a lot."

"I know," you said dejectedly. "But he...he still loves her, I think. Or cares for her more than he lets on. Maybe even more than he realizes."

That night, you realized you had a losing hand. You didn't want to run like you'd done with Gavin, but you didn't want to fight either. You just felt...defeated, as if the fickle promise of love had bested you again.

"I can promise you he doesn't, but I know that's between you and him," Mitch said. Nodding to the journal in your lap, he asked, "Can I see?"

Shrugging, you handed it over. At this point, Mitch had learned a lot about you by being your writing partner, so you didn't mind him flipping through it. And honestly, there wasn't much to show anyway. A couple of measly lines did not a song make.

Mitch was quiet as he looked over the few things you'd written down, his expression gloriously passive as always. Since you started writing together, you'd struggled to read his expressions, not knowing what he thought until he voiced his opinion.

"Well, shit, kid," Mitch murmured on an exhale.

"What?"

Mitch looked up, one brow raised. Then, he began to read lines from your journal. "You've got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes...My hand's a risk I fold...Test of my patience, there's things that we'll never—"

"Hey wait a minute, that's not from today," you said, reaching for your journal. Mitch managed to land on one of your poems from a few days ago. That definitely wasn't meant to be part of today's writing session. "Give that back."

"This is good, Y/n. There's a song in here," Mitch insisted.

"Oh please. That's a terribly depressing poem fueled by a bottle of wine."

He pinned you with a stare, but you ignored it, and he eventually let it go. You didn't stay in the studio much longer after that, realizing that not much was going to come out of this session. And Mitch had to leave too, having to catch a redeye to London. "We're finishing up the album there," he explained.

It dawned on you then that you would be alone again. After becoming so used to having a partner of some kind while writing, too. It shouldn't have affected you so much, but it did. Somehow you'd grown to appreciate company while you were writing, and now your two favorite writing partners were leaving. They were the only two you'd ever had, but as history had shown, you weren't a huge fan of change.

You'd grown comfortable, but now the ground was shaking and crumbling beneath you. Though perhaps that should've been the familiar feeling.

"Can I keep the song?" Mitch asked on your way out of the studio. "I have an idea."

This time, you could read what was on your friend's face. And you could sense it, somehow. He wanted to show it to Harry. For the album, or because Mitch felt Harry needed to read the words. At this point, you were emotionally drained, and you weren't going to be there when Harry read your little poem, anyway. What did it matter?

"That's fine," you said, tearing the page out of your journal. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We can still collaborate over the phone or voice notes or whatever."

You thought that was where you and Mitch would leave things, but then he asked, "Do you think you'll ever write with him again?"

Harry was so much more than the person you were in love with. He was your friend, your first ever writing partner, someone you'd confided in. But he was also the person who made you feel betrayal and heartache. You didn't know how to reconcile those two people.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I hope so."

*.*

There wasn't a single moment where Harry didn't think of Y/n while they were apart. He'd done what she'd asked of him, gave them the space to heal and settle. Harry understood where she was coming from, and he knew that he'd hurt her more than he ever imagined he would.

Everything fell apart so completely, too quickly for him to even pick up the pieces.

He knew he should've told her about the texts the minute he received them, and he couldn't really pinpoint why he didn't. It was in no way to hurt Y/n, or to protect his ex; honestly, he should've just deleted them as they came, but he didn't, and things only went downhill from there.

Harry didn't want space, he knew what he wanted, who he wanted. But he also knew that what he'd done, how he behaved, gave Y/n every right to push him away and not trust him. All he knew was that he'd never regretted anything more than seeing the devastated look on her face when they ran into his ex.

He couldn't take back what he'd done, all he could do was try to make things right the second Y/n gave him the opportunity. Thankfully, recording and producing his second album kept him busy enough to give her the space she'd asked for. Had he liked being so far away from her, both physically and emotionally? No. Hell no, but he just put everything he was feeling into his music, let it fuel him as he and his team found the sound he was going for with this project.

It wasn't until weeks after they'd ended things that he heard from Y/n. Really, Mitch had passed a folded up piece of paper with song lyrics on it and said it was Y/n's, but Harry was so desperate to get something from her that he'd counted it. "I have an idea for it. I just need you to finish it," Mitch had said.

"Finish it?" Harry asked as he unfolded the paper.

To him it looked like a poem, but Mitch seemed to be convinced it was a song. He read over it briefly, then again, and again and again until he was standing in front of his friend for an awkward amount of time.

"She's speaking to you in this," Mitch explained. "It could be a kind of conversation."

The idea had perplexed him, and at first, Harry had said no. It wasn't until the next evening when he was alone in his flat that he considered the folded piece of paper. He thought about all the songs he'd written with Y/n, the thoughts and feelings they'd shared with each and every lyric and melody. This wasn't the same, not even close. He just wanted things to go back to normal; he wanted to relive the moments where Y/n would sit with her guitar, her journal and his in his lap as they compared notes and ideas.

But this would have to do for now.

He didn't try to get in Y/n's head, to try to understand what she might've been feeling at the time she wrote the poem, though he had a pretty good idea. Harry merely did what Mitch suggested and responded to the lines already written down, adding them in where he saw fit.

"Put a price on...emotion, I'm looking for...something to buy," he murmured, quickly scribbling the words down before he forgot them. "I don't want to fight you, and I don't want to sleep in the dirt."

Writing this song gave Harry the opportunity to finally let go. Through it he was able to admit that he had been clinging to a crisp trepidation, a fear of giving all of himself over to Y/n with abandon. For a number of reasons—that things with Y/n would end up in flames like all his other relationships (check), that he didn't even know what love looked like anymore after so many failed attempts at finding it, that he wasn't good enough to be someone Y/n deserved, , that he was going to lose her forever if he didn't pull himself together enough for her.

By the time Harry was done, he felt dejected. The finished song was sad, too sad. It was about heartache and fear, it sounded finite. And that wasn't what he wanted his story with Y/n to be.

We'll be fine, he wrote before quickly crossing it our. Fine. Fine. Finefinefinefinefine—

"We'll be a fine line," Harry finally murmured.

He spent the rest of the night figuring out arrangements and melodies, all of it coming together in his head almost faster than he could write it all down. The album was pretty much in the final stretch. At this point, he and his team were finishing up recordings and working on the promotional aspects of the release, but he knew it down to every atom of his being that this song had to be on the album. It was the culmination of everything he'd experienced and felt, every emotion he'd embraced and shied away from. All of it crashed into each other in a blaze of horns and strings.

And maybe when he finally finished working through the main melody on his guitar, something soft and melancholic, yet soothing and hopeful, he should've gone right to sleep. He honestly should've been exhausted after the emotional whirlwind he'd been wrapped up in. Yet he somehow had his phone in his hands, his thumb hovering over a contact before he eventually hit the call button.

"Harry? What—Isn't it like four in the morning over there?"

Harry couldn't stop his breath from hitching when he heard Y/n's voice. He'd missed her so much it physically hurt sometimes. Part of him thought she wouldn't answer his call, but when she did, his entire body sagged with relief.

"I miss you," he said, not caring how pathetic he sounded. "I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you, and you probably were just being nice by suggesting the whole space thing when you really want nothing to do with me ever again—"

"Harry," Y/n said, her voice gently but firm. "Slow down, love."

Harry could've cried at the softness in her tone let alone the term of endearment. All he'd wanted for the last few weeks was to just hear her voice, her his name on her lips in a way that didn't sound hurt or disappointed.

"You were right," he told her. "I—I was holding back from you, and that wasn't fair to either of us, but especially to you. Y/n, I—I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," she whispered. "I think...I think I just wanted you to want me as much as I did."

"I do," Harry promised. "I know I haven't given you much to believe me, but Y/n the way I feel about you is so different than I've ever felt about anyone, and I think part of me was scared of that too after such a tremendous breakup."

For a moment, Y/n was silent over the phone, her breaths filling up his ear and making him long for the moments they spent huddled up in bed together.

"I know...I know we've been here before, but do you think we could try things again?" he asked. He almost didn't want to know, believing that perhaps ignorance really was bliss. But Y/n had put herself out there so many times, had taken so many risks despite everything she'd experienced. He could be brave too.

"What if—What if we started over?" she said.

"Start over?"

"I think we need a clean slate. If you're really and truly over your ex—"

"I am. I swear, Y/n," Harry said, not wanting hope to spark to life in him just yet.

"Then we need to put all of this mess behind us and start fresh."

"I—I'd like that." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. When he called Y/n, he worried he'd come off a little crazy due to lack of sleep, but now he worried he might've fallen asleep in a songwriting craze and was now dreaming.

"I, um, I know you offered a few months ago, but if you were still looking for someone to join your band...maybe I could fill that spot?"

"You want to work for me?"

"I wasn't going to put it like that, but I guess technically yes," Y/n said. "I feel like you would pay a fair wage."

Harry chuckled, a satisfied sort of exhaustion taking over him now that he felt like his life was getting back on track. "I'll give you whatever you want if it means you'll join."

He just wanted her close, and if this was what a clean slate looked like to her, then he would oblige. Having her close, playing music together, being surrounded by their friends, it would be exactly what they needed to find their way back to each other.

"You should probably go to bed," Y/n said, breaking the content silence that had settled over them.

"Yeah, probably," Harry agreed, running a tired hand over his face. "So what have you been listening to recently?"

For a moment, he thought she would insist he get some rest. He supposed he'd be okay with it, finding peace in the fact things were finally looking up for them. But then she answered, and Harry was sure he'd never be able to wipe the smile from his face as he listened to his girl.

*.*

Months later

"Are you in love with Harry?"

The question wasn't directed at you, but you felt your cheeks redden immediately.

Sarah, who was much more quick on the draw than you would've been, smiled and said, "We all are, yeah."

You forced a soft laugh, unsure of where to direct your gaze. This whole interview had been one huge vat of chaos—and blatant misogyny—from the start, but Harry had conducted himself well so far, not balking or raising his voice once at the invasive and downright rude questions that were thrown at him. Perhaps you should've expected a question like this today, but you still struggled to keep your face neutral.

"So there's nothing going on romantically with Harry and the ladies?"

You suddenly found the keyboard in front of you incredibly interesting. What you really needed in this moment was a reassuring glance from Harry, but that would defeat the purpose of keeping your budding relationship a secret.

Attention from the public was still something you were getting used to. You'd gotten into songwriting because it was out of the public eye, but being with Harry would eventually lead you right into it. Not that you minded, you'd do whatever it took to be with him. But interviews like this one still left you feeling flustered.

"And who's back there on keys?"

Even though they were all your friends, you still felt your face flush as red as the leather skirt you wore for the interview.

"Y/n."

"That's Y/n."

"How are you doing back there, Y/n?"

"Fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a squeak.

Risking a glance at Harry, you met his gaze. He gave you an encouraging smile, and it bolstered your confidence the slightest bit. Just enough to get you through this brief conversation.

"Just fine? Does Harry make you nervous?"

"Maybe Y/n's the one who's in love with him."

"Or maybe she just wants to fuck him!"

An awkward silence fell over the room after the interviewers' comments and questions. You didn't even know what to say, or how you were expected to respond. Feeling the sympathetic stares from the rest of the band, you took a deep breath and tried not to cry, feeling extremely embarrassed.

Harry's jaw ticked, and you were pretty sure you were the only one who noticed. It was the first time he'd reacted to any of the questions asked today. And you could see it in his face that he was beyond pissed off.

This wasn't what you expected, and clearly Harry hadn't expected it either. But you also didn't want him to storm off and make a big scene. You just wanted to get through today and go home and rest with Buddy and Sweet Pea while you and Harry watched a movie together in bed. That thought kept you grounded, and you tried your hardest to convey to Harry that you were okay without saying anything.

"I, um, I met Harry in the studio in LA," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Y/n's a songwriter, but she's generously lent her fabulous keyboarding skills to us this year," Harry said.

"A songwriter?" You felt the interviewer's gaze sweep over you, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Another tick of Harry's jaw.

"Yeah. But I've enjoyed doing this too. Traveling and performing with Sarah's band," you said, a meek attempt at a joke.

"You must be getting laid a lot on the road as a proper rockstar now. You could probably get whoever you wanted. Well, maybe not Harry, but close to anyone. Are you taking advantage of being on the road with Harry? A new man every night?"

You swallowed thickly, the will not to cry hanging on by a thread. "I—I don't think my brothers be cool with—"

"Shut the fuck up, mate."

Shocked silence filled the room. Clearly, the interviewers didn't expect someone as laid back as Harry to speak up that way. A mix of relief and unease washed over you, unsure of how the rest of the interview was going to pan out now. But you couldn't say you didn't feel relieved that he'd spoken up.

"Harry, we're only—"

"You're being fucking disrespectful to the members of my band, and I'm not fucking putting up with it. Either ask me your fucking questions or let me go. My band and I aren't putting up with your bullshit."

Harry hadn't wanted to come here. He knew the reputation of the interviewer, but it had still somehow made it onto the list of interviews and appearances to promote the album. You'd watched as he grew more and more irritated with each question, but he seemed to take them in stride. But the minute they were directed at you, he'd snapped.

A brief break in the interview ensued, producers suggesting that a couple minutes to regroup would do everyone some good. When everyone was ready to record again, a stilted topic change led Harry to introduce and talk about the Peter Gabriel song they were about to play. The rest of the interview teetered between overly professional and awkward. You could tell by the tense line of Harry's shoulders that he wanted to be anywhere else.

At some point while Harry was talking, Sarah looked over at you. "You okay?" she mouthed, and you nodded subtly, giving her a tiny thumbs up from behind your keyboard setup. Everyone in the band knew about you and Harry. It was hard to hide your relationship when he was by your side whenever you weren't rehearsing a song, and like Mitch and Sarah, he was almost always facing you during rehearsals. It was sweet how he was always pulling you aside during lunch breaks and sitting beside you on the piano bench. One time, when Harry had a film crew film a performance of each song on the album, he asked if the recording of "Fine Line" could just be you and him. Both of you sat on stools with your respective guitars as you performed a stripped-back version of the song, your voice supporting Harry's with a soft harmony occasionally. It was a special moment for the two of you, especially because the song meant so much.

After that, there were no questions about what you meant to each other.

At the end of the interview, Harry was quick to leave, hardly sparing anyone a glance as he stalked out. You stayed back to break down your equipment like you normally did, your hands shaking a little as the desire to comfort Harry took over.

"Go, I got this," Mitch said, coming over to help.

"Really?"

Mitch nodded before bumping his shoulder against yours. "Yeah. We still on for dinner tonight?"

You nodded. "Might have to be at my apartment, though. I don't think he'll be up for going out."

You left soon after that, walking out of the recording room where the interview had taken place. The green room was down the hall, and you entered despite the closed door. "It's me," you said quietly before entering, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Harry was already out of his blue sweater and green trousers, a pair of brown corduroys on as he shrugged into a yellow t-shirt. He looked up briefly, then looked back down again as he slipped a pair of Vans on.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mad, upset, guilty," he said with a shrug.

"Why on earth do you feel guilty, love?"

"That never should've fucking happened," he seethed, but in Harry fashion, it just meant his voice was clipped and low as he tried to get a handle on his anger. "You didn't deserve that. I should've stood up for you."

"I...You did, H." You didn't want to say that it was okay, because obviously the whole situation wasn't, but you knew he wasn't to blame. The topic of him sticking up for you was a touchy one. "You were put in a tough position, yet you still put those assholes in their place. Let's just go home and forget about all this shit, okay?"

Harry nodded, but he still wouldn't meet your eye, which wasn't going to work for you one bit.

"Hey," you said, tilting his chin up with your fingertips. "Don't beat yourself up. Please? For me?"

For the first time since the midpoint of the interview, Harry grinned. He threaded his fingers through yours before giving you a kiss, his lips soft and familiar against yours. You felt some of the tension leave his body until he eventually pulled away and draped an arm over your shoulders, your hands still connected.

"Never fucking coming to this place again," Harry murmured on the way out, keeping you tucked closely to his side.

"Amen to that."

Harry looked down at you, the anger and frustration finally clearing from his eyes. When it came to you, to your feelings, he was very protective. And you were too, in your own way. You leaned on each other, supported each other, and spent time together without ever being sick of one another. There was no doubt in your mind that he loved you, and even though it might put him in hot water with his management or the interviewer, it meant a lot to you that he stood up for you the way he did. You didn't need him to throw punches or push people up against walls—honestly, that was what your brothers were for—but when it all boiled down, he put you and your feelings first, always and without question.

"I love you," he murmured, his thumb rubbing circles over the top of your hand.

"Even with my crazy brothers?"

"Even with your crazy brothers."

"Hm. Even when Buddy steals your spot on the bed?"

"Even then."

"Even in the mornings when my feet are cold and they brush up against your legs?"

When Harry didn't answer right away, you playfully pinched his side until he laughed and kissed the top of your head. "Babe, I'm gonna love you on your worst day, you know that."

And even though you did, your cheeks became rosy, your whole body tingling with warmth. "Good. Because I love you too. So much."

So much pain had been felt, so much devastation had been endured before you and Harry fell into a perfect rhythm. It wasn't easy, and if you were to look back at the girl who believed she was fucked in the head and incapable and undeserving of love and being loved, you would still think it was all worth it. You would endure it all again if it led you to this moment, if it ended up with Harry cradling your heart of glass in his hands and protecting it as if it was his own.

Hand in hand, you went home and didn't look back at the shattered glass you'd long since left behind.

[weirdmageddon]

why i think aradia and john work so well

(with some stuff i’ve been wanting to yap about for ages)

have you guys ever given arajohn / johnradia (idk if its popular enough to even have a standardized ship name) any thought …? i know it seems kind of out of left field. i’ve considered it and i think its. really really good. i have a bunch of thoughts to unpack. come join me. and maybe grab a snack or something because i didn’t realize how much i'd actually have to say about this

(fantastic art by skeletood)

the other day i made a tweet that did rather well where i said, “john and aradia shouldve talked more. its so simple but i like how she actually earnestly answers his questions. so many characters in this comic are so mean to john for just wanting to know more give him a break”

putting it out there now im not big about shipping for the sake of shipping. there needs to be real chemistry. i need to sense that as a reason why two characters would potentially be a good influence on each other. i never knew why i was always so obstinate about this because it’s fictional and not materially hurting anyone, but i think it might be because i’m not sure how to justify it or explain it if not.

i strongly believe john and aradia would have had it made out for them if circumstances allowed it. (what i mean by “ship” or “johnradia” extends to any kind of interpersonal dynamic, even if just a good friendship. it doesnt even have to be romantic, just some sort of dynamic with them.)

unfortunately aradia originally committed herself to staying out of trolling the kids over their timelines, so john and aradia never talked until year 3 on the ship in the dream bubbles but they never had a truly proper one-on-one without outside meddling. i think if john knew aradia better and her story beforehand, she had more time to explain herself and her history, he wouldnt have been unsettled. and also of course if his experience with the trolls didn’t suck so bad because he already had expectations for how antagonizing most of them were.

i found people’s sentiments about johnradia elsewhere too. i remembered that they were both on the song art for ascend, and searched ao3 to see how many fics have been written to gauge how substaintial it’s been in the homestuck fandom. only 17 of them turned up. but the people who do talk about it are either curious about it or really do like it, and that interested me.

clearly it’s pretty niche character relationship to be depicted in any fanwork and i can understand why. despite being so small, from what ive seen it seems universally agreed upon to be nice. i haven’t seen a single person object to it. what ive seen falls into two categories: “wow i didnt think about this before but i actually dig it” or “(starving) finally some good fucking food”

the pattern im seeing is that people think it’s “random”, but i disagree. there is something there substantiating it even if they’re unable to articulate it.

the fanfic these comments are from is chronology of wind. that fic is really, really good, and sadly unfinished. i have more abstract reasons to believe why aradia and john would be good in theory, so actually seeing someone else actually make something with them helped me read it in action, to get a more tangible feel of the dynamic beyond what we have in canon.

i wouldn’t normally make claims about a relationship with regard to homestuck canon by looking at their relationship in a fanfic, because i think you all know by now i am very nitpicky about accurate characterization, and it does not go unnoticed by me when people get it right because for some reason it feels like a one in a million thing (even though it really shouldn’t be?). so this was a special case. the tone was completely consistent with canon. this fic is so in-character i’d basically consider it an extension of canon. to me it’s like they took the same characters and plopped them into this scenario to see how they’d interact. guys… i love that stuff so much. i love fanfiction or fanworks that depict realistic extensions of canon and stays true to the energy and tone of the source, but deepens it. there isn’t enough of it imo. i want to see more of it.

anyway, what i read of their conversations in that fic basically aligned with what i was thinking in my head about what i’d expect it to be like. i was able to compare how aradia and john talked to how aradia and the other characters interacted, their comparative attitudes towards each other—how they’re treated by others compared to how they treat each other.

have you noticed john and aradia’s communication values are both based on sincerity, being in the proper know, treating people fairly, and thanklessly taking on the necessary work that “must be done” in order to have what they really want — a good time that feels meaningful? and they accomplish this without any adjustment in how they talk to each other.

john is always subtly (or not-so-subtly) asking the people around him to answer him soberly and to the point so he knows whats going on and what that means for what his options are. he needs to know to what end he will be applying his absurd energetic drive into making shit happen. aradia honors his time before john can even become uncomfortable with the amount of time being eaten up by conversation. contrast this with rose, who seems to go on for a while with prose-like conversational adornments. in dire situations that need rapid explanation and definitive answers so he knows what to do, this is really the last thing he needs. aradia doesnt waste john’s time. she answers all his questions, and does it politely to boot. his time talking to her doesn't feel wasted.

john's impatience with this sort of nonsense is also why i can’t see something like dirkjohn working out, for example. to me it feels like @entropicbias also deeply understands this on some level because i literally couldn’t have demonstrated what i mean by it any better myself than that. i'm gonna have to to hit him up about how much i genuinely respect that like tbh hes one of the few i absolutely trust to handle writing and depicting these characters in situations and their interpersonal dynamics. and also care about doing their characterization justice as much as me.

of course people are still entitled to like whatever they like, ship whatever they want to. i dont care. but i just don’t think it would work from the perspective of the minds of the canon characters, how they generally think and approach situations. and i can already tell people might ask me how do i know this? what makes me an expert? i’m not more than anyone else is (although i have been called a "characterization expert" from my friends), but i do know that i can pick up on the energetic chemistry between people, including characters, honestly precognitively, without even thinking? like if it’s stiff or tense or awkward, if people aren’t free to express themselves uninhibitedly, if they feel unsafe or uncomfortable. i can sense this almost instantly. it’s something that’s a visceral feeling in my body i cant express and i have to rationalize it after the fact. like i’m doing now in fact writing this big analysis.

> listen to me talk about my special interest boy

for the next section to make sense, you probably want to read this post. i initially started writing it within this post to explain but there was so much brewing i had to explain the context that it turned into something i wanted to post on its own terms.

> okaaaaaayyyyy i read all that

thank you, really. my main point is using the conceptual tools provided by this system to expIain why aradia and john feel nice together and why i’ve seen people positively perceive the idea of a relationship between them even if it seems “random”.

framing them in this system, it wouldn’t be random! there’s a good reason they seem to fit nicely. this is because john and aradia have complementary forms of information metabolism. information metabolism is talked about in this section.

Jung’s psychic types are the types of cognition, or intelligence. But it would probably be easiest to call them types of IM [information metabolism], since the main difference between the types of people lies in their exchange of information with the external world.

Aushra Augusta, Commentary on Jung’s Typology and Introduction to Information Metabolism

aradia megido’s type of information metabolism (otherwise known as a TIM) is LII. john egbert’s TIM is ESE.

aradia and john’s types are duals. you can read more about what that entails here. in theory, their interactions would reflect the duality dynamic. reading chronology of wind, that one really in-character fic that explored their dynamic made me excited because they do!

michael pierce gave an overview of his impression of the characteristics of this intertype dynamic. despite only rough knowledge in socionics while he wrote this, his understanding of duality was spot on to me from my experience and others and i wanted to share it here. (fittingly, i believe he is also LII.)

Now we have the famous duality relationship: in a nutshell, this role is characterized by two traits: 1) a very close psychological distance or intimacy, and 2) a great ease of interacting with each other. It is sometimes described how meeting one's dual can be the event of a lifetime, because it inspires aspects in each party's character that they had never expressed before: the pair may even drop out of society for a time in order to focus on just each other, and to explore themselves through interaction with each other. The curious thing in this relationship is that these parties are rather different in outlook, and when they are not actually interacting as potential friends it's probably more likely for them to dislike or mistrust each other because of how different they are. […] However, when they are able to interact normally, it is a strange and wonderful discovery to realize that the interaction is unexpectedly smooth and invigorating. It's hard for people to describe, but as I understand it: while both parties recognize their differences on the surface, these differences are created by a root structure that coincides perfectly with each other, so that the differences on the surface are entirely complementary and cause no friction at all.

it’s also meaningful to consider that the structure of my own psyche is LII as well. so i’ve got a bit of a bias towards aradia and john.. not in the sense that what i actually say about them is personally biased, but that the bias is moreso my personal attention to people and characters of these two types in particular to see how my own experiences are reflected in them. i really do feel of a reflection of my own thought and work process in aradia and in the more abstract sense she is like an extension of myself. when people say they like aradia as a character i get secondhand joy from that because shares certain specific traits with me. of course i am still my own person though.

these are some of the most apt profiles i've found for these types at a glance. again, think about these characters as you read these descriptions. [from here (ESE / LII)]

ESE (Ethical-sensory extrovert) - john

The trademark quality of this type is a focus on socializing and guiding social situations and interactions so that the people involved can have fun and enjoy themselves. ESEs are typically in the middle of what is happening socially and know about the latest events and what people think and feel about them. They are skilled at bringing people together in fun and interesting ways and making everyone feel actively involved. Their friends know them as people who love life and feel most at home in social situations surrounded by other fun people. In their pursuit of fun-oriented and stimulating social interactions, ESEs typically neglect to structure their own thought processes and views in a way that would help them know exactly what they think and why. They are receptive to others’ attempts to help them introduce more structure and logical consistency in their life and thinking processes. They gravitate most to people who open up to fun and emotional interaction easily, yet are also skilled at systematizing thoughts and views and explaining ideological matters.

LII (Logical-intuitive introvert) - aradia

The trademark quality of this type is a focus on logical, structured thought and generating true assertions and views. LIIs are typically strict thinkers who are concerned that everything fits together in a logical way. They are skilled at understanding, generating, and criticizing logical arguments and instilling their views in the people around them. Their friends know them as people with well-organized thoughts and opinions who know what they think and can elucidate their ideas to others. In their pursuit of logical understanding, LIIs typically neglect their external social interactions and activities that would help them lighten up and experience a connection with other people. They are receptive to others’ attempts to create these fun and lighthearted situations for them. They gravitate most to people who are interested in their opinions and understanding of things, but are also skilled at organizing social interactions and creating a sense of emotional unity.

ive recently consciously experienced the feeling of duality for the first time since i've been communicating with my mom's high school classmate, and it is definitely a real thing. i even remember mom pointing out she noticed when we were all talking on the phone over a year ago that i perked up whenever he said stuff. here is how i explained it:

its bonkers how only once i experience something for myself i’m able to explain in detail what makes it so great based on what my impressions about it were because i tend to have a peculiar way of describing the qualities of an experience. my specialty is deep precision in my analogies for what it’s like. so now i can tell you how conversations with your dual feel… heres the status report. it’s weightless. its so strange. like the topic conversation stretches into infinity that you can pick right back up at any time. it’s hazy and unfocused but still pleasant (unless you’re particularly self-conscious and need to unlearn hiding your true self). but the best parts of it come when you have a specific issue or insecurity that comes with being your most natural self that the world seems to misunderstand about you, or just not give you what you don't even know you’ve been looking for. i think you might mutually intimidate each other at first because you're lowkey both expecting to be made fun of for your inadequacy with certain types of information that the other is nuanced with (and you’re not), but it never comes. you don't feel like what your dual wants in life is wrong. your dual seems so talented in all the ways you hope to shine but you’re always unsure of. for the introvert (me) wishing they felt their own active presence as an object (Se, Ne, Te, Fe) like the extravert does. for the extravert, wishing they felt their own relationships with other objects (Si, Ni, Ti, Fi) like the introvert does. any other intertype relationship (ITR) vs. duality is like the difference between 99% and 100% totality of a solar eclipse, except it’s the level of understanding with another person, like the eclipsing of your own information metabolism with theirs. of course there are other things that influence how well your relationship with this person goes, but i am talking strictly about when it comes to basic communication, the level of understanding you share. sometimes it might feel like you dont have much to talk about or the topic is unfocused, because you two ARE opposites in many ways after all, especially at a glance (domain of interests usually come with specific macroelements. theories about thought structures—like socionics, for instance—are in the domain of intuition, while physical interests and experiences are in the domain of sensorics.) i’m LII in the NT club (researchers) and my dual ESE in the SF club (social-communicative). so they’re constantly providing you with information from their own niche in life that you may be entirely unfamiliar with, but for some reason still interests and relaxes you to hear. you might not feel like you have a lot to say about the topic since but you are fully amazed by this person’s activity. it also makes you feel more sure of yourself and more confident that people truly appreciate and need your natural abilities.

> let’s break it down

here’s some lightly modified descriptions of the information blocks in LII and ESE's information metabolism models from pyatnitsky so you can get an overarching impression of how their type contributes to the informational sphere. i added some of my own adjustments and borrowed some sentences from stratiyevskaya's descriptions. additionally, you can click on the name of the block for an explanation of the role it plays.

i put about a week’s work into these collages but my goal with them was to actually show where i think these information blocks are most pertinent in these characters specifically and where they apply so it’s not just some abstract thing, just as supplementary examples as needed. (for the meaning of these information elements individually you can refer to cysia’s document.)

LII (Logical-intuitive introvert)

EGO (-Ti? -> -Ne!). Analytical thinking. They are well aware of the interrelationships of some objects or phenomena with others, and what laws are in effect or not in effect. On the basis of a comprehensive analysis, they put forward insights about the global essence of specific objects and phenomena, their possibilities. They acutely charge the situation with potential energy. For every situation, there is an archetype.

Super-EGO (-Fi? -> -Se!). Normative ideas about relationships between people and ways to get out of unpleasant ethical situations. Understands ethics as founded on the principles of fairness; to do to one side of the equation that you do to the other. Volitional manifestations in order to protect their living space are carried out only on the basis of personal experience. Because of the limited opportunities to fight back, they react painfully to attempts of any interference in his life. Does not respond to any arbitrary crudeness or volitional pressuring. Does not compromise goals, stubbornly clings to them. Avoids direct confrontation if possible, would rather talk civilly and earnestly. Uses their naturally strong sense of the conditioning of objects over time to avoid collisions with their material interests. Due to this, they may appear as someone with very little weaknesses.

Super-ID (+Fe -> +Si?) Attracts information about a good mood, a specific positive state, or a feeling. They would like to think that they can eliminate serious inconveniences, make the environment around them more comfortable. This skill needs to be evaluated. They are unconsciously activated when there is a need to make the environment more comfortable, which should lead to a better state, raise the mood at least in the immediate environment. In friendly, comfortable, and informal company, their cool exterior thaws and they start lighting up with joviality.

ID (+Te! → +Ni?). Has developed guidelines and methods that relate to specific practical activities, technological effectiveness, and resource use. Spontaneously feels the correct allocation of resources over time, which allows them to effectively solve tasks at an unhurried pace. This pace is deeply rational in nature.

ESE (Ethical-sensory extrovert)

EGO (+Fe! -> +Si?). Perception of the world is fundamentally emotional. Feels the emotional atmosphere well in any situation, knows the relevance of the way of expression, the place and weight (importance) of the internal state in each situation. Flexible approach to solving problems of managing and expressing emotions. They show bright emotionality both negative and positive. Creatively produces around themself comfort, coziness, conveniently arranges space, surrounds others with beautiful things, changing thereby the general condition and mood. Usually opinionated about their tastes.

(wow i really went all out on that this one that tumblr wont even display it in full resolution, so here. john just has so many more lines to choose from, sorry!)

Super-EGO (+Te! -> +Ni?). Practical and technological thinking is tightly based on acquired knowledge and patterns of solving similar problems. Methods of business activity in both general and specific areas are selected based on the opinion of reputable sources, or adjusted to one of the mastered templates. Predicting specific changes in the sphere of their interests is carried out only on the basis of personal experience. He is not able to compare his own method of forecasting with others, so he is sensitive to criticism of poor timing or deadlines, does not like situations that feel like a waste of his time; he is lost in connection with negative events. Guided by purely personal experience, he chooses specific times and deadlines for various tasks with a normative understanding of business activity in general.

Super-ID (-Ti? -> -Ne!). Attracts information about the order, specific logical relationships in the field of activity or interests. Needs someone to suggest specific ways to make connections between phenomena, patterns, and rules. Tries to be reasonable himself, even though he knows that this is not characteristic of him. Sometimes he openly talks of his actions that were poorly reasoned through, as if inviting other people to laugh at his thoughtlessness. The ordering and systematization of thought opens up a new way of understanding of events that are happening around him, as well as new prospects, potential, and capabilities. He likes to think that he understands the essence of a situation and lights up with new ideas. This skill needs to be evaluated. It is unconsciously activated when it is necessary to create order, clear consistency and clarity on a particular issue, especially if their abilities are recognized.

ID (-Fi? -> -Se!). Involuntarily keeps track of communications in their social circle. Without hesitation, they use a variety of ways to establish and maintain relationships that have been developed in his personal practice. Good relationships are important for personal inner confidence in a situation. To prevent unfavorable relationships, they are inclined, often without even realizing it, to act with pressure, forcing a showdown, forcing the partner to change the relationship for the better. Frequently demonstrates his resoluteness, persistence, and purposefulness, as if proposing his behavior as a model for imitation. Usually tells in much detail what obstacles were created before him, and how he overcame them, what he was told in response, and what he replied with, and so on and in the like.

(full res)

you might be able to see already how they would complement each other's thought process nicely. here are some descriptions of what the communication between these types is like:

+Fe! : program function of ESE and dual-seeking function of LII

The ESE periodically tells emotionally charged "program" function stories, telling of how somebody has acted and what they have done. The main orientation of ESE's leading ethical program is: "No one should be offended." The LII carefully listens to these statements, and, demonstrating a full understanding of these issues, develops logical basis for them, e.g. in calm persuasive voice he explains how the ESE has acted justly and fairly. The effusion of turbulent emotions coming from the ESE is counterbalanced by their absorption by the LII, who breaks them down into fragments by asking clarifying questions of the ESE.

-Ti? : dual-seeking function of ESE and program function of LII

The ESE is tuned to accepting information when it's relayed in clear logical form. He issues requests for logical explanations delivered from a point of view of generalized rules underpinning specific life events, which he receives from the LII, who delivers clear unambiguous interpretations, places the dots over all "i's", and demonstrates good understanding of problems that are of concern to the ESE. Not receiving information of this kind, the ESE begins making demands of those around him to be "intelligent" and understand the reasons of his actions.

-Ne! : activating function of ESE and creative function of LII

The ESE feels uncomfortable if he doesn't extend his help to people who are in need of it. His subconscious orientation is: "care and guard the talented", be kind and attentive towards other people. The LII usually meets such criteria by proving in action his aptitude at uncovering hidden capabilities, winning trust, passing on the knowledge. The ESE creates supportive conditions for people who are capable but lacking in assertive "push-through" qualities, among whom the LII finds himself, and a special work regime that protects such individuals from overloads on sensing functions. Newly discovered possibilities inspire and promote the pragmatic and business-oriented activities of the ESE. He can support a new undertaking or initiative with an enormous amount of energy and enthusiasm, light up by new ideas. Only the LII is able to, even having a vague general notion about the subject, construct a developed theory or idea of any issue. This theory shows to be promising in the process of its concrete application within its field.

+Si? : creative function of ESE and activating function of LII

LII tries to take care of their well-being, but may gravitate towards demonstrative asceticism, exhaust himself with work, studies, or exercise. The ESE periodically takes care of creating an environment that "charges" the LII with pleasant sensations: a reception of guests, a good meal, a visit to a theater or a concert, an interesting trip, and so on. At the same time the ESE takes pleasure in this himself.

+Te! : role function of ESE and observing function of LII

The role function of the ESE manifests as business-oriented activity and initiative, supplying interesting information, provision with material assistance to those who are in need, general restlessness and fussy busyness. This function is normative, i.e. the ESE seeks to comply with the norms and accepted ways of doing things. The nuancing of the understanding of these norms, i.e. introduction of activities that go beyond them, is possible only by considering LII's advice and recommendations. The LII serves as a director of this function, adjusting its workings by advocating the necessity of practical application of some beneficial ideas, rejection of useless though spectacular ideas, and the need to ensure standards of life not below average by rejection of equalization.

+Ni? : vulnerable function of ESE and demonstrative function of LII

The ESE poorly feels the flow of time, both physical, which manifests as running late and poor distribution of his strengths over time, and historical, which manifests as poor ability to anticipate consequences of actions and tendency for traditional ways of solving problems. The ESE finds it difficult to make radical choices. The LII fully takes this aspect onto his shoulders. He has an unconscious ability to distribute activities in time, thereby avoiding work stress and overloads, and is capable of making a radical choice. The LII is able to calmly wait and in the necessary moment get to work when the wasteful fussiness of the ESE reaches its critical point.

-Fi? : ignoring function of ESE and role function of LII

On this function the ESE gives advice and makes demands concerning the creation of appropriate psychological distances in form of proper behavior, courtesy and politeness, denouncing rudeness and boorishness. In this manner, the ESE adjusts LII's role function, which in itself contains a set of large psychological distances: a sullen stubborn look, unsociability, etc. With such fine-tuning it becomes easier for the LII to come into contact with people, whereby he becomes more animated, resolves many of his ethical problems that previously frightened him, gains greater insight into human relationships and a more accurate understanding as to whose side to take in situations of conflict.

-Se! : demonstrative function of ESE and vulnerable function of LII

The LII finds it very difficult to exert pressure on other people from his own will and initiative, especially in cases when he needs to attain something for himself. He finds this difficult to do - to press ahead in certain situations, to gather all the required paperwork, to stand in lines and queues, to petition for his own interests, even the ones that are of vital importance to him. He finds it difficult to push a person away, to sharply refuse someone, to quarrel loudly and defend his rights, to put an end to relations that have exhausted themselves. The ESE doesn't directly affect this function, i.e. he doesn't verbally criticize and teach the LII on this aspect, but takes over its functioning completely. The ESE exerts a constant, sometimes intrusive and imposing pressure on other people if there is a need to achieve something, to defend justice and demand fair treatment, to protect interests of those who are close and dear to him. The ESE goes to the right jurisdictions, inspires people around him and directs them towards work and purposeful activity, keeps up a high pace of life himself, and breaks off relations with those who don't deserve trust.

and some miscellaneous excerpts from literature i liked a lot. (i can't remember the sources i used since i've been working on this on and off, for the past week and i was just spilling things onto the post. i think stratiyevskaya?):

Mood - that’s what matters in this dyad - emotions and feelings. Anything that suppresses and overshadows good mood is considered unethical in this dyad and is strongly condemned.

The ESE does not allow the LII to limit him in the possibilities of consuming the amount of pleasures and joys, which he considers to be necessary and sufficient. Fortunately, both partners in the dyad - LII and ESE - are obstinate and unyielding. Both are demanding, unwilling (and not allowing anyone else) to lower the bar of their requirements, unable to give in and make concessions (especially in anything that is of principle for themselves). Both know how to make their partner reckon with their interests and insist on the fulfillment of their demands.

LII is impressed by the emotional generosity of ESE and his spiritual responsiveness. All this finds the deepest understanding in LII, since he is tuned to the same priorities and values. For his part, ESE admires the ability of LII to speak clearly and definitely on every issue. ESE is struck by the harmony of the reasoning of LII, the amazing clarity, accuracy and laconicism of his statements. To ESE it seems that for LII, there is nothing incomprehensible in this world; he can give a comprehensive explanation on every issue. And everything that ESE thought about before is gradually being built into a definite and clear system of views, which he can now very freely and naturally present. Confusion and chaos in his worldview gradually gives way to a stable logical order, as if someone patient and careful was sorting all his thoughts into shelves. Such clarity inspires and activates ESE; he begins to see some prospects for himself, new opportunities. His energy and activity, in addition to emotional and ethical expression, also receives sensory realization: ESE begins to take care of LII and carefully looks after him. If LII is a colleague with whom ESE is especially pleasant to communicate with, he begins to treat him with something tasty, homemade; will make some small, but beautiful and necessary gift (for example: new cologne or a warm scarf).

> okay that's great and all but when are we talking about john and aradia specifically?

yes, that was the point of this post. i just had to build all that up first so i could walk you through my thoughts in a fully substantiated way.

considering chronology of wind again, john doesnt realize it but he needs aradias frankness and insight. even if she’s unable to explicate on vague things, she states the reason why instead of making him feel stupid (it would create a doomed timeline) but thats all john needs to hear. she is self-effacing and only tells him the truth, and we know other people can take advantage of john’s suggestibility in this way. aradia tells john who is or isnt trustworthy, what actions would be useful/necessary and which ones wont, without any selfish personal motive a la vriska or terezi.

^ (juuuust the record my nitpicky ass doesn’t agree with the truth of the classpect interpretation on behalf of the author in the last bit BUT that is beside the point here. the point is that she is answering john’s question in a way that is meaningful for him)

aradia doesnt realize it but she needs john’s friendy goofiness to brighten her up because she is surrounded by people who antagonize her when she’s literally not even trying to get under anyones skin. everybody gets frustrated at her “spooky nonsense” because theyre afraid of their own mortality, basically telling her to put a lid on it because thinking about hard truths makes THEM personally uncomfortable. but to her it’s always just been a fact of life. plugging your ears to reality is ignorance, but at the same time that doesn’t mean there’s no meaning in anything. she wants to help people see this and she dedicates herself to becoming a psychopomp for the deceased and earnestly trying to make people feel emotionally and physically comfortable in their situation through exploring their memories.

john isn’t hostile towards her. by being herself she is immediately able to earn john’s trust when they initially talk. this is also true in canon; the one time they talked when john initially comes up to her, saying “can i ask you something? seem reasonable, and pretty nice.” unfortunately he asked her the one question she didn’t have much to say about, and i can’t blame him for expecting all the troll girls to be basically insane at that point. but i don’t think aradia is insane. yes she is odd, but i think it’s evident that she has a good head on her shoulders with knowledge of the way the universe around her works, and in the end wants to simply bask in watching it play out. i think she deserves to get childishly excited about it, especially considering she was dead for most of her developmental years.

aside from getting his answers answered, john shows curiosity about her and her species and even care about her well-being and state. this naturally comes from their conversation’s ebb and flow. aradia tells this straightforwardly, without bells and whistles and without trying to trick him, unlike the other trolls who seem keen on well..trolling him.. and providing him with unclear answers to those sorts things. maybe aside from vriska, but she did have a little bit of an attitude about it wherein her and john’s dynamic felt uneven or off-rhythm, with a large psychological distance. it’s a different feeling with aradia, however. they exchange information on the same rhythm and so are able to achieve a closer psychological distance in communication.

there are no judgments coming from aradia about john being “stupid”. she doesn’t underestimate him. it’s not just that john wants to understand (although he does), but he needs to understand what he is doing. aradia compliments john about the traits he possesses that allow him to be effective. i guess in a way i’m doing the same thing with john right now.

john is so mobile and strung along by being the action hero going from place to place as a can-do deliveryboy that he never has time to reflect on his losses, think through them, and accept them.

literally who else is more qualified in all of homestuck than aradia for talking to john about these things?

on top of all of this, they have objectively significant connections beyond just mutual self-realization in a way i think could've been fleshed out. there is potential here.

for a story, i can think of a way that a conversation between them could plausibly happen using the systems established in homestuck's mythology. in canon, we see that john never met aradia until year 3 on the golden battleship in the dream bubbles when he goes to sleep.

but john still dreamt out in the furthest ring. that means during those 3 years it was possible for john to have had a dream with her in it, or at least aradiabot. i know john didn't know aradia's name beforehand but let's just explore the possibility that they could have had met before that. remember that all these aradiabots were once this person.

aradia had obtained john's crosbytop, his dads hat, and his wallet quite a while before their sgrub session. theres your entry

imagine john seeing that

memories of dear old dad get stirred up through the link of seeing those items

the dream bubble transforms

john is forced to stand in his memories and explore grief and the meaning of life with aradia

physically being in the space around him would definitely help john reflect easier i think because it will force him to actually exist within the space and talk to someone, taking some time out for this. he wanted to know if anything could've been done or if he was just too late to save them. i know aradia would be able help him slow down and introspect. don't forget the opportunities created by the properties of these spaces that are glubbed out in the furthest ring by the horrorterrors that meld the labyrinthine time and space of their surroundings to the memories of the people and finding others through common points in memory. i would imagine that objects known by multiple people would provide a common point in memory to bring them together.

The bubbles allow the players of Sburb/Sgrub who have lost a life to continue dreaming. The reality constructed in the bubbles is a combination of the memories of everyone inside the bubble accessible to any who has learned the bubble's nature. According to Aradia, it would be quite difficult to exit a bubble to get into a new one, however someone inside a bubble can travel to another one through common points in memory, taking their own memories with them to be integrated into the new bubble. These memories mix and combine, but in general, no new memories are created. Additionally, the bubbles store the consciousness of a player who has lost their dream selves and their original selves, making them double as a form of afterlife; the player is then capable of accessing the memory of anyone else who has gained access to the bubbles. Living players, who have lost or become their dream selves, appear in the dream bubbles when they are asleep. It is in this fashion that the bubbles can be used as meeting places between the dead and the living; even those from alternate universes and doomed timelines can be found in a bubble. Furthermore, in addition to memories, the bubbles can to some extent reflect the thoughts of a player. Beyond that, the bubbles can also behave similarly to Skaia's clouds, showing things that are in some way relevant to the player - such as when coin-flip Dave saw alpha Dave grieving over Bro's corpse - something he was not aware of before being shown it by a bubble.

physically reflect the thoughts of the player…… rubs hands

john and aradia share points in memory related to those objects, and to top it all of they are directly related to john's dad on the same day he died, while aradia grew up with them as bizarre alien artifacts from an archeological dig. the memories are more emotionally charged for john, and i think that distinction would probably be relevant to them both.

to be honest i think after speaking with him for a bit she would readily tell john that she regrets not talking to the kids from the universe her team created sooner before she died, but is glad that she can in the afterlife. in canon, alpha aradia told a doomed dave, "i think its absurd i never introduced myself to you in all that time i spent moping around the lab. guess i wasnt in a very good mood".

now not all the aradiabots would know who john is, because the trolls only found out about the humans once they created the genesis frog and hid out in the lab in the veil from jack who infiltrated their session. the aradiabot in the lab was the last one that survived. so if any one of them would know who john is, it would be the aradiabot that exploded. aradia's dream self ascended to god tier in jack noir's rampage on trolls' derse and took those memories with her which we can assume is what made the last aradiabot explode. its known that any original copy that dies when another rises up becomes a ghost and lives on in the dream bubbles, which would include her. a doomed aradiabot we see in the comic, which was the one that originally landed to alternia in the past, becomes more lighthearted after she dies, a bit more like her alive counterpart.

oh yeah, and the more obvious surface-level connections to top it off? ghostbusters? john ain't afraid of no ghost girl. john would be genuinely interested in what aradia living as a ghost irl on her planet and not as a gaming abstraction in the furthest ring would be like. i imagine she would be able to explain the subjective experience and that she had to prototype herself into the kernelsprite order for her server player to see her. there's also no way john hasn't seen a movie as classic as indiana jones and judging from her poster i can imagine he probably thinks it's sweet that aradia's strife specibus whipkind is a reflection of her own personal tastes, interests and hobbies.

so yeah i've just been chewing on all of this and thinking about it but i know i needed to just get this out there somehow. obviously since i spent two weeks putting this post together i'd be happy to hear your thoughts

[bucchiboo]

I'm crying because I love the idea of correspondence between the students leaving next year and I'd love to see more of it. The white day cards are so cute that I just want to elaborate (hc) on handwriting and maybe even writing quirks. Just Malleus (for now...)

Malleus would be really interested in how his partner writes, it's all so fascinating to him and he's a pattern noticer. The noticerrrr. And he sees so much that he even finds himself compiling all the repetitive actions you take when writing -not just what you're writing, and brings them to you to discuss further. The way you slant letters, when your pen lets up, if you type then the frequency of paragraph breaking, how you insert images, etc. I think it'd be something like "Did you know you tend to smudge the paper when you reach the furthest margin, are you perhaps left-handed? Oya, you are? I knew that to be the case." He says with a slight smile and downturned gaze because he knows he ate that. Sherlock Horns.

He would get overzealous about the fact that you're only a word away and would immediately call you with his archaic phone and pester you until you receive it. His Correspondence wouldn't actually be a surprise because you are usually visited by a heavy knock on your door and fae appropriate fanfare when it arrives, that's just etiquette when writing royalty. But, he always calls you the day he receives it so that you know he shall be returning post haste and he intends to dazzle you. In fact, you'll spend so long speaking to each other about what was written to him, that when you finally get his response, it's more or less just recapping what you spoke of two days prior. He can't hide his giddyness, even if he keeps a cool baritone while on the phone. Because you're a kind person, you pretend that his tail happily thumping against the ground is inaudible, because you know he can't help it.

He is going to surprise you by the emojis he uses because WHO taught you that!?!? He learned these from Cater and Lilia, but he doesn't change the way he speaks. It's "Good evening, How have you've been? The summer season of Briar Valley is particularly exhausting and hot💧, I am very bothered by the heat of it all.🥵🥵" and when Lilia intercepts it, he's like "that's a perfect sentence, go ahead and send it. Actually, one note, send more sweating emojis, it's really hot this summer, right?"

Your messages go through a diverse array of moderators and middle men. Those people being his Grandmother, who reminds him that he's a prince, Lilia and Silver (the two who initially opened the letter, and finally his transcriber and narrator, Sebek who scoffs at the quality of the smut you're peddling his young master, who shouldn't even be hearing this, but he'll read on against his better judgement. (It's literally benign, the furthest thing from smut, Malleus argues). His letters would look a little like this:

21.09.19XX Child, It's been nice knowing you.😌 Why do I say that? Since we've met, it seems as if Briar Valley has taken a lead in comedy and our collective temperament could not be more jovial. Your humorous description of your familiar, Grim child, was very well received by my Grandmother, as I was awoken early enough to the sounds of insects humming and birds chirping well into the night to read it aloud to me, guffawing as she spoke. (I apologize, I cannot stop her from opening my mail, but we're working on her problematic behavior, that's a fact.😉) She in particular has asked if she may keep it, you know how older individuals are with their chucklesome cat stories. 🙄 There's this understanding of the world that I just don't possess when it comes to what grabs the attention of the people's comedy, it continues to evade me. For instance, what is the humor of "surprise hot dog 🌭" and why must it be a surprise to be enjoyed? The children of Briar Valley seemingly shout this and end their sentences with it, and I am surprised and annoyed every time. It seems like you have an understanding in the matters of humor, so you are welcome to explain it to me. But I digress, If I sat down and listed to you all the things that escaped me, well, you might find yourself as old as I am by the time we've finished! 🤣The trees and wind must sense the happiness in our friendly union, and have planned accordingly to block out bad weather🌧️ and unforgiving spirits. The weather is nice enough that (forgive me I've overstretched my hand) planned your visit for sooner rather than later. Next time we meet in person, this shall be us ->🕺💃, as I've already made arrangements for a night in a cabaret club in the Capitol for us to partake in. It's a culture so far from the realm of possibility of establishing itself in our quiet little country, that I was astounded when I stumbled across its zoning request permits one day and I rushed to see it in person, paperwork be damned. The smaller fae who perform insist it to be a "cheeky, yet inoffensive showcase of the arts", and after witnessing it for myself, I knew it would be the type of entertainment you'd enjoy.🤫 Even now, it doesn't feel natural to write, like an odd mouth feel that doesn't change as I turn it over and over. A cabaret in Briar Valley, a music club in a quiet kingdom... it's as I've mentioned earlier, Briar Valley has surprisingly given itself wholly to the Joviality of life. Sincerely yours; Malleus Draconia, Heir to Briar Valley p.s Surprise hot dog 🌭

On the other hand, as confident as he is in your responses, he's always a little embarrassed to send something back. It's not fear of his ability, but rather, if you'll care to hear about the day to day of a crown prince who's routine is very boring and full of nothingburger drama. He doesn't understand that his 18 page assessment of his life is literally replacing the cable you can't afford, and when he describes the way the lion prince attacked him during a diplomatic meeting, the colorful language of his response makes you laugh, and then cry, and even gag because "how did he get close enough to gash you!?" You can see the face he's making as he writes this, pouty and angry and even chuckling when he describes the punishment that followed. Just like in his real life, Malleus has a hard time concealing his emotions. He's not shy about who he is as a person, and his writing is not either. The way it flows is a little different from traditional correspondence, if anything, he's sending you disjointed journal entries and prose while also clipping what you send him to respond directly. Your 2 page crapped out response filled with emojis and memes and inside jokes is returned in full by 20 pages of thoughtful dialogue, assessments of politics and fondness of your life, and even sketches of the things around him (okay... just gargoyles and Sebek, but those are things in all fairness.) He has a real zest that he doesn't try to contain, and even his handwriting gives it away. When he's in a good mood, it's very pristine, heavily slanted cursive that his heavy hand oppresses by not dotting his i's or crossing his t's. It's just understood between you two what he means. Likewise, when he's angry or melancholic it's surprisingly very light, almost inelligeble as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. He must be getting up and pacing, because of course he is. When upset or recounting something terrible, his handwriting is unusually neat, funnily enough the sentences are much shorter, as if he's hiding something or thinking long about what should be said next. He's a very wistful person, after all.

Malleus enjoys fine art that seeks to appease the senses and refine beauty, so attached to his letters will often be trinkets like necklaces, earrings, watches, and pocket squares that he found in shops in Briar Valley, or a ticket to a play or music shows that dazzled him. The heavier packages (these tend to come at random) are filled with small desserts, books on the anthropological history of different fae species, woven pieces from more aesthetically competent fae and their fashion, and of course, fragmented pieces of ancient gargoyles he found hiding in deserted rooms of the castle. <- He'll know if you've thrown it away, so hold on to the heavy, weird rock fragment, please.

[crowroboros]

top 3 favourite Link, Zelda, and Ganondorf designs?

Easy. Again this is about their designs and designs only.

Link -

The #1 design for Link goes to Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom's Link (Especially Link in TotK with the Archaic Set, though the Snowquill set is a close second)

By far Link's best look across the entire series. From his hair to the arm to just the general artstyle of this era, I absolutely love this design for him. I would love to see more creative ways to have him in that classic Legend of Zelda green like this. The classic green tunic and cap is lovely, I think spicing the look up like this though is great (I consider the Tunic of the Wild to be BotW's green tunic only, even though it appears in this game as well.)

Wild Era Link himself just has my favorite design out of the Links—not even limiting him to the Archaic Set. I'm talking about the base man. He rocks.

#2 goes to Skyward Sword Link

Skyward Sword Link has what I consider the best traditional Legend of Zelda green tunic design (emphasis on traditional cause Archaic Set my beloved), especially in the artwork. I also like his hair, not as much as the Wild Era Link's hairstyles but The Hero of the Skies has nice hair too.

#3 goes to A Link Between Worlds Link (and technically Triforce Heroes but that game has a different artstyle so I'm not counting it as the same design even though it is the same Link)

It's a very "classic 2D Zelda" look—being very reminiscent of Link from most of the 2D titles from before 2002, but I just think that this specific look does the concept presented by Zelda 1, Adventure of Link, ALttP, the Oracle games, etc better. A big part of it is Ravio's Bracelet, the general artstyle of the game, and his painting form he takes. That wall merge mechanic is fantastic.

Zelda-

#1 goes to Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom Zelda (but more so Tears of the Kingdom's Zelda)

Yet another win for the Wild Era. I don't know who came up with the general look and design for this incarnation of Link and Zelda but fuck, they deserve the world. All of the outfits that Zelda wears in these games are great, and I think the short-hair look works wonderfully for her as well.

#2 goes to Twilight Princess Zelda

Despite my criticisms of TP Zelda's character (or lack thereof, if this was about character writing she would NOT make top 3. Go girl give us nothing!!), her design fucking slays. The colors, the intricate patterns and details, her rapier. Definitely deserves top 3.

#3 goes to Skyward Sword Zelda

I could go on for a while about this Zelda's character and her role with the people of Skyloft and Link and Goddess Hylia and how fascinating it all is...but this is about designs so that will have to be saved for another day. Although her two outfits are heavily tied into her character and how she sees herself: Zelda, inhabitant of Skyloft vs Zelda, Hylia Reincarnated and how she has to sacrifice who she is when forced into the role she plays in a conflict spanning millennia. I really want to make a post about her character in Skyward Sword. Maybe that'll happen one day.

Ganondorf-

#1 goes to Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Yeah, none of you should be surprised. They cooked unbelievably hard with the character designs in the Wild Era games. Link, Zelda, Ganondorf all look FANTASTIC. Hell even his rotted corpse look is great (and I wish we saw more of it; Lich King Ganondorf as a concept sounds so good)

#2 goes to Wind Waker Ganondorf

Best written Ganondorf from the best Zelda game, and before TotK he was the best Ganondorf design as well! I don't have a single negative thing to say about Wind Waker Ganondorf's design really. I think the colors are great, the details serving as nods to the Helmaroc King are cool, he duel wields swords as well. After getting sealed away in Ocarina of Time, he really stepped up his fashion game.

and finally, #3 goes to Twilight Princess Ganondorf

He looks cool. The scar in the middle of his torso from the failed execution at the Arbiter's Grounds (and then him wielding the weapon that The Sages failed to kill him with) is a detail I really like. That's cool as fuck. This design kind of feels like what was attempted in Ocarina of Time, just no where near as good.

But there you have it anon, my top 3 favorite designs for Link, Zelda, and Ganondorf.

[20dimensionsoftangerine]

Snippet one! This is a story where Canon Adaine somehow falls into a dimension where everyone's parents are... Alignment swapped? (Adaine, Kristen, and Fabian's families are very nice while Gorgug, Fig, and Riz's are less so)

(I have no idea where I was going with this scene so it just ends sorry!)

"I was thinking we should probably have some way to distiguish the two of us while you're here."

Adaine looked up from the book she'd been pouring over- an honestly badly written one about multiverse theory- to blink at her doppleganger sitting across from her.

The other Adaine was giving her a tentitive smile, the book on her own lap open but ignored for the moment. She was wearing comfortable, bright clothes but they were of much finer quality than anything Adaine had.

Adaine, huffed and turned back to her book. "What? You want one of us to dye our hair or something? I already have my jacket and a completely different outfit. We don't need more than that." She wasn't going to stick around long enough that she was going to have to change clothes. Hopefully

."Oh, no, not visually," the other one clarified, "I meant more our names. I can't keep thinking of you as 'other Adaine' that won't be fair."

Adaine grunted in acknowledgment but didn't contribute any kind of suggestion. She was fine thinking of this other her as... the other.

"I think I should be Adaine," the doppleganger continued, "and you can Odaine."

That did get Adaine to look back up, squinting suspciously at the hopefully smiling girl. "Odaine? Why?"

The other girl tapped her fingers in a nervous pattern Adaine was intimately familiar with as her smile grew nervous. "Well, because I'm Adaine Abernant and you're Adaine O'Shaunessy. It makes sense doesn't it?"

"No," Adaine instantly shot the idea down, focusing back on the book, "I'll just stick with my name, thanks."

"Oh," the girl sounded dissapointed. Adaine tried not to care about it. "Okay, I can just go by Addy then? While you're here? It's a nickname Aelwyn used to call me when we were little."

Every word Addy said felt like daggers to Adaine but she tried not to show it as she nodded. "That works."

There was a few minutes of blissful silence that Adaine used to read as much as she could. Multi-verse theory was rocky at best and had never actually been proven before. The book was only slightly better than useless.

"I'm sorry," Addy spoke up again, causing Adaine's eyes to flick up to her once more. They were in this girl's room. A room that had an identical layout to Adaine's old one but besides that was so far different it was almost comical. Instead of blank walls and sparce possesions the place was filled with things like fairy lights and posters and a terrariam and so many other things Adaine had in her current bedroom. Seeing her new life overlayed over her old one like this was making her nauseous. "Have I done something to upset you? I mean, obviously you have to right to be upset since you got thrown out of your universe for who knows what reason but you just seem to be... mad. At me. In particular."

Hells, were Adaine's eyes also that big and bright? It looked like Addy was staring straight through to her soul.

Or were Adaine's eyes duller? Tainted by something this version of herself had never had to experience.

"No," Adaine tried to say as sincearly as she could. Because the other girl really hadn't done anything wrong. "You're fine. I'm just stressed. And would really like to get home as quickly as possible."

"We've been at this for hours. Would you like to take a break?" Addy offered, "I can have father fetch us some tea if you'd like."

Adaine could not stop the shudder that ran through her body. "No. Thank you. I'm good."

Addy sighed and closed her own book before standing up and leaving the room entirely. Adaine tried not to let that worry her and tried to ignore the hauntingly familiar voices floating up from downstairs as she read more. Jumping to another dimension didn't actually seem that difficult, all things concidered. It was just about finding one that wouldn't instantly kill you. Or finding the very specific one you needed to get back to. That seemed next to impossible.

So engrossed did she get in the studying that Adaine almost jumped when Addy returned to the room some time later, two steaming cups in hand. "Five minute break," Addy said authoritivly, "it'll make the research go by easier in general."

"I'm fine," Adaine insisted as the other girl layed the cups on her desk. Not even using a coaster.

Addy gave her a very meaningful look, though it was more directed at Adaine's side. She glanced down and realized her finger nails of her left hand was digging into her knee to the point both her hand and leg were beginning to ache. Embarrassed, Adaine quickly shook her arm out and forced herself to relax.

Addy smirked knowlingly as she placed sugar cubes into the tea cups. "I have an anxiety disorder too, you know. I know how easy it is to get lost in research. Especially when it's something this important."

Adaine swallowed thickly and forced herself to close the book, staring at her own hands to avoid looking at the room around her or the other girl. "Why?"

"Hmm? Why what?" Addy asked, handing Adaine a cup that she almost mechanically drank from. It was overly sweet. Just like Adaine liked it.

"Why do you have an anxiety disorder?"

Addy blinked as she sank back into a cross legged position across from Adaine. "Genetics? I suppose? Father said he struggled with something similar in his youth but that was before they even had a name for it."

That was almost funny, Adaine thought as she stared dully into her swirling tea. Had her Angwyn gotten anxious? Was that why he hated the weakness so much in her? Or was that a difference between their two realities? Not a similarity.

"You're parents were cruel to you, weren't they?"

Adaine's head snapped up to stare at Addy who was looking at her with something that wasn't quite pity but was very clearly worry. "How do you know that?"

Addy's ears burned pink and it was now her turn to avoid eye contact. "I'm not stupid!" She said it like a reflex. "I know I... I know I'm naive and sheltered more than most but I'm not stupid. You... you have the same look. That look Gorgug gets when he has to think about it. And you're mad at me. The way Fig gets mad when she's jelouse and doesn't want to be." She squeezed her own cup in her hands and tentitivly looked up at Adaine. "Your parents were cruel to you. And because they're reflections of my parents being here is upsetting you. That's... right? Isn't it?"

Adaine took a deep breath, just like Jawbone taught her, held it for five, and was relieved that the exhale didn't stutter. "Who told you you were stupid?"

Addy opened her mouth like she was about to answer before closing it again with a thoughtful frown. "You're changing the subject."

Adaine rolled her eyes. "Yes, alright. My parents were horrible vile excuses for people. This house burnt down and I didn't even care if anyone was inside." She waved her hand vaugly through the air before letting it drop onto her lap. "I don't see how that's relevant though."

"If you're uncomfortable here we can leave," Addy offered. She didn't seem offended so that was something at least. Adaine had been worried her clear hatred for their surroundings would be rude to her temporary host. "There's always... uh... well, this is kind of the 'hang out' spot if I'm being honest. Kristen's place is a little crowded with her brothers, Riz's phyisically kind of small, and Fabian still won't tell me why he doesn't want anyone over at his place even though his parents have invited us multiple times."

"What about..." Adaine almost dared not ask, was trying not to think about the differences from this world and her own, but the question nagged at her and she didn't think it would just leave her alone. "Mordred?"

Addy let out a startled laugh before cutting herself off, her eyes wide. "Mordred Manor? Is... is that where you live?"

Adaine frowned but tried not to let the reaction get to her. It would make sense if her home was run down in this reality, it had been for a long time in hers after all. "Yeah my dad bought it and fixed it up. Uh, my new dad. I'm adopted."

"I know, I'm not stupid," Addy repeated, though there was an almost teasing smile on her face, "your last name is the same as Tracker's. Unless things are crazy different where you're from I kinda assumed her dad adopted you too."

"Does she call Jawbone her dad here?" Adaine ideally wondered.

Addy almost choked on her tea. "J-Jawbone? What do you... are you saying Jawbone adopted you? The werewolf?"

[chaifootsteps]

Armchair Psychology Anon here (not a real Psych just seeing patterns)

I uh... hmm.

So Lilith/Eve is the true villian, wanting to destroy the relationship of Charlie and Lucifer?

Of course it is. (If true).

And her liking these tweets of Luci x Lilith lately makes a whole lot more sense. The fans are most likely not going to take this well if this leak is true. Also, it makes sense that her trading card crops out her face, gives her no last name, and makes her look sinister as hell. She also still has not yet had her VA revealed and no real good look at her.

I just... it's interesting as well that Alastor is secretly sent to protect Charlie. (Male character, too, of course. And seeing someone say he's also a father figure now makes sense as well.) I always liked the idea that he was secretly going to turn on the Hotel and Charlie (or just leaves) and be an obvious hidden antagonist. And it's interesting that Charlie DOES end up forgiving her. Viv mentioned spending time with her mom over the holiday, so it's clear that perhaps that they do have some sort of civil relationship at the very least.

And of course, the Root of Evil is a woman.

Chai, I say this as nicely as possible, especially after carefully analyzing and seeing the complaints of HB as a whole, and that recent interview with Brandon asking about how women are written, and about Ghostfuckers (whilst also knowing about the leaks of it). Also likes silly tweets about being depressed, and most of her main cast of Helluva consists of depressed characters. Especially Stolas (who is also rich, and Vuv defends like crazy (He's her self insert/her father rolled into one character). That one is not too hard to see. Most people are depressed these days (myself included).

Vivienne needs therapy.

She needs it if she hasn't already been getting it.

I understand that writing out trauma is therapeutic. I have author friends who do it. I do it myself. But I also see my own therapist every week.

She clearly hates women. She loves her own father and incorporates loving father/daughter relationships into her own work and clearly does not let anything get in the way of that.

That's why the main character is allowed to be woman. Because it's Viv and the relationship with her own father. Charlie is also bi... which Viv is apparently too.

Something else I've noticed is older bad dads.

Which is ironic because God punishes Lucifer (his son) and Luci wants to be good for Charlie.

I think it's quite possible that maybe her grandfather was not as kind to her father, as her father is to her. See Crimson to Moxxie (it can be assumed Moxxie wants children and would be a loving father). See Paimon to Stolas, and Cash to Blitzo.

But then, going down the line of the newer fathers being better to their daughters. Stolas tries with Octavia (doesn't try very well), Blitz REALLY tries with Loona, Millie's dad seems to have a healthy relationship with her. Perhaps her father has shared with her that his relationship with his dad wasn't great and that he wanted to be a better father to her and her sisters. And whatever her mother did to her/her father...yikes.

Her latest IG post also does mention being depressed about "plans changing" and that food from her dad helps.

I just... wow. Viv can be so easily read. She really doesn't leave anything hidden. And she can't stop herself from writing out her truth.

And that's not going to go over with the fans or public at all, I'm sure of it.

It is also interesting to have a male voicing Katie Killjoy. Hmm. Not that I have a problem with men voicing women, but when it comes to Viv... I don't have a good feeling about it. I've also noticed Brandon seeming a bit miserable in his IG posts and his HH ones don't seem very excited either.

I think his declining views on his own channel other than the 2 HB ones say a lot. Especially when he's clearly trying to placate Viv by saying he's "one of the worst writers of HB".

Chai... oof. I don't know what else to say. We'll just see what comes next.

Thank you for all of this, Armchair Psychology Anon. Your writeups are always fascinating to read, in a haunting sort of way.

I don't know what's going on in Viv's personal life and family history, but all this is pointing to something that demands a really good therapist. Viv being an awful person doesn't negate that.

[otaku553]

omg pjsk fan?? whats your fav song (chart-wise) and fav character??? maybe fav band if you have one?

Piano forte scandal is the only one of these that I’ve full combo’d and I specifically enjoy it a lot because it’s a lot of very consistent tapping with minimal sliders and flicks I think. Honestly feel like it should be a 29 for now nice it is

Jinsei is just fun for some reason? The slow portion is almost always a combo killer but the fast tapping portions have some very nice satisfying patterns. Closest I’ve come to FCing is 2 misses I think

Invisible is difficult but it’s also a song I used to listen to a lot so some of the patterns just come intuitively with that lmao. Also the beginning part is fun.

I have sooooo many more favorites I’ve been a vocaloid fan since like,, middle school so I know a lot of the songs. But these are the ones I’m most actively trying to clear rn probably

Past this point I’m just going to be rambling so here we go:

I’m very bad at picking favorites but if I had to say favorite character, probably Rui? I can probably write an essay on it but I enjoy how his dynamic with the group has developed and how despite how he comes across at first as a crazy genius type he’s actually incredibly considerate of safety and his group’s wellbeing. He strikes an excellent middle ground between characters in excitement and the creativity born from that as well as rationality and knowing when to tone things down

And then for favorite band, I honestly Cannot Choose between wondershow and n25. Wondershow is excellently well-balanced and I can see clear dynamics and foils in pretty much every possible pairing or trio in the group, as well as in the group as a whole. They’re very good also at balancing humor and angst along with plenty of character development— I’ve heard people cite emu as a weak point in the group but honestly emu holds quite strong as her own character with the dreamers event and her ambitions/motivations and traumas!

And nightcord, though focusing really strongly on Mafuyu, is also pretty excellently written imo. It doesn’t seem like it at first I think with the main storyline and the sort of “oh no she’s going off to produce her own music because she wants to be alone” sort of thing and they sort of are a bit cheesy about their depiction of mafuyu’s depression at time but the events have really fleshed out her conflict very well. I think what gets me about nightcord is that their later depiction of the relationship between mafuyu and her mother is scarily realistic, all the way down to the manipulation tactics her mother uses against her to make her decisions seem like her own choice and not something her mother has railroaded her into. It’s the way that mafuyu’s mother seems to never do anything out of malice, but out of a genuine desire for her daughter to grow up successful and satisfied with her life, while her daughter never pushes back because she’s been conditioned to never do so since childhood, so her mother never gets that crucial feedback to stop pushing, eventually breaking mafuyu in the process.

Idk I wasn’t a big fan of their early writing for mafuyu but they’ve built her up to the point that she is scarily relatable in how she’s grown up to become lost and directionless and you just can’t help but root for their friend group and hope that the support system they’re building for mafuyu works out. I think that really is what project sekai’s writing excels in: making friend groups that have realistic dynamics and that act as strong support systems. It’s kind of therapeutic to watch them interact with each other and help each other out

[neewtmas]

Maybe You’re The Idiot

A/N: if I’m honest, I’m not really sure if I like this. it kind of feels all over the place, and I realised again that I’m not the best at writing enemies to lovers or kissing scenes lol if there are any typos, it’s bc it’s 5 am. @ the anon who requested, thank you so much, I hope you enjoy!

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 4.4k

request:  I love everything you’ve written, I often go back to reread and I can’t get enough! So thank you for your works <3 if you can and are willing I have this in mind: George karim x fem!reader who’s joined l&co for a bit but George still hasn’t warmed up to her and she’s trying to prove herself to them to the point of recklessness. Lockwood Lucy who have been playing mediators and peacemaker are fed up with their arguing, claiming they would get along very well if they actually tried. They set them up so they can resolve their rivalry (prob forced proximity with them having to team up for a small mission) but first time is a disaster and from that you’re free to ddo whatever you like - by anon

taglist: @maraschinomerry @marinalor @oblivious-idiot @thedonutdeliverygirl​ (if you wanna be added/removed, just send me an ask :))

masterlist

The house was silent. It was a heavy silence, definitely supernatural. The sun had gone down a few hours ago, and ever since then, darkness had crept stealthily into every room. In stark contrast to the eery atmosphere in the rest of the residence, the kitchen was like a small island of warmth and comfort amidst a sea of dark unknowns. In the centre of the kitchen table stood an oil lamp, its yellowy flame flickering. Any conversation had long since died down, and now it was just a waiting game. Y/N was tapping her fingers on the wooden surface in irregular patterns, glancing at her watch every few seconds. She was nervous about what the night would bring.

“Could you stop!” George snapped, glaring at her and she jumped, immediately taking her hands off the table. “God, you drive me crazy”, he muttered. Y/N straightened up. “What is your problem?”, she asked, exasperated. George had yet to say a single nice word to her, even after several weeks of them working together. If he wasn’t ignoring her entirely, it was all sarcastic remarks or snide comments about her abilities as an agent. She hated how he could make her feel so small and stupid by just looking at her. She got along just fine with Lockwood and Lucy and just wished that George would finally accept her. “I don’t have a problem”, George shot back, crossing his arms and looking at her provocatively. "But maybe you do." She was just about to throw some snarky comment back at him when Lockwood interrupted. "That's enough", he said sharply. "It's nearing midnight and we need to stay alert. Can't have you two squabbling in the background."

Y/N stayed close to Lucy as they left the kitchen a few minutes later, rapiers hanging from their belts, tool kits slung over their torsos. The old lady that hired them tonight had described how her grandchildren had started avoiding the living room, and how the youngest, still a toddler, had cried incessantly whenever anyone would bring him near. She hadn’t noticed anything, but that wasn’t unusual at her age. They had checked the entire house, but as expected, the living room was the only spot with any abnormal phenomena. Lucy had reported some distant whispering, and all of them had felt the heavy atmosphere.

George set down the duffle bag with the chains and went back to the kitchen. Y/N started unfurling the metal and laying it out in the space between in a circle.

“Why don’t you bang them around a bit louder, Y/N? I don’t think the neighbours three houses down heard you yet.”

She turned around swiftly at the sound of George’s mocking voice. “Why don’t you do it yourself then? If you know everything better?” She dropped the end of the chain she was holding and the sound echoed through the room. Lucy rolled her eyes. “Just leave her alone for once, George.”

The temperature had dropped significantly, and miasma was creeping up on everyone. Lucy handed out some chewing gum, and then they stood inside the iron circle, waiting for the apparition to manifest.

Just a few minutes after the old grandfather clock in the hallway had chimed midnight, Lucy reported an increase in the whispering and all four of them watched the corner she had located it in. Y/N had the best sight out of all of them, and so she was the first to make out the shape of a young man. "He's here", she whispered as the ghost drew nearer, feet submerged in the carpet, his outline getting clearer the closer he came. 

"He appeared right next to the cabinet. I bet the source is somewhere in there." "What does he look like?" Lockwood asked, sunglasses perched on his nose. "His death glow is suddenly really bright." 

Y/N studied the face of the ghost, a cold shiver running down her spine as she gazed into the black abyss that was once his eyes. "Early thirties maybe. He's wearing a suit, but no tie." 

"I don't get much from him", Lucy chimed in. "Just that he is angry." 

"I'll run over to the cabinet and secure the source", Y/N said and was about to step over the chains on the ground, when George grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her back so that she stumbled against him. "Have you lost your mind?", he hissed. "You have no idea if the source is even there!" She tried to shake off his arm and snapped at him. "Oh shut up, George. Do you have any better ideas?" "No, but that doesn't mean I just run out of a secured area without any preparation and precaution like an idiot -"

That was the last straw. Y/N yanked her arm out of his grip and leapt over the chains, rushing towards the cabinet. The ghost lurched in her direction and she made a few quick motions with her rapier, causing it to draw back. She sprinted over to the cabinet, dropped to her knees in front of it, and started tearing open the compartments. Behind her, a vase got picked up by the supernatural wind that surged through the room, crashed to the ground and shattered into a million pieces. 

Someone was yelling her name, and suddenly George was next to her, wildly swinging his rapier over her head. The last drawer was stuck and she pulled on it with every bit of strength she could muster, until suddenly it came loose, sending her flying back and right into George. He cursed loudly as he fell over. They were now sprawled on the ground, tangled together in a pile of limbs unable to move and suddenly the ghost of the young man was above them. His face was pulled into a horrific, grotesque display of pure wrath as he plummeted down on them. Y/N screamed and tried to pull out her rapier from underneath her in a last desperate attempt when from one moment to another, the ghost disappeared. 

The screaming wind died down immediately and all that stayed was a violent ringing in her ears as George untangled himself from her and stood up, dusting himself off. He did not offer her his hand, he didn't even give her so much as a single glance before he stomped out of the room. Lucy kneeled next to her, a crumpled-up silver net in her hand. "Are you okay, Y/N?" she asked, taking her hand and helping her up. Y/N nodded weakly. That could have gone terribly wrong. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The taxi ride home was awkward, to say the least. No one was saying a word, Lockwood looked out the window with his lips pressed together in a thin line the entire time, Y/N had her gaze lowered to her hands in her lap. She could tell Lockwood was angry. She looked over to George once, but when she found him already looking at her with an undefinable expression on his face, she quickly averted her eyes. The last thing she needed was another comment from George. 

Back in 35 Portland Row, Lockwood was pacing up and down in front of them in the kitchen, lips still pressed together, wringing his hands. The atmosphere was tense, no one dared to say a word in fear he would explode at even the slightest disturbance. Finally, he turned to George and Y/N, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I’ve had more than enough of your stupid, childish antics. You’re disrupting our work as a team and -”

“It wasn't my -” George quipped up, but Lockwood silenced him with a motion of his hand. “No! I don’t care! I don’t care whose fault it was or was not, I don’t care!” His voice got louder towards the end, clearly more than fed up. George seemed like he wanted to say something, but decided against it.

Lockwood continued, trying hard to keep his voice calm. “We are a team. And we need to be able to rely on each other, or else we all could end up dead. Do you understand that?”

Both George and Y/N nodded reluctantly, carefully avoiding even looking in each other's direction.

“Tonight was a disaster, and as much as I'd like to right now, I won’t fire either of you. You have two options: You learn to get along or you both quit. End of discussion.” Without another word, he left the kitchen, Lucy following him close behind.

Y/N and George sat on their respective chairs like two school children that just got scolded, Lockwood’s anger and what he had said still hanging heavy in the air.

George exhaled and broke the silence. “He’s right, you know? Maybe if you hadn’t been so stupid -” Y/N immediately jumped up, balling her fists. “Stupid? Me?” George also rose from his seat, making a few quick steps toward her and jabbing his finger into her chest. His eyes behind his glasses were narrowed as he spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes, stupid. You almost got yourself killed back there, Y/N. Killed. Do you understand what that means?”

For a moment she was overwhelmed by how close he was, but then she pushed him back by his shoulders and he stumbled. “Guess what George? I do! But it’s not like you’d care anyways, so why does it matter to you?”

She didn’t give him a chance to reply and stormed out of the kitchen. He stood there, hand raised and her name on his lips, but she was already gone.

The next morning, Y/N entered the kitchen and was surprised to see everyone already sitting at the table. Lockwood's expression was unreadable, Lucy was smiling in a way that made Y/N worried for what was to come, and George sat slouched on his chair and looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but here. "Sit down, Y/N", Lockwood said and pointed to the last empty chair right next to George. He huffed as Y/N dragged it over the floor to sit as far away from him as possible. "This is an intervention", Lockwood began as soon as she sat. Oh no. "This -" he gestured towards the space between George and Y/N, "can't go on. Tonight, you two go on a case. Together. Just the two of you." 

Y/N stared at him in disbelief, then buried her face in her hands with a sigh. He couldn't be serious. 

"Great idea Lockwood. She's probably gonna get us both killed", George scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back. "I don't care. If you gave each other a chance, I think you would get along just fine." 

Lucy leaned forward, a sly smile on her lips. "Actually, I think you'd get along very, very well." 

George scoffed louder, furrowing his brows. "I hope you're not implying what I think you're implying, Lucy." She smirked at him and shrugged. "That's for you to decide, George. Maybe you have some time to think about it tonight."

Y/N looked back and forth between them, and she could feel heat creep up her cheeks. What were they on about? What was Lucy implying?

After dinner, which was spent in tense silence, Lockwood and Lucy set off to their case of the night, leaving Y/n and George behind. This was the first time since Y/n had started working at Lockwood & Co that they were alone. They left the house and climbed into the cab that was waiting at the corner. LISA stared out of the window and watched the rows of houses pass by in the dusk. Many had brightly lit windows and she caught some glimpses of the people that lived there - someone cooking dinner, another person dancing through their living room - and she felt a sense of profound sadness wash over her. When she stepped into 35 Portland Row for the first time, she felt at home immediately. After some rather unpleasant experiences in other smaller agencies, she had been apprehensive about even applying, but it was her last viable option. Lucy and Lockwood had made her feel welcome immediately, and George... well George, after ignoring her for a while, became less welcoming by the day. Lucy had warned her that he could be somewhat stand-offish, but that he would warm up to her quickly, even reassuring her that he'd been the same with her. But he hadn't warmed up at all. She had no idea what she did to make him feel that way, but by now it was glaringly obvious that he could not stand her. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

When they arrived at their destination, a somewhat run-down apartment building, George grabbed their bag, jumped out of the cab and sped-walked to the entrance, not looking behind him to check if Y/N was following him. For a second she contemplated just telling the cabdriver to take her back to Portland Row, but then she decided against it. No reason to make George hate her even more. 

They entered the elevator, which had seen better days, and stood silently as it made its way up. Y/N stared at her ectoplasm-stained boots in the blotchy mirror, and when she raised her head, she caught George looking at her through the reflection, but he quickly looked away. That was something he did a lot. He never talked to her except with snide comments when she did something he deemed stupid, but she lost count of how often she had caught him looking at her. It made her feel self-conscious in the worst way.

The elevator dinged and they stepped out onto a dimly lit hallway, the few lamps on the ceiling flickering ominously. "Apartment 386", George said curtly and turned to the left. Y/N stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket and threw a glance at the hallway behind her before she quickly followed him. He maybe wasn't very pleasant company, but at least she felt safer than if she were alone. 

He didn't wait for her to catch up before he knocked at the door of apartment 386. Just when she came to a halt next to him, the door opened and revealed a small, elderly woman. She smiled brightly as she saw their rapiers and the bag George was carrying. "You must be Lockwood & Co" she exclaimed and opened the door wider. "Come in! I prepared some tea." Y/N looked over to George, who glanced at her and then followed the woman into her apartment. 

It was decorated exactly in the way one would imagine an old lady decorating her living space. Lots of floral patterns, old furniture, and everything looking somewhat dated. On a dresser in the living room stood several picture frames that showed the woman with what was either her son or her daughter, their spouse and two small children that smiled happily into the camera. 

On the dark wooden table in the kitchen, the woman had prepared a steaming kettle of tea, several cups and a heaping plate of biscuits. She gestured to the chairs and scurried back into the kitchen. "Please sit down", she called and when she came back, she was holding a little porcelain box that she put down on the table. "I'm Violet", she introduced herself, smiling. She seemed elated at the thought of Y/N and George keeping her company. 

"So you're Lockwood?" she asked George after he reluctantly sat down on one of the chairs, the pink rose pattern of the upholstery clashing horribly with the orange of his jacket. He opened his mouth but had no chance to get even a single word in because Violet just kept talking. 

"And the delightful young lady?" She set a cup of steaming tea in front of Y/N. "Is that your girlfriend? That's just lovely. You know, I find it horrible that you young folks have to risk your lives every day, it's nice to see that you make the best of it. My grandson is part of an agency as well. Not as small as yours, but also not one of the big ones. Sometimes I don't know what to think of that, but -"

Violet kept talking as she gave George his cup of tea, but Y/N wasn't listening anymore. She was still hung up on what she said about her. George's girlfriend? How did she come to that conclusion? And why did the idea of that not seem that bad? Suddenly she felt hot. She shook her head, trying to fight off these thoughts and get back to the issue at hand. 

When Violet finally stopped talking to take a sip from her tea, George asked quickly: "So, why did you call our agency? What is the problem?" 

"Didn't I already tell you over the telephone?" Violet asked, confused. 

"No, that was Lockwood, our employer." Y/N couldn't help but notice that George corrected her on her assumption that he was Lockwood, but not on the one where she called her his girlfriend. 

"Well, for quite some time I've been hearing scratching in my walls. And sometimes this horrible screaming." She shivered, clearly distraught at the thought. "Wait, you've been hearing it?", Y/N asked. That was impossible. Violet nodded eagerly. "Yes! Almost every night. I've lost so much sleep over this, you wouldn't believe it."

George took off his glasses, polished them on his sweater and put them back on. "Violet... does any of your neighbours have a cat? Or maybe a ferret? Or anything of the sort?" She looked at him, confused. "I think Ms. Fernsby two apartments down has a cat. Why is that important?"

George pinched his nose and took a deep breath, and Y/N could tell that he was trying to hold himself together. "Because whatever you are hearing at night, I can tell you with absolute certainty it's not a ghost. If I were you, I'd call animal control. I believe you've got a cat in your walls."

It took quite some time to convince Violet that the scratching she heard was indeed no malevolent ghost, but probably just the neighbour's cat and to get her to stop trying to offer them one cup of tea after the other. 

When they finally stood in front of the apartment building again, the street was deserted and dark. George had called a cab to bring them back home, and now they waited, leaning against the building wall. Every few minutes, the ghost lamps turned on, bathing their surroundings in cold, green light. 

It was a clear night, no clouds obscuring the stars. Y/N leaned her head back, watching the dark sky. She had her jacket pulled tightly around her body, trying to protect herself from the chilly air. In her peripheral, she could see George fiddle with the zipper of his jacket, glancing over at her every now and then. She wanted to say something, anything, but it felt like her throat constricted every time she opened her mouth. Just then, the cab pulled up and George jumped, grabbing the bag and rushing towards it. 

Twenty minutes later, they stood in front of 35 Portland Row, the backlights of the cab disappearing down the street. George pushed open the wonky gate and climbed up the stairs, setting down the duffel bag with a heavy thud. He started rummaging through his pockets. Y/N watched him check every pocket twice before he turned to her. "Do you have a key?" he asked, and she shook her head. "I thought you had one." 

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Of course you did." 

She stood straighter, crossing her arms in front of her. Anger was bubbling up inside of her chest and she had to use every ounce of self-control she had to not scream at him. 

"What is your problem, George? It's not like you brought one! Why do you have to criticise every single thing I do? Why the hell do you act like I'm the stupidest person on earth?"

George threw his hands up, exasperated. "Because you are, Y/N! You are reckless, you have no regard for your safety, and I -"

Before he could end his sentence, the door in front of them got ripped open and Lockwood stood in the frame, raising his eyebrows. "I can't believe it. I send you on a case in hopes you finally get along and what happens? You start fighting right in front of my house!"

George scowled, picking up the bag and walking into the hallway, pushing past Lockwood. "The case was a joke. What did this woman tell you on the telephone? Something about screaming in her wall maybe? Because guess what, that's not a ghost, that's just a bloody cat. And thanks to that I just had to waste an entire evening with her." 

He dropped the bag next to the kitchen entrance and stomped up the stairs. Seconds later, the sound of a door slamming echoed through the house and Lockwood chuckled. "Oh, he's in a bad mood." 

The next few days, George ignored Y/N. Whenever she entered a room he was in, it wouldn't take long for him to leave. If he came into the kitchen and saw her sitting at the table, he would turn around on his heels and leave. At meal times, he acted as if she wasn't even there. And even though Y/N didn't want to admit it, it was starting to eat away at her. 

Three days after the disaster that was their solo case, she came downstairs from her room to get herself a cup of tea. She was about to push open the door, but when she heard the voices of Lucy and George in the kitchen, her hand stopped in mid-air, hovering over the handle.

"She is driving me crazy!" That was George. He sounded exasperated, and she could exactly imagine how he looked right now, hands thrown in the air, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. 

"But why? She's not doing anything. You're just being unfair to her at this point."

"She's just so reckless! She doesn't care for herself and her safety! She's just another Lockwood!" It was silent for a while. "Are you sure that you're not just... worried about her?", Lucy asked softly. "Because you actually do care?"

Y/N leaned closer to the door, her heartbeat quickening. What would George say? "What are you doing there?" Lockwood's voice sounded from behind her and she yelped, losing her balance and pushing the door open. Lucy whipped around and both she and George stared at Y/N, wide-eyed. "I - I didn't mean to -" She was searching for words desperately, her face hot with embarrassment. 

Lucy rose from her seat. "I think you two need to talk", she said, slipping past Y/N and pushing her further into the kitchen. Before she closed the door, she stuck her head in and looked back and forth between them. "You are not leaving until you have talked this out, got it?"

After the door closed, Y/N stood there, nervously shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She was entirely overwhelmed by the situation. 

George was looking everywhere but at her. "What did you hear?", he finally asked. "Not much. Just that I drive you crazy." 

"Yeah, you do! Of course you do. It's annoying enough to have one reckless person in the team, but two is just -", he was searching for words. "I can't be the only one with common sense here!"

Y/N huffed. "How would you know if I have common sense or not? Until now, you've either ignored or insulted me!"

George jumped up, his chair scraping over the floor. "Someone with common sense doesn't throw themselves in front of every single visitor they come across! Without any thought!" 

Y/N made a step forward, that familiar anger stirring inside her. 

"Maybe I wouldn't have to do this if you didn't take every single chance you get to paint me as an incompetent agent! Maybe I wouldn't have to do this if you just accepted me as part of the team like you did with Lucy! What is different about me, huh? Am I really that horrible that you want to bully me out of here? What did I ever do to you?!" 

Y/N had talked herself into a rage, so much so that she was yelling in George's face by the end of it. She hadn't even noticed that she had moved closer to him during her tirade until he gripped her shoulders, making her stop in her tracks.

"Look at me. You drive me crazy, okay?!" His voice was low, and under the sudden intensity of his gaze, all of Y/N's anger melted away and got quickly replaced by a fluster. "I don't know how to handle this, I don't know how to handle you. You just turn up on our doorstep one day, and suddenly, I don't know what to do with myself anymore. Suddenly, I start behaving like an absolute idiot whenever you are around. And then you start throwing yourself in life-threatening situations like an idiot -"

Without thinking, Y/N reached forward, cupped his face with her hands and pulled him in for a kiss. The moment their lips met, he went rigid, and she almost pulled away, the horrible fear of having misread the situation entirely washing over her. But then he seemed to realise what was happening. His hands slid down her arms until they gripped her waist and he pulled her closer to him. Without breaking the kiss, he walked her back a few steps until she collided with the counter. Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, roaming over her back, down to her hips, back to her waist. He was kissing her with such fervour, but at the same time with such gentleness that it was making her feel dizzy. She buried her hands in his curls, eliciting a small gasp from him. She pulled back with a smile, and he looked at her, eyes glazed over, lips puffy from her kisses. 

"Maybe you are the idiot, George."

thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

wanna request something?

[indelen]

This is my reread of the Lockwood and Co. Books, organized by @blue-boxes-magic-and-tea , I'll make a general summary of several chapters and then post bits and pieces that jumped out at me.

Part IV, Chapter 22

This chapter are all action and it’s where the trio really come together and work well as a team which, after so many hiccups and spats and disagreements is really nice to see. The one thing you broadly notice throughout this book but especially in these chapters is that for all his flaws Lockwood is the first to enter any danger. He’s the first to go down the secret passage, the first to go through the crack in the wall, first to enter any danger basically. This is not presented as something he does to the point of recklessness … yet. At the same time the first hints of conflict between Lucy and Lockwood are introduced. It’s here that Lucy first vocalizes her frustration with how closed off Lockwood is and how uncommunicative about his plans. George is more used to Lockwood's antics but as the chapter goes on even he has had it. And the way it's written sets things up for the next book, but also shows that Lockwood is not doing it consciously or out of distrust. His intense resolve, the ability to shut down any emotional response and put on a calm facade, are all so automatic it’s obviously second nature to him. Even after they all escape the terrifying room of blood his calm doesn't crack. When they’re held at gunpoint it doesn't crack. And we’re left wondering how he got this way and what will it take to break through that facade.

Odds and Ends:

Dozens of deaths in one room. Dozens. This is a murder room. People got locked in here before. Lots of people. One guy dies in a room is sad. Two is bad luck. Anything over three is a pattern. When you get to the double digits someone has figured out how to make use of some very angry ghosts to get rid of some very disliked guests. People got Cask of Amontillado-ed here. It’s why the apparitions manifest as they do, a sea of blood that floods every inch of the place. The Red Room is a condensed version of The Problem itself - it’s a supernatural phenomenon greedy assholes use to kill and manipulate the situation in their favor. To murder people, to control people and look innocent doing it.

Lucy is obviously a once in a generation Listener, that much is certain because we have a very specific measurement by which we can go by - she can talk to Type 3s - but Lockwood’s Talent is also extraordinarily powerful. Like Lucy's, it’s powerful enough to be debilitating. It's powerful enough to pick up on deaths of small, non-self-aware beings (RIP Little Vole of Sheen Rd.). Lockwood’s Sight also bleeds into Smell (like Lucy’s Listening bleeds into Touch). I'd argue, Lockwood is on par with Lucy in terms of Talent. But his is all factual, while her’s is way more emotional and empathetic. In a way they were always going to be two of a pair.

Lockwood blames himself here, as he is often want to do, but it was a fairly natural and logical to assume they would be alone in this part of the house. He had no way of knowing adults have a way to protect themselves from the supernatural because they made sure he and other kids didn’t know this.

I love how Lucy and George’s friendship develops in this book into a “each one gives as good as they get” dynamic. If there’s a snipe volleyed in one direction another gets sent right back in equal measure.

I don’t have a comment here I just think this is a hilarious passage and it doesn't get it’s laurels enough. I love George but he must be a lot to live with day to day.

No listen, the trust and faith Lockwood has in Lucy is so unwavering. From the beginning and despite everything. Stroud said that Lockwood on some level knew he was in love with Lucy from the moment he saves her at the well and I like that over “love at first sight” because it means that he had, from the first and no matter what feelings developed later, respected Lucy personally and professionally in a way no one else ever did.

The fact that Lucy had to save herself by jumping out of a window during the Mill case, and now, it’s six months later and she’s preparing, fully preparing to jump again and she knows it’s probably to her death. And she suppresses all of this, she barely talks about it to the reader or to anyone else in universe, because dwelling on it, going over it, especially at times like these would render her catatonic.

Ok so I think Lockwood is projecting here. This foreshadows The Room in Portland Row a bit, or more specifically explains how Lockwood feels about it and why he has such difficulty talking to people about it. Jessica’s Room is a place of intense supernatural aura tied to a traumatic event. And the traumatic event for him was so all consuming that I think he stopped seeing The Room as part of the house at all. It’s a place suspended in time, removed from the rest of the building by iron bars and wards and memory and grief. Life moved on around it, an agency was formed, new people moved in, time passed everywhere but in there. And Lockwood haunts the space. He’s the only one who can enter it. He is it’s only Visitor. Jessica never returned to the place where she died. It’s Lockwood that haunts it.

See this is the nice thing about George, you call him out on something and he’ll own to it. My emotionally aware king!

No mention of Lockwood's smiles this time around so the counter is still at 9. I'm going to end on this all round favorite though:

[princess-of-the-corner]

Glad you liked the submission, as I have more on the Aware of Abuse AU!

I think it would be really interesting to reflect on how this situation would be kind of a drawn out grapple for Marinette. This is in no way salt and I think if it was written she'd both warrant having hear grievances hear, but also could definitely come off as a bit antagonistic, or at least wary.

(Exactly how hostile she defaulted to with Chloe tended to oscillate episode to episode so ya know how it be)

Marinette would have the easiest time getting close with Kagami. She has no history like with Chloe & no baggage, IE friendship with Chloe, like Adrien. Tomoe is not someone Marinette admires and its much easier to see abuse in the physicals side. While she'd struggle to see it more in the verbal or negligence side; or otherwise be able to rationalize the negative behaviors such as over protectiveness.

Meanwhile Adrien would be tied a lot closer to Chloe going into school as she'd be being less overtly antagonistic or vain. Plus, they'd have a much stronger "We need each other to keep from falling back into old patterns and to survive" mentality.

Plus Adrien would be a bit more overtly snarky and less respectful to authority or stuff like Gabriel's fashion shows. He still is very nice and super wants to be liked by everyone all the time, but it'd be a lot easier for her to see the negatives in his behavior.

Chloe meanwhile would probably rankle and outright frustrate her the most. Not just because she'd still be hard to get along with in general, or because she still is not against ignoring rules or disrespecting authority figures. But because...

No clue what your religious views may or may not be, but have you heard those talks of "Catholic guilt" and the idea of needing to suffer, do penance, ETC before one can be redeemed?

Marinette wouldn't strictly think or want that, but there would be a part of her that would sort of... Well resent that Chloe is seemingly just choosing to change and not even necessarily enough.

That is to say, Chloe might still rudely reject Sabrina's cookies out of hand but then instantly walk it back and have some.

But more in that she's suffered no defeat, she's not been taken from her previous luxurious circumstances, she hasn't seemingly lost anything and even more she'd not even be overtly contrite.

That is to say, Chloe wouldn't be doing stuff akin to the Lady Luck AU (Nothing against it, great fic!) where she'd frequently reflect on how much of a 'fuck up' she was. Or or say stuff like, "I know I was a bitch but I am trying to be better". Or feel guilt in the "I can't even be mad they assume the worst of me cos I probably would have done X."

She's just choosing to be different and on some level its deeply unsatisfying and even frustrating.

(Where is the arc, the climax, the catharsis!?)

Especially if some people roll with it or let her get away with it when she starts falling into old habits.

Marinette doesn't want Chloe to suffer or beg forgiveness or hate herself she doesn't. She just doesn't understand why now? Why at all? Why because of her friend? Why because of how she was treated and not how she treated others?

Why couldn't she care enough about hurting Marinette to change!?

That I think would be the lynch-pin and one that is, from Marinette's perspective, as well as others in and out of universe entirely sympathetic, she was hurt after all.

But in that same vain Chloe's an abused child lashing out due to trauma and taught such terrible lessons she sometimes couldn't process that she wasn't doing 'right'.

Marinette's been hurt, and that would need to be properly addressed. But it wouldn't need to happen in a self recriminating manner necessarily.

Not that I don't love those, self hating characters rife with issues are fun to explore. It is just that I think it'd be interesting to explore both, changing as a person, and a "Bad" victim getting help before they actually even start processing over much how others might warrant reoperations.

Does that make sense?

The story "restorative Justice" sort of dips into this from a different middle ground angle and most stuff by Generalluxun often have elements of it too.

Oh yeah no it's.

Marinette doesn't understand why Chloé is Like That™ in the first place, so she can't fathom her wanting to change.

From Mari's perspective, Chloé's life is pretty perfect. She's beautiful, she's rich. She can do whatever she wants whenever she wants and always gets her way through money or influence. She's always bragging about how she's so much better than everyone. Clearly her parents must adore her because they spoil her with gifts and never tell her 'no'. Any 'hardships' are just minor inconveniences that Chloé brought upon herself by being mean.

So why would Chloé choose to change? If it's not broke, don't fix it. Chloé's life is Perfect™, why would she do something to make it different?

It's not that she wants Chloé to suffer, or thinks that she /should/ suffer. She just doesn't understand why someone with a Perfect Life™ would change without going through some kind of suffering that forces introspection.

[peachdoxie]

Wind and Truth chapters 3 & 4 thoughts!

The Wind told me, before she vanished, that it was the change in Odium’s vessel that restored her voice. I wonder. Perhaps it is the new storm, making people begin to reconsider that the wind is not their enemy.

Hmm. This seems to imply that the in-world Knights of Wind and Truth was written after the events of Wind and Truth, or at least after Words of Radiance.

Strength could be a matter of perception sometimes. And today Shallan found she could choose strength.

Jasnah's words still echoing within Shallan, nice.

Maya was obviously paying attention. She wasn’t completely healed—her eyes were scratched out and her coloring was a wan brown instead of vibrant green like others of her kind—but she was getting better. She no longer wandered off or just stared blankly during conversations. She was also starting to talk more and more.

Yay!

“Some of us learned you could capture spren in gemstones,” he explained. “And Mishram—for all her power—is a spren. The Radiants prepared a flawless heliodor the color of sunlight, and they trapped her inside, then hid her prison. Not in the Physical Realm, and not in Shadesmar.” He bit his lip, then forced out another part. “In the Spiritual Realm. Melishi hid it there.”

Well, that probably explains Dalinar and Navani's adventure into the Spiritual Realm as mentioned in the blurb.

His pattern slowed, then finally he laced his fingers together. “Very well. Though, you know when I said I was sure you wouldn’t get me killed?” “Yes?” “I should like,” he declared, “to make a retraction.”

I fucking love Pattern.

I have read that in the ancient days, the Wind often spoke to both human and singer. It would then mean that the Wind stopped talking not because of Odium, but because of people who began to fear her… Or to worship the Storm instead.

Fascinating ancient Roshar lore

“Ah, Wema,” Wit mumbled, turning the page. “You’ve finally noticed what a catch Vadam is? Let’s see how you screw it up.”

LMAO Wit is reading An Accountability of Virtue from Oathbringer? Also looking up the title of the book makes the context of Wit's rant about virtue even more interesting. Also: fuck you Sanderson for apparently setting this moment up some one million words ago.

“Give it a try. It has the same fingerings as the one you lost and recovered, though not the same… capacity.”

Wit suggesting that the flute is abnormal in some way

“Long ago,” Wit said softly, “that rhythm guided humans across the void from one planet to the other. They followed it to reach your world.”

Interesting....

“The wind,” Kaladin guessed. “The wind was listening.” ... “When this world was created,” Wit said, “long before Honor, Cultivation, or Odium arrived, Adonalsium left something behind on it. Sometimes it’s called the Old Magic. Sometimes that term is applied to the Nightwatcher, who came—with Cultivation’s efforts—from one of those ancient spren. Listen to the Wind when it speaks, Kaladin. It’s weaker than it once was, but it has seen so very much.”

FASCINATING ancient Roshar lore

“Because this is the journey, Kaladin,” Wit said softly. “The last part of it. Listen to me: I want you to practice with that flute until you make the sound return to you. Because that will mean Roshar is listening.”

This feels very ominous to me and I'm scared

He raised his finger at that last word, and angerspren burst around his feet, like pools of boiling blood, as if on cue.

Has Wit ever drawn spren before? I can't remember.

He glanced at Syl. “This is where Jasnah is wrong about hope, smart though she is in so many ways. If hope doesn’t mean anything to you when you lose, then it wasn’t ever a virtue in the first place. It took me a long time to learn that, and I finally did so from the writings of a man who lost every belief he thought he had, then started over new.” “Sounds like someone wise,” Syl said. “Oh, Sazed is among the best. Hope I get to meet him someday.”

SAZED NAME DROP!!!!!!!

“That’s it, eh?” Wit said. “Just you becoming your world’s first therapist.” Kaladin glanced at Syl, who shook her head. “We have no idea what that is, Wit.”

Lmao

Kaladin felt a chill. “I’m… never going to see you again, am I, Wit?”

I REALLY do not like this. It's so ominous. What's gonna happen to Kaladin?

[alexanderwales]

Adversarial Reading

I think my least favorite type of reader is the reader who thinks I'm trying to get something over on them. They're watching out for my tricks, and they want to call me on my bullshit.

I think it would be more tolerable if they weren't wrong so often. The comments they leave make assumptions about where the plot is going or what my writing process is, and because adversarial readers cannot read my mind, they often just totally blow it.

"The author only had X happen so that Y could happen"

No, I had X happen because that's my understanding of the character, or because it was thematically appropriate, or because there are things going on in the background that you're ignorant of. And you know what, Y isn't going to happen! It's just not that kind of story! So you're wrong on both counts.

"Character X is acting really ooc right now to move the plot along"

No, she's acting different from how she normally acts because a character is not a monolith with a single personality trait. She's acting like that because she had a chance to rest for the first time in the entire novel, because this is the first time someone has treated her like she's not a piece on a chess board, because she's hit her breaking point.

"Character X really should have done Y, is he stupid?"

First, Y is impossible per the rules the story has set up. It's explicitly called out in a line you missed three chapters back. Second, X does not have access to all the same information that you have, and he does not think like you. His priorities are different from the priorities that you have.

~~~

I try, as a general rule, to be empathic.

I think a lot of adversarial readers have read a lot of shitfic, and when you're reading something from an author who doesn't know what they're doing, it's often correct to come to the conclusion that things are Weird Like That because the author was inexpertly stitching together scenes they had in their head, or because they forgot a detail from earlier, or because something obvious just didn't occur to them. Maybe it's not nice, but I've spoken to a lot of starting authors, and asked questions that have gotten me answers that are ... basically that.

I think it goes beyond brainrot pattern-matching though. I think it's partly a desire to feel smugly superior and treat reading as a game that can be won. There are so few options these days for people to feel powerful and validated, and maybe (wrongly or rightly) explaining that you know all the author's tricks and have fallen for none of them helps with what the Unabomber called the "power process" (briefly, a desire of humans to formulate goals and attain them through non-trivial effort).

Reading isn't like that, or shouldn't be. I'm writing this story and you're reading it, and we're in collaboration with each other. I'm attempting to plant a garden in your mind, and it's not going to work if you're not watering it.

Sometimes, if a reader doesn't understand why a character did something, or complains about something that happened which was explained in the text, I do think this is my fault. As a writer it's my job to make sure that things are explained and foreshadowed and that the subtext is readable. This is very difficult to do when writing for an audience of very different assumptions and levels of reading skill. Sometimes as a writer I have to say "mea culpa, this was not written well enough for you to understand character motivations, the rules of the world, or the subtext that underpins this moment".

If you think that "adversarial reader" might describe you, there are a few things that I ask:

Don't make assumptions about the authorial process.

Don't make assumptions about the author.

It's always better to coach things as questions that are open for comment, rather than statements, e.g. "I don't understand why she would do that" instead of "acting real ooc rn".

It's always better to cite text, which will also help keep you from getting things wrong. ctrl+f is one of the best inventions of the last 100 years.

It's always better to assume the author knows what they're doing, at least at first. Sometimes this is a recipe for getting burned, but is it really so bad to get burned?

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

I'm on a roll with the s/j/m hatred tn so I'm going to compile a masterlist of all her shitty lgbt/poc representation and why it sucks booty cheeks. it should be noted that none of this is meant as shade on any of the characters themselves... I actually happen to like quite a lot of them

EDIT: there are some nice additions to this post in the notes you can check out

LGBT rep

Aedion (Bi/Pan)

Literally known as “Adarlan’s Whore” (a nickname that references both his allegiance to the king and his tendency to sleep around)

His only same-sex relationship is with a vaguely-mentioned unnamed lover from the past (it’s not even said straight-up that they’re a man, but I’m assuming they are bc they’re mentioned to be a commander of the Bane)

He’s shown being attracted to women and only women for two and a half books. He’s a womanizer retconned into the slutty bisexual stereotype

His liking men & women is compared to prostitution

It’s insinuated in koa that he slept with an ex while he and Lysandra were fighting (because the cheating bisexual trope is such a new & creative one!)

Helion (Bi/Pan)

He’s always trying to have 4somes with three of the main characters

Realistically he’s probably one of the most powerful/interesting High Lords but this gets sidelined in favor of him flirting with eVeRyOnE

All we really know about him is his name and the fact that he’s a bit of a manwhore… very 2-dimensional

He has an affair & a child with a married woman… just the Slutty/Cheating Bisexual Trope (Volume 2) :/

Mor (Lesbian? Possibly bi?)

She’s never shown in any real relationships (with men or women)

She had tragic off-screen relationship with a mortal queen a few hundred years ago

We get literally no hints that she’s gay throughout the series, she just randomly mentions she likes women at the end of book 3

She gets no happy relationship, she stays closeted to spare Az’s feelings (as though he’s not a grown ass man), she’s retconned into her sexuality most of the way through the series… just shitty shitty rep all around

Hasar (Lesbian)

She’s a villain, and a shitty one at that

Lesbian rep from a side character in one novella that half the fandom didn’t read? What’s even the point?

Thesan (Gay)

A very minor character & his unnamed “lover” who serve no narrative purpose whatsoever… thanks for nothing sarah

Emrys & Malachai (Presumably gay)

Oh look! More minor, background mlm that might as well not exist for all they do for the story :/

They are cute though, I’ll give them that

POC rep

Nehemia

First (and only) black main in ToG

She dies to fuel the white protag’s character arc… a very tired trope

She was actually a pretty well-written, likable character up until her brutal murder, which made it that much worse to hear about her organs strewn all over the room

Sorscha 

Described as “plain” (particularly in contrast to the white women like Aelin & Lysandra)

We know she’s POC because of where she’s from, but the way her features are described suggest she could still be white

Dark hair, gold eyes, “tan” skin

She really just fawns over white-boy Dorian every 2 seconds before dying a violent death to fuel Dorian’s arc…

…Aaaand I’m sensing a pattern here

Nesryn

Much of her character (especially in QoS) is reduced to her beefing with Aelin (and thus being villanized by the narrative) because of jealousy over Chaol 

Simply described as having “tan” skin (again). I think sarah is allergic to calling people brown

She is also described as plain compared to white protagonist

She has a (presumably middle eastern) family that only wants her to stay home and be a baker/someone’s wife

Yrene 

Once again very racially ambiguous to the point where she could even be white, with “tan/golden” skin, golden hair, and golden eyes

She almost immediately ties her literal life force to a white man she hated like a month ago. Seriously, can WOC not fawn over a hunky white man for once?

She defeats erawan in the end — considering she’s been a character for such a short time, this just feels more like a deus ex machina the anything really set up by the plot

Helion 

Not going to fully rehash what I said above but generally… he has great potential, but is basically not a character

Tarquin 

He’s portrayed as very nice and reasonable, if young and naive, yet he literally only exists to get manipulated/robbed by the main characters

He seems like such a sweetheart. He deserved much better than Riceman and Feyrug doing him dirty like that

I’ve heard rumors of a High King/Queen F*ysand plotline in later books…if that happens, Tarquin will likely be bending the knee and forgiving the people who fucked him over just a short time ago

Lucien

He’s described as very caring and loyal (yay!) which seems to always get him taken advantage of (damn!)

He’s portrayed (especially in ACOWAR) as someone we’re supposed to dislike when all his actions are perfectly reasonable

He’s literally retconned out of being white when it’s revealed Helion is his father instead of Beron. I’ve seen ppl get mad at “white-washed” fan art but it’s hard to expect much else when his original character description was straight red hair, amber eyes,  and “tan” skin (holy shit agAIN)

The people of the White Fangs from TOG

They’re described as having black hair, black eyes, and “tan” skin

They live isolated in the mountains (away from civilization) and are described as “savage” and warlike, always raiding villages in the mountains and stealing women away from their homes… 

Cain, who’s from these people, dabbles in dark magic/religion nobody else understands

This is feeling, intentional or not, like a horrible Native American caricature. Idk maybe that’s just me

[colleybri]

First Lines game

Rules: List the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice youself and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends. 

Thanks for the tag @faceofpoe! And just like you, I definitely agonise more over ending lines than opening ones. Nonetheless...

(All fics are Andor and Rogue One. Shamelessly.)

Truths and Consequences Can we go to your place?” Cassian asked, flatly. 

He's asking Brasso. This is one of those ‘try for a wham line opening and return to it later’ type-things. I do love my time jumps. It’s a Brassian tale and a WIP. 

Warming Up “Well, fuck this,” Jyn exclaimed matter-of-factly as she swept in out of the blizzard into the warmth of the shelter. 

Relatively uncomplicated and fluffy Rebelcaptain. Jyn generally 'swears like a trooper' in my headcanon and I would love to see a Rogue One edit where she’s swearing at the Troopers as she’s thwacking them. (Probably a lot to do with wanting to hear Felicity Jones swear.) 

Marking Time “I couldn’t sleep. Can I get in the bed with you?”

I’m noticing I’m quite fond of opening with a line of dialogue. This one is little girl Bix with her parents. It comes full circle in this Tear-Jerker ™ gen fic about the grieving process.

The Only Connection that Matters “Clem”. The complete unknown. Not only had Luthen managed to humiliate Vel by making her take on this mercenary (how terrifying, really, that his only commitment was to the money…), but he had also turned out to be really dislikeable. 

I'm cheating here with this angsty Velcinta fic - really just to show that the opening ‘sentence’ was not, in fact, a line of dialogue this time. 

Together, On This Beach I would have loved to cook for you, on a beach like this.

A relatively rare excursion to first person narrative for this shamelessly sentimental slice of sad Rebelcaptain. 

Rix Road (Andor S1 in never more than 12 drabbles) You are watching me as I work. 

Having said that, here’s another one!… but this is the last in my series of ‘Andor retold in drabbles’ so they’re all first person. This is Wilmon Paak building his bomb in the finale. Forgive me, but as it’s a series I’m going cheat too and go to the next ‘proper’ fic (I’m also ignoring poems)...

Salvage Operation I will find you. 

This is my ‘what happens next to the Ferrix crew’ fic with a particular focus on Bix, trying to start to heal herself by attempting to repair B2EMO. Probably the most (deliberately) disjointed thing I've written. Opening is one of my ‘multiple meanings and references!’ lines. I'm apparently a sucker for those.

Slipping The hospice we use as a safe house is a grim place, many levels down, and Andor’s been there too long already. 

My Luthen/Cassian series is all first person Luthen (so far) so I’m already reconsidering my comment above about it being rare for me. What with this and the drabbles… ok, yeah. 

Vision Jyn reaches over to their little container of wild towberries, grunting a little with the effort for she is not as flexible as she used to be. 

Another gentle Rebelcaptain (it seems to be my go-to ship for Being Nice To Cassian - as well as for killing him, obvs!) and one of my favourites as it deals with ageing - one of my pet themes. I think one of the tags is 'older people like sex too'.

Warm and Wet His full, beautiful smile returns, finally, when she moans at his touch.

Quite astonished really that I have to go this far back to find a Bixcassian story as it’s probably my favourite ship (and canonical - wheee!). I guess I should get back to this ‘early years Cassian is so very fucked-up, really’ series which does actually include a fair bit of recreational-writing smut alongside the all the inevitable idiots-in-love angst. 

My main conclusion is that I really should try and write something totally linear for once. Must be my failing attention span.

No pressure tagging: @laneboyheathens @distressednoise @ and @notasapleasure and anyone who would like to play.