#in trousers discourse

[richie-shitlips]

yknow what? no. i'm done with all the fucking discourse about in trousers. believe miss goldberg was in the wrong? great, good for you. believe nothing happened there? great, good for you. stop fucking fighting about it. it's stupid. yes, i know i've said things in the past, but guess what? i give up, okay?! i'm going off of my personal source as a fictionkin, and if i write it that way and you don't like it, just don't interact??literally if you don't agree with someone's interpretation just ignore it or block them and move on, it's not that serious.

[ingravinoveritas]

Georgia keeps flooring me with David content. THAT PHOTO SHE JUST POSTED ON HER INSTAGRAM! He really should do some modelling, so gorgeous.

I saw that pic, Anon! David is truly a beauty of our time. This is it here, for those who haven’t had a chance to check it out:

What immediately caught my attention (other than David looking devastatingly gorgeous, of course) is that he’s wearing a t-shirt with Ty’s character from House of the Dragon on it. So not only does David have a shirt with Ty on it, he also has a t-shirt with Georgia’s face on it:

Which leads me to wonder, therefore, if David has a shirt with Michael’s face on it. (And if not, he should.) We’ve already gotten an idea of what that might look like, thanks to this excellent edit from @daziechane:

...But given that the shirt of Ty is actually a depiction of his HoTD character, would David be more likely to wear a shirt of one of Michael’s characters instead, and if so, which character? Personally, my vote is for this shirt of Aro from Twilight (linked because NSFW-ish). Disturbing, yes, but also hilarious, and Michael himself recently mentioned how much he loves it, so I’m pretty sure he’d pass out due to blood loss from getting hard so fast if he ever saw David wearing it.

So yes, love David in that new picture that Georgia posted, especially that super cuddly cardigan he has on and how perfectly clothes fit him in general. Here’s hoping that one day he will have a Michael shirt to add to his collection...

[sumi-sprite]

scrunching my face real hard rn

[trendynewsnow]

Michelle Obama's Powerful Return to the Campaign Trail in Simple Attire

The Power of Simplicity: Michelle Obama’s Recent Campaign Appearance There were no extravagant embellishments, no vibrant jewel tones or cheerful sunshine shades, and certainly no floral patterns when Michelle Obama made her return to the campaign trail. At a rally supporting Vice President Kamala Harris in Kalamazoo, Michigan, she opted for a straightforward trouser suit. This choice allowed her…

[jeankirstein4ever]

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚

Professor!Erwin who will smile and nod a little when he sees his best student already set up at the very front of the class, an hour before lecture.

Professor!Erwin who loves grading your work, adores the fluidity of your handwriting and the way you sign your name so neatly at the top.

Professor!Erwin who loves to see the look on your face as you read his encouraging marks across the page but even more so the look of shame when he leaves a discoursing comment, “I hope you are able to reevaluate how you spend your time, you’re clearly becoming distracted miss y/n.”

Professor!Erwin who has to bite back a scoff when he watches the rather obnoxious and duller one of his students ask you to tutor.

Professor!Erwin who watches you present for the class, having you dig his nails into his leg to keep himself focused while you’re damn near bent over trying to click through your slides.

Professor!Erwin who extends his office hours just for you, “wouldn’t want my best student to fall behind now would we?”

Professor!Erwin who admires how hard you work, “you have the most admirable drive of any student I’ve met.” He’ll lean over you to read your paper as you write it, his breath and cologne making your body painfully aware of how needy you wanted to be.

Professor!Erwin who groans when you press yourself against him, not being able to wait anymore , “Poor girl, been needing something other than some dumb college boys dick, huh? You work this hard for all your teachers or just the ones you want to fill you up?”

Professor!Erwin who’s hand is moving up you thigh, at an agonizingly slow pace, your hips already trying to buck for friction. His other hand holding you by the crown of your hair. Thumb pressing perfectly through the soaked cotton keeping you too far from him.

Professor!Erwin that goes soft as tears start to blister your eyes, finally moving aside the fabric to move two of his fingers swiftly inside your sopping wet hole. “You like this babydoll don't you?” His hand tightening in your hair making you whine so pitifully, “Answer or I'll stop.”

Professor!Erwin who feels himself strain against the fabric of his trousers and flesh of your ass; feeling you squeeze harder and harder around the cold metal of his wedding ring, pushing you further down on the desk.

Professor!Erwin who has to practically race to pull his length out before he ruins his favorite pants, his tip hitting your cervix with what he knows is not enough time to adjust, “m’ so sorry baby, just take it all in okay, I know you can, your my best girl, I know you can do it.”

❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖❁˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚❁˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Served Piping-Hot - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Silco recounts a moment after Bloody Sunday...

cw: sex, mentions of death, PTSD

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

When they began, she'd thrown herself across the bed in a fitfully defiant way: sloughing off her shawl, kicking off her boots. Her wrist shook when she fished a hand through the fly of his trousers. Her touch was rough, eager. He got the sense that she was asserting her right to something that, unless otherwise specified, belonged to her sister.

Something that'd stay in dispute unless she made a bold claim.

Silco hadn't resisted. She'd tumbled, pulling him down with her, tugging off his clothes. And he'd let it happen. Her hands felt good, and her kisses, and her skin. But within that shell of readiness, she was all raw nerve. Tipping him onto his back, she crawled down his body. Shoved his boxers down, scooping him out and working his length.

Almost without preliminaries, she took him into her mouth.

Her technique was a far cry from Nandi's. All spit; no finesse. Like with her kisses, she didn't quite know how to read his rhythms, or adjust her own to match.

The best suckjobs, Nandi had taught Silco, were a slow build. Like the first gulp of hashish through a pipe: a sweet, insidious blossom burning up the vine toward nirvana.

This was the opposite. A crude performance better suited to a backalley. One where a portion of the clientele wasn't paying for a blowjob, but a beatdown. And Silco—for whom the best fucking was always a discourse on human complexity—wasn't buying.

Especially when he knew what she was truly aiming for.

A way to establish—all-or-nothing—that she was the rightful owner of his pleasure. To prove herself worthy of whatever scrap of him she could possess. And if Silco's memory wasn't playing him false, a small, sick part of him was content to let her try. To let her conclude this exercise of futility until it hit her that she wasn't her sister, and couldn't fake it, and could never replace what was irreplaceable.

Not with a mouthful of whore's tricks.

Except he couldn't bear to see her debase herself.

Gently, he caught her head in his palms. The seal of her lips broke with a wet pop. Sitting up, she wiped her wet chin with the back of her wrist.

"What?"

"Sevika—"

"What? What's wrong?" Her eyes grew hotly glazed. "You don't like my mouth?"

"I like it fine. Just not that way."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means what it means."

And, still cradling her head, he tugged her into a kiss. A slow kiss, to school her to a slower pace. The need, he dammed up; the desire, he let through. Until she was listening to his kisses more closely than to his nakedness. Until her own desire—a flashflood—found a steady current to ride. And his mouth, a patient guide, led her home.

"Okay," she breathed, shakily. "Okay."

"You get it?"

"Yeah. Just—show me."

So he did.

Catching her hand, he brought it to his lips. Bit the fingertips, then, with an obscene tenderness, licked her palm. She shivered, and he returned her spit-wet hand to his cock. Together, they stroked: a slick, steady spiral.

And Sevika, never one to shirk her duties, paid close attention.

Diligently, she resumed her post. She gave him the full heat of her mouth; she gave him the full span of her hands. Still nothing like Nandi, but damn, did she learn fast. The sight of her—full-lipped, glossy-eyed, spit-slicked—imprinted into his retinas. His palms wedded themselves to the crown of her skull. Her cheeks were hot against his smoothing thumbs. Her tongue was hot too, lapping around the soft edge of his foreskin, then sucking the gleaming juice from the tip. She'd pull off, panting, "You close? Tell me. Tell me," and he'd groan, "Yes, fuck, yes," and she'd grin and dive back in.

Her eagerness was so intense it nearly tipped into fanatical: she made him feel like a god. But there was a stubborn, competitive glint in her eye. She was proving something to herself. This suckjob was her gauntlet. If she could succeed here, maybe she'd succeed at wedging herself into other spaces in his life. Spaces he wouldn't grant her entry, unless she'd earned it.

Silco was no fool. Even then, he knew how Sevika was wired.

By the end, she'd won gusting groans from him. She'd won a slurred syllable of praise. Then she'd won it all, swallowing every spurt.

The room blotted out. Silco's palms slid from her nape. His head fell back. For a long, shuddering moment, he was spent. Sevika suckled lavishly along his softening flesh, then let go. A glistening thread of saliva connected her mouth to his cock. Then it broke, and fell: ice-cold. The sensation that broke over him was colder still.

He thought of the ash in the urn. The blood on the knife. The corpses in the dark.

He shivered, and shut his eyes.

"Sil?"

Sevika's palm found his knee. She couldn't read his thoughts. But she could sense him lapsing into a dark reverie. Maybe she thought he was dissatisfied. Maybe comparing her to Nandi, and finding her wanting. Maybe regretting the whole encounter, or canceling it out completely, with the same cold practicality that'd driven him to murder.

As if, somewhere, Nandi's ghost wasn't screaming: My sister, you monster—!

But a ghost's hard to hear, when the living are still breathing.

"Sil?" Sevika repeated. "Say something."

Rousing, Silco cupped her cheek. Her eyes were bright, the lashes wetly clumped. A dab of semen twinkled at the corner of her lips. He thumbed it off, then caught her in a kiss. Tasting himself on her mouth, his spent cock gave a lazy twitch. The tide, a heady surge, hadn't ebbed. It'd only changed course.

Sevika, in her closeness, kept him anchored to the shore.

"Good," he breathed. "You're good."

"Yeah?"

"Very." He thumbed the divot in her lower lip. "Now, I've a question."

"Wh-what?"

"What would you like?"

"I—" Her cheeks flushed: a dull, rosy hue. "We don't have to do anything else."

"No?"

"This is—enough. You're enough."

"Enough, hm?" He slinked out that smile that hadn't made an appearance since Bloody Sunday. The one that said he had no scruples about getting his hands dirty, and was looking forward to doing it. "That's a tall order."

"So?"

"So? Make a bigger one." The thumb sank past her lips. She lapped it helplessly with her tongue. "C'mere."

The next few minutes were a stickysweet affair. They kissed again, and it was good. Kissed some more, and it was better. She tasted delicious when she was all het up: his salt and her need. Her sighs came from someplace deep—ascending octaves of pure hunger. There was a refreshing lack of fakery to her; a plainspoken simplicity of fact.

In pleasure, as in rage, she was all-in.

Together, they made short work of her clothes. The green-striped gloom wasn't much of a setting for her nudity. But he saw all of her, and what he saw, he liked.

A lot.

In the future, he'd routinely enjoy taking stock of Sevika's body. Keep a mental catalogue of hard-won scars, and secret sweet-spots. He'd even revel in the changes that time etched into her: the lines fanning from her eyes, the silver threading her hair, the leathery cicatrices where the augmentations joined flesh.

But nothing—nothing—would beat the wallop of her nakedness the first time.

She was nothing like her sister. There was no supple delicacy; no fine-boned elegance. This was a sturdy slab of a woman, the type who'd weather a hard life without breaking. But what wasn't hard was lushly, ferally female. Her breasts, under a dusting of freckles, were fully loaded with aggressive, high-rise peaks. Her belly was a washboard of muscle; her thighs strong enough to crack a skull between them. The quantity of down on her arms and legs glinted like hazy copper. A darker stripe arrowed straight down into her pubis.

Silco took it all in, and found it worth the taking.

Gently, he spilled her across the sheets. It took a moment to become accustomed to the texture of the dark; to the differences between her and the ghost that still lingered on those sheets. But ghosts don't gasp, or sigh, or sob. They don't toss their head when you nuzzle the base of their throat, or bite the pillow when you suckle their breasts, or claw the headboard when you work a palm between their thighs. They don't have a pulse that leaps, or a heat that blooms, or a slickness that grows.

No ghost can do that. Only the living. Only Sevika.

Who was falling apart.

To this day, Silco has never seen a woman that way. So heartbreakingly wrecked. By this juncture, he's wrecked his share. Men, women, what-have-you. Some he'd break for pleasure. Others for profit. A few for no good reason at all. He never lost sleep over it.

He'd lose a helluva lot more over Sevika.

But that part of the story's for later. Let's not spoil the ending.

"Sil," Sevika panted hoarsely. "Fuck me."

"Come for me first, love. C'mon."

"Don't give a fuck about—" a shaky alto, as two fingers slid coaxingly deeper inside her. "—please. Want you in me."

"Sev—"

"Now, dammit, now!"

He'd soon learn that iron tenor in her voice. The one that meant there'd be no budging. Not unless he wanted a full-fledged revolt on his hands.

But a cockstand's no clairvoyant, and his was hard enough to pound nails.

"Okay," he rasped. "Okay."

And, without stopping to reconsider, he was in her.

He'll never forget the moment he broke skin. The tiny ragged sob in her breath; the slippery terra incognita; the sweet yielding heat. It'd been so long. Too fucking long. And she felt—gods, she felt just like her. Like Nandi. Better than Nandi, because she was alive. Because she was here, and his, and he'd kill to keep it that way.

Kill the last dreg of his own self, if that's what it took.

Sevika let off a high, salty sob.

The sound snapped him back to the moment. He stared down at her: a dusky silhouette on the sheets. He didn't understand the ragged cadence to her breaths, or the spooked gleam in her eyes. Her body was a seismograph of high-strung tremors. Her hips, her thighs, her knees: all the parts as essential in a fight as in a fuck—locked up tight.

He might've been a knife burying itself into her, instead of a man.

Tears stood in the rims of her eyes.

Then he understood.

Ladies and gents of the jury: no marriage should be consummated under duress. Not the way theirs was. And not only the duress of lust. The duress of circumstance: death, loss, revolution. The duress of the past: a red shawl, a temple in flames, a bed won in a game of chance. The duress of the present: the same hands on different bodies; different bodies in the same place.

Duress, and a heaping of self-deception: served piping-hot.

Served to last, because no marriage ever eats its fill.

"Sev—you okay?"

"I'm good. I'm good."

"Sssh. No. Look at me."

He caught her chin. She resisted, except there was nowhere left to run. He saw the tear-tracks cutting down her cheeks. Her chin dimpled like a child's.

In a hitching whisper, she said, "Why?"

"...Why?"

"Why'd you say it?"

"Say what?"

"Her name, bastard! Why'd you say her name?!"

Her tears fell in bright streaks. The rest of her: flushed deep-russet. Not desire, but a hot, raw shame. He felt its echo in the pit of his belly. He was still inside her, but that didn't mean a damn thing. In that instant, he was utterly outside himself. Beyond her, and the dingy room with its rank bedsheets that held too many memories. Beyond anything but his own stupid, thoughtless, unforgivable selfishness.

"Sevika," he began. "I—"

She slapped him.

There was real firepower behind it: his skull sang like a struck tuning fork. It was the one and only time she'd ever strike him. At least, until the last ever time she'd do it, and it'd be a whole lot harder, and he'd deserve it tenfold more. That slap would serve as a premonition; a taste of all the violence they'd visit upon each other, in the years that lay ahead.

The violence of survival. The violence of revolution.

The violence of love, and all the shapes it can twist itself.

[writingsfromhome]

Dos and Don’ts IV

A/N: hello my loves this final part to this fic completes the birth of one of my favourite fics I’ve written. Thank you for reading and enjoying it just as much—every like, comment, and dm meant the world <3

Parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

—————————————————

We have an extra day in Barcelona and the team is buzzing to enjoy their nightlife since we could sleep all day tomorrow. I’d visited here while I was a uni student so I give some suggestions.

Harry’s a little on edge the whole time. Earlier today some headline from a musician Harry worked with was taken out of context and thus took the internet by storm. Now he was being flooded with people wanting to know his thoughts and feelings. It was a hot topic.

With a joint effort of me, Jeff, and Graham, we tried to keep the spotlight on his Barcelona show. Well my role was mostly to screen Harry from seeing any further discourse online.

The show itself was one of the loudest I’d been to—I was glad I had my own ear protection. The tense Harry falls away and he’s electric on stage. Even coming backstage he’s on a high; he hugs the crew and thanks everyone like he usually did at the end of shows and disappears into his dressing room with Jeff. They look like they’re talking intensely.

“So,” Sarah slides in beside me. “We noticed you’re a bit different coming back. What’s happened?”

I try to play dumb but the girls keep pushing.

“Me and my fiancé ended things,” I confess. They gasp, Claire’s eyes actually fill with tears.

“Shh!” I shush them. “Keep it on the down low please I don’t want anyone to know.”

“But y/n why are you even here!? Is it because of tour! I’m sure Harry could have rearranged things-“

“No no,” I appreciated their support but I didn’t want to hash things out. “It’s just…I think it was a long time coming. God, I don’t wanna cry. I’m good. For now. And I want to be on tour I need the distraction.”

“I get it,” they sympathize. “We’re gonna make you forget so hard tonight.”

“Okay but don’t,” I look around us to make sure there was nobody else around. “Please don’t tell Harry. Seriously please. I don’t want him to know especially. I don’t want him to treat me differently or something.”

“Lips are sealed.” Sarah zips her mouth. “But we can all tell you’re off. It’s hard not to practically living together these last couple months. If he asks we’ll say…”

“Just say she’s on a break?” Charlie suggests.

“Yeah,” I shrug. “Things are complicated, I’m on a break, whatever that’s fine.”

The girls lean towards me and envelop me in a hug. It reminds me of my friends I’d said goodbye to.

“Thanks,” I say through tears.

And the girls hold me to their promise.

After we get dressed for the night—I chose a corset-style top and trousers—we head out. The sun dips below the horizon and the old city is cast in a warm orange glow that could inspire anyone who set eyes on it. String lights come on and music plays from various doors; the city is alive.

We tease each other about looking so glam as we wander the narrow cobblestone streets. Aside from the shows we all wore sweats and tees.

Every place we pass sets my senses alight. We grab tapas from a place that smells irresistible and chat over each other about tonight’s wicked show. I continue avoiding Harry by sitting as far away from him as I can get.

As we wander off in search of the club I can’t help but feel a twinge at how incredibly romantic the moonlit streets felt.

The club is loud and alive, the noise levels even feel normal after the roar of the last few of Harry’s shows. My mood starts shooting up steadily as I drink in the energy around me.

We join the crowd and I give away my worries and my annoyances to enjoy the music. I feel it in my chest and for a blissful moment I’m grateful for my whole damn life despite everything.

“Cute guy!” Someone shouts in my ear.

Charlie nudges me to one of the guys dancing nearby. “Get distracted!”

I shake my head no.

“Do it!” She cheers. It barely travels to me. She grabs Claire’s hand and tugs her, letting her in on the plan and they goad me into going for it.

I motion a drink. I’d need another shot for the courage.

We trail back to the bar and do a round of shots, and they grin with thumbs up as I hesitantly enter the crowd again.

The dude they pointed out is tall and beautiful. Like beautiful not even handsome. I get stuck looking up at him in awe, he wasn’t really my type. A tad too pretty boy but when he notices me looking he smiles and I’m won over. I couldn’t deny a good smile.

“Hey!” He turns his body to me. At least I think he say hey.

“Hey!” I shout back.

“Que pasa?”

“What?!” I couldn’t hear a single thing. What did I expect.

He smiles and takes my hand that had been anxiously playing with the edge of my top. The other has a hand splint that I’d received in Madrid. Apparently I sprained my fingers.

The stranger wriggles both my hands to loosen them, raising his brow at the splint. I laugh.

He asks in my ear but I don’t understand. It sounds like a question, something bylar. When I scrunch my brows he laughs, “Dance! We dance!?”

“Dance!” I laugh. He was cute! “Yes! I want to dance with you!”

“Vamos,” he pulls me in. I understood that at least.

I used to do this in uni, I think. I should be able to do it again.

He teases me a little because I’m so tense. His hands knead down my back to my waist to get me to relax. It feels nice, being touched by a man that looks like he was carved from marble but filled with music.

I begin to find my rhythm and sway with him, eventually letting go completely. He compliments me as I start to move with him and pretty soon I’ve channeled my 20-year-old self. It feels pretty spectacular.

When his lips ghost my cheek I don’t protest. Right now, I felt good. Everything was on the back burner’s back burner and I felt grounded in this nighclub with this random stranger who was paying attention to me, just me. And it’s just us. And it’s just temporary. And I feel good.

When I turn around, my back to his chest, he moves my hair to the side and kisses down my neck. It felt good.

I run my hand up into his hair and he moves lower murmuring foreign words on my skin, our bodies still dancing in the same language, his hands still gripping my waist and my hips. I feel blissed out.

It ends in a split second.

“What are you doing?” Harry’s suddenly tugging me towards him. His mouth makes the words I just fill them in with his annoyingly bossy voice.

“Hey man,” the guy I’m dancing with tries to get in between us.

“What are you doing!?” I snatch my hand away from Harry.

Harry puts his hand on my partner’s chest and says something to him, maybe in Spanish. He looks at me with puppy dog eyes and I look at Harry. What had he said.

“What did you say?” I ask. I try to call back my dancing partner but he just salutes me with a smile and fades into the crowd. No wait, I’m being dragged away.

“Y/n what are you doing out there?”

“What am I doing?” I shout. “What are you?! I was having a nice time with that guy what did you say to him?”

He walks away, further back into the edges of the club. There’s a few people milling about with a number of them involved in heavy makeout sessions.

Harry turns to face me finally. “You’re engaged y/n, Claire and Sarah said things are complicated at home is that why you’re doing this?”

“What!” I throw my hands up, tears prick my eyes. What the fuck was his problem! Since when did he care? “Why do you care?! Yes, things are complicated and I was getting my mind off of said things—what is your issue? You want to drag me back here and remind me of how shitty things have been?”

“This isn’t the way,” Harry insists. “You don’t even know that guy!”

“Whatever I’m over this convo.”

I turn to leave but Harry grabs my hand, the one in the splint, and pulls me back.

“Sorry,” he lets go of the splint. Then picks it up again. “Look. I’m worried about you. This isn’t you, you’re not the girl that goes home with another guy when your fiancé is back at home! I just don’t want you making any regrets.”

“Oh is that it,” I step towards him so my hand isn’t so outstretched. He stands still but on my second step he inches back. “Since when did you get a high horse huh? Don’t tell me who I am and who I’m not. You barely know me! If I want to make decisions I regret I can do that. They’re mine to make.”

“No. Y/n, as mad as you are don’t go home with a stranger.”

“As if you don’t!” I scoff. “What’s your real agenda here? What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” He insists.

“Why do you suddenly care so much about my chastity?”

“It’s for your own good!”

He’s lying. I know he’s lying and I don’t know why he pulled me away from my beautiful Spanish dance partner but I was actually relaxing and now he’s put me right back into this crazed and tense headspace I kept finding myself in.

Fine, I decide. I could make him regret it.

“Really? You care about my morality that much?” I ask.

With my hand flat on his chest I’ve pushed him further into the wall behind him. He watches me with a guarded look.

But I want him unguarded, vulnerable. The same way he’s made me feel. I lean in, “Are you really worried about the technicalities of me cheating on my fiancé?”

I hover a half foot from his lips. Finally his eyes flicker down to my lips and I know I’ve got him.

I slide my hand up his chest and when my hand inches up the skin of his throat his eyes grow unguarded and heady with lust. He doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t say no.

Hypocrite.

I drop my hand.

“That’s what I thought Mr. Styles.”

I watch for a wonderful moment as the lust clears from his eyes and he realizes what happened. Shame, embarrassment, resignation, and then anger.

I spin on my heel and head away from him. He could deal with the consequences of his actions all on his own.

I’m half-afraid he’ll come after me but luckily I make it out of the club alone.

“He’s such a dick,” I say more to myself. Just to get it out because I’m pissed. “Who the fuck does he think he is!?”

My night is over. I just want to take this all off and forget about it. Maybe I can lock myself in my room and raid the mini-fridge, get drunk and cry myself to sleep. Those seemed like the best options right now.

I take an uber to the hotel. As I walk up to it I notice a weird crowd outside. For nearly 2am I wasn’t expecting this and my instincts kick in that this wasn’t normal. Especially when I notice all the camera straps.

“Excuse me,” I ask the front desk. “Why are there a bunch of paparazzi outside?”

“Is there?” The man behind the counter asks. “Sorry we will tell them to leave. Are you staying with us?”

“That’s a privacy concern out there, and a concern with your staff because they’re here. How do they know who’s staying here?!”

It seems to dawn on him I wasn’t just asking out of curiosity. He promises me he’ll get management. In the meantime I call Jeff and explain the situation. He starts to panic the way I hated, looking for something to blame. He calls Graham who sounds like he’s driving in nascar. It’s a very noisy and over-stimulating conversation.

“Call Harry!” Jeff orders. “Tell him he cannot go back to the hotel no matter what! Fucking vultures man!”

“Y/N,” Graham says in a calmer voice. “You need to go back to where Harry is with some sort of disguise. A hat or sunglasses. That sort of thing-“

“It’s night.”

“Yes night. No glasses. Book the closest hotel you can find. Tell his band they can come back, but to go through the back. They might get spotted but they’re trained on dodging questions. That will keep the vultures there waiting for Harry and we can pick you two up back to the airport tomorrow morning. Where’s after this?”

“Glasgow,” I bite my nail as I think. I had to call Harry asap. What if he was on his way back. “I gotta go now to call him though. Talk later.”

I hang up and call Harry. He picks up the second time.

I explain the situation and he reacts the same way as Jeff, swearing and cursing the papps. I tell him what I was going to do and tell him to go right back into the club. To pass on the word to the team even though I was going to send them a text.

I head up to my room and grab what fits in my bag. I didn’t have Harry’s room key so I decide he’d have to wear my hat and head back out. The vultures stay waiting, now just a few feet further away from the entrance.

I speak briefly to management—I figured Jeff could talk to them and give his classic earful.

On the drive I find a nearby hotel to the club and collect Harry to get him there. We’re too tense to talk when we meet up. Once inside again, I tell him to sit in the lounge while I go up to the desk.

Act above it all, I channel a rich bitch. We needed privacy and we needed nobody to know Harry was here.

“Hi I need a room.” I say.

“Of course, how many night will you be staying with us.”

I glance back to see where Harry sits. He’s in a wingback chair that’s mostly turned away and with his hair stuffed in the baseball cap you can hardly tell it’s him.

“Just a night. I need your best room please.”

“Absolutely,” the woman smiles and I feel bad for only giving a tight-lipped smile back. I wait as she clicks away, finally looking back to me with a slight frown. “So miss unfortunately we are very booked tonight. There are a couple events going on in the city making things very popular.”

“The best room will do. Preferably large.”

“Well,” she hesitates. “A lot of our larger rooms are taken um. I can offer you a bed with one king, it is a bit smaller because it’s by the elevators. I also have one with a queen that is tucked away in the corner with a better view.”

I wanted to be as far away from Harry as possible but by an elevator was asking for trouble.

“Well, I’d rather stay far away from noise so we’ll take the queen.”

“Is that just you or…” she glances at Harry.

“Yes. Two. We’ve had a rough day of travel he’s just resting.”

I hand over ID and my card, trying not to balk at the total. At least I’ll get reimbursed.

“Do you have any bags?” The concierge swoops in as I get the key card.

“No! No. Like I said, bad travel day. We just need somewhere to sleep and we’ll reunite with the bags once they arrive tomorrow.”

They leave us alone after that. I hoped it was because I’d been standoffish enough and not plain weird.

The elevator ride up to the 8th floor is stony and I spend the spare second to text Jeff and Graham the hotel’s address.

The room itself is pretty sub-par and the adrenaline of getting Harry here safely wears off.

I drop my bag by the door and pull out my toiletry bag.

“I don’t have clothes for you to change into, I didn’t have your room key.”

“Yeah. S’fine. I’ll just sleep shirtless unless that bothers you.”

We stare at each other for a tense moment.

“I’m fine with that, you’re the one with the high horse.”

After doing all this for him I wasn’t going to be easy to deal with if he wasn’t going to be easy to deal with.

He chooses to ignore me.

“How the fuck did they know I was staying there? We were under a-“

His phone rings and he answers. Sounds like Jeff.

I use the time to go to the bathroom and finally take off the makeup. I realize I should have grabbed my pjs from my bag too. I take my hair down and massage my scalp with my fingers, letting myself calm down despite the aggressive voices outside.

“Yeah whatever. Keep me updated.” I hear. Great. That was done with.

I leave the bathroom and Harry’s still pacing the floor.

“You’re gonna wear the carpet down if you keep doing that.”

He stops and looks at me, his eyes trail down my body.

“You didn’t bring yourself a change of clothes either?”

“You wish,” I head for my bag again and grab the tee and shorts. “I just forgot them out here.”

“Do you always have to be so snarky?”

Oh, so he wanted to fight. Good news for him, so did I.

“Depends. With you? When you’re being a dick? Yeah. I do.”

“It’s really quite unbecoming.”

“Is it?” I mock his accent. “It’s not proper for a lady to be snarky?”

“I don’t sound like that. You just never let anything go.” He continues.

“I never let anything go?” I repeat.

“Yeah! Ever!”

“What do you want me to let go?” I ask.

“Everything. You’re bothered by everything just let it all fucking go.”

“No like specifically what should I let go?” I turn on him and with each question I stalk towards him. “Being treated like trash by you? Being told I’m replaceable and unnecessary? Getting bossed around about who I can and can’t dance with because you suddenly decide to be the morality police!?”

“Jesus take it down a notch y/n.” We’re fuming as we square off. “I’m not your bloody fiancé.”

“And thank fuck you’re not!” I throw the clothes in my hand on the bed. “You’re my employer Mr. Styles and I’ve been nothing but a good fucking employee for the last year! I try to keep my patience and do everything I can to do my best! You’re the one always trying to blur lines! You’re the one always getting in my damn business when I don’t pay you to!”

With every accusation I poke my finger into his chest and it’s like literally pushing buttons. His face gets stonier and stonier until I’m sure he’s going to crack.

“You wanna know what your fucking issue is?” He swipes my hand away.

“Oh sure tell me, wise Harry Styles who definitely has no issues at all. Tell me.”

“This. This is your fucking issue,” he spits. “You’ve always got such a temper on you! I’m not blurring any bloody lines I check up on you and you get all offended over nothing!”

“Over nothing?” I ask. I laugh sarcastically and walk away from him. I was seeing red. “Over nothing?”

“Yes! I don’t do shite and suddenly you’re trying to bite my dick off.”

“You fucking wish,” I turn on him. “It’s crazy you don’t realize what an absolute jackass you are! We should be refunding all those fans who’ve come out to see you because the man they’re paying for is a fake! You’ve treated me like nothing and embarrassed me countless time-“

“Embarrassed you,” he scoffs.

“Yes!” I go on. “What do you call what you said on our way to Paris huh? You can be so cruel! So if I have a temper it’s justified because you’re one of the worst people I’ve met!”

“What did I say?”

“Are you kidding? You’re going to make me repeat it?” He was crazy. He was depraved and absolutely insane. Or he just hated me.

“I’m not playing a game just tell me!”

“You said I could have skipped the whole tour and nobody would notice.” I say the words that had looped through my head. And of course, he has the audacity to look surprised. “Thanks. A lot! It makes it even worse that you were so casual with your cruelt-“

“You need to stop being so sensitive,” he has the nerve to say. ��Then maybe you can manage your temper.”

“I can manage my temper any time but you’re moody like a pre-pubescent teen and that looks to be a lifetime fucking problem!”

“What’s your fucking problem Y/n! What is your problem with me!? Why do you still work for me if you are this angry all the time!”

“I’m not this angry all the time, you just makes me this angry! And I hate you for it!”

“Then quit!”

“Maybe I will!” I had to. After tonight and this blowout I had to. How could I work for Harry like this.

“Great! Then you can take your problems with you.”

“Don’t gaslight me,” how dare he. “You’re not innocent in this! You create my problems and blame me for being this way.”

“Whatever y/n.”

“No.” I wasn’t letting him off the hook. I get in his face again. “Why did you stop me tonight? Why did you keep me from doing what I wanted tonight?”

“What? I told you I was looking out-“

“Bullshit!” I cut him off. “That’s a bullshit excuse, I want to know why!?”

I feel like I’m made of flames and in desperate need of a lobotomy. How could one guy make me this crazy. How could it all revolve around him.

“I was doing it for your own good! But clearly I understand why it’s so fucking complicated with your partner-“

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” I seethe. I was mad. Fuming. I want to get physical, I wish I could throttle him or at the very least access one of the pillows from across the room and smash it to the floor. I want him to see how angry I am because my words are twisted with every angle Harry could find. I wanted him to admit to something he’s been skirting for a long time. “Tell me.”

Harry stares at me with hate in his eyes and I know I have the same look. I wasn’t going to let him get away.

“You don’t even have the balls to admit it,” I poke. “Is this why you’re so hard-headed to anything I say? Because you can’t even admit something like this to yourself?”

“Just shut the fuck up y/n and stop being so mental.”

“I refuse to shut up. I want you to talk.”

His breathing gets faster and I watch him flex his hand. He was as angry as I was. Good.

“You’re a fraud. And I hate you.” I step into his space. Our bodies are a hair’s breadth away from each other’s. I want to show him how mad he makes me. I want to do something. I want him to admit this thing he’s been dancing around. It makes me so mad!

When he starts to shake his head at me I lose it. Instinct takes over where I want to physically show him how angry he was making me. I grab his face in my hands and push my mouth against his. I meet teeth.

But it doesn’t take long for him to respond. To correct the unadulterated anger with purpose.

He pushes back, kissing me harder whilst pushing me against the wall. I feel sandwiched, my chest crushed against his and I bite down on his lip trying to get back some control.

My hands are all over him, grabbing his shirt, running through his hair, pushing under his shirt to touch skin. Harry does the same, pulling at my hair and lifting me onto him.

Our tongues clash together, his hand grabs my ass, squeezing and moving up. His hands feel hot on my skin, his metal rings an icy contrast. Neither of us want to give up control. We keep fighting, just now with our bodies.

“Why can’t you ever just let it go,” he traces his teeth over my collarbone. It all feels too much.

In response I push him back, he stares at me for a heated second before we crash into each other again. We don't care where we are. All that mattered was here and showing the other who was in control. Who hated who the most.

Harry pulls away, his mouth a deep pink from our fight. His eyes are half lidded, his pupils dilated. I can tell he wants this but a part of him hesitates.

"We're doing this," I commit, not taking my eyes off his lips.

"I’m doing this," he growls and lifts me up, any hesitancy washed away. I wrap my legs around him, not thinking about anything but what I was going to do.

He whirls me around and deposits me onto the bed, and his body covers mine while his mouth attack my neck.

He wasn't gentle or slow, but then again, I didn't want him to be. I pull off his shirt, not wanting anything between us, not caring that my nails would leave marks down his back. Leaving something permanent on him sounded exactly what I needed.

I tug on his hair as his teeth come down on my chest. I feel heated as he swears, “Teasing me with this top all night was a fucking sin y/n.”

“Fuck off,” I gasp as he figures out the row of clasps at the front and the icy rings of his fingers presses against my sternum. I grit my teeth, “I didn’t wear this for you.”

His abs contract as he pushes himself back up, his eyes dark as his hands find the clasp on my trousers, undoing them with ease and tugging them off. His other hand comes back up to tilt my chin up.

“D’you really hate me?” He asks.

“Yes,” I respond with zero hesitation.

He moves his body, covering mine with his own again. My breath catches in my throat as he presses his lips to my neck, slowly moving down. He drives me crazy with anticipation and I wriggle up to keep up the pace but he holds me in place. I let out a moan as he kisses my inner thighs, his fingers gripping the tops of them. I'm squirming under his hold, the heat pooling inside of me.

“Do you hate me?” He asks again.

“Yes,” I cry, not wanting to relent to him.

“Good,” he says and that’s the last thing I remember.

The rest is a tangle of limbs, an out-of-body sensation, and seismic wave after wave coursing through my body. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before; the fury we felt with each other fuzes to the passion of the moment and it blitzes every damn thought out of my head.

Hours later, or maybe the whole night later—I don’t know but all I do know was that my body was spent and I was barely hanging on.

“I can’t,” I plant my hands on his shoulders and nearly pitch forward just from pausing. His hand splays on my back, keeping me in place as he turns us around.

“Okay?” He asks low.

I nod, grateful that he was taking over.

And after riding out what I know would be my last wave he rolls off of me, and we lay there just trying to catch our breaths.

After a few minutes, I sense him tilting towards me, his eyes on my face. When he stares for so long it becomes obvious, I look back at him.

His eyes are not the same ones that started this mess, they’re breezy meadows of green compared to the icy sea glass from before. But it’s not surprising. With each round and each minute we spent with other tonight, things had grown softer. Not gentle, but softer.

And as we look at each other with the awareness that the anger had bled into the threads of these tangled sheets a long time ago, we’re left with something neither of us want to distinguish. At least I don’t.

His gaze holds something too real for a place like this and I quickly look away and back at the ceiling. I feel his eyes on me a moment longer before he himself turns away to stare at the same ceiling.

“Y/N,” someone suddenly calls my name, tapping my cheeks with a gentle pat. I have to pull myself from the depths of wherever the fuck I just went to open my eyes and look up, at Harry. He looks concerned and asks me a question that I don’t register—I was truly out of it. I must have dozed off.

I push his hand away and grab the closest piece of clothing to wrap around myself in which ends up being a sheet. I take myself to the bathroom to clean up.

I hardly recognize the girl in the mirror. My eyes are blown out and my neck looks like it was rammed by a bull. I can hardly look at the rest of me. I would need to buy something high necked before we got picked up tomorrow morning and use all the concealer I had. I know I marked every inch of him I could find too.

I had never felt that level of passion with anyone. It was unnerving.

My knees collapse under me as I sit on the toilet and try to count the tiles on the opposite wall, just to come back to earth. To my body.

I sense a shadow under the door after I’m in there for a while, I watch it move from one side to the other and then move away. I wait longer, nearly falling asleep there before going back out.

The bed looks a right mess and most of the duvet is twisted to the side. I don’t bother with it, I use the sheet I’m wrapped in and crawl right into bed. Harry seems to have fallen asleep too but as I near sleep I feel the bed dip and the heavy weight of the duvet drapes over me.

I don’t have enough clarity or energy tonight to think about what any of this meant but I know I was right about leaving.

***

We return to London on a Wednesday morning and nearly kiss the ground. Harry was still playing two shows here but getting to go back home instead of a hotel room was enough to make us weep.

I didn’t really have a home to go back to. I’d been thinking about that a lot as the tour took us closer and closer to London. I had texted Gray yesterday and we agreed I could crash there until this weekend to get my stuff together.

London had a metaphorical grey fog over it in my mind. Nothing felt appealing about it and the only thing on my mind these days was home—my childhood home.

I already knew I was going to give in my resignation letter to Harry after tour but I had a 3 week period under contract. I don’t think I could afford a hotel for three weeks and staying with any of my friends is out of the question.

These thoughts kept me preoccupied.

It helped me not to think about that night though. I avoided Harry unless it was for work, returning to the solitude of my first few months working for him. He does the same: curt and avoidant. I know others notice but nobody dares to ask.

It was the most intense thing I’d done in my whole life and that was saying something. There was a way that Harry got under my skin that nobody else could. And it was hard to find a balance after the scales had shifted so far in that direction.

I felt like I had to block it out until I could have space to process it. And yet memories still seeped through when I was quiet for a moment too long or when he’d walk past me with the same cologne as that night and I’d catch a whiff. I was doubly sure this chapter had to close.

When I get back to the flat on Wednesday Gray has vanished as he promised. He told me he’d drop by that evening to talk. Surprisingly, I felt calm about it. I don’t know if it was getting all of that ferocious energy out that had been churning for months, but I feel level-headed and I appreciate the space to myself.

Gray texts me before he arrives. Like this wasn’t the flat he was now paying for alone.

I know what he wanted to talk about—we were all supposed to go to Harry’s last show at the o2 since I had tickets for everyone. Josie was stoked and based on the way she’s been texting me leading up to the day I don’t think she knew. Gray confirms it.

“So,” he rubs the back of his neck. He looked nice in a beanie and corduroy jacket. I wonder if any of the effort was for me, then vanish the thought.

“So,” I echo.

We stand awkwardly across from each other—him propping himself up behind the couch and me leaning against the dining table. Like we needed to get as much furniture between us. Like we hadn’t shared a bed a few weeks ago.

“We should sit?”

“Yeah,” he attempts a laugh and sits on the sofa. I choose the closest chair and turn it to face him. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know how you feel about Saturday. But I haven’t told Josie yet. I haven’t really told anyone.”

I nod, “Me too. Not really. People at work think we’re on a break.”

“Right. Good.” He says. “I’m not tryna lie to people but I don’t really want to get into it…”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “So Josie?”

“I’ll let her know once…once you move out?”

Move out. Of this flat. It’s been home for nearly 3 years.

Gray had surprised me with it when he found it—I had been broke and only been able to pitch in for utilities and groceries but he’d been gracious. He’d been supportive once. But I guess his support had boundaries too. I didn’t entirely blame him for that.

“Sounds good. Or later, maybe when she’s done her exams.”

He leans back on the couch, arms spread over the back and sighs as he studies me. “Yeah of course. I should’ve thought of that. You’re always good at that stuff. She’s gonna be gutted.”

I nod. Not sure what to say to that.

“So you’ll be out on Saturday yeah?” He asks after a while. It seemed both of us had a lot on our minds. But his question stings a little.

“Yep. I’m off for most of the week so I’ll just pack things up. Uhm, with Josie and whatnot I guess we’re still acting like a couple? Will that be weird?”

“Yeah. It will be but we’ve got no other option.”

“Right.” I respond. His voice grows an edge I’m not a fan of. “Well. Thanks for letting me stay here. If you need anything else I guess you can grab it now.”

I want to ask how he’s doing, who he’s staying with, and just hold his face one last time to really remember. But his cold apathy grows like frostbite over the room and creeps into my heart. I always thought where there was love there would always be love but I’m not as sure tonight.

I stay busy and when I can’t sleep at night; I map out a dream, an exit plan home. I write up my resignation letter, I look at flights and rentals and talk things out with my family, I cancel wedding and couple shit, and grieve a fair bit.

On Friday afternoon, my only formal shift this week, I head to Harry’s with an anxious weight in my chest and a buzz in my head from the hope. Hope that this chapter of my life could end soon, and I can head home and recuperate and plan out what my life was going to look like.

Harry’s on a call when I get in. He spares me a glance but I head to the office with my stack of mail. Today was mostly for some housekeeping/admin but I hope to avoid Harry for the most part like I’ve done since that night. My letter sits like a bar of gold in my bag.

I hear him move about the flat. I restock some pantry items, and we speak as little as possible. Going with him to his meeting was my final task for today so I decide it’s a good time to hand in my letter.

I find him sitting in the studio, tapping a pen against the table.

“Mr. Styles?”

“Hm?” He drags his eyes away from his screen to look at me.

“So we’re heading to your meeting in 10. Before then I just wanted to hand this in.”

The envelope stays outstretched in my hand and he eyes it, not taking it.

“What is that?”

“Can you just take it?” I shake it a little, like a bag of treats for a puppy.

His muscles move one inch every ten seconds, that’s how slow he is to sit up in his seat and finally take the letter from my hands. I almost let out a big sigh of relief. The process was finally in place.

“What is it?” He asks again, tearing the corner and down the side like he usually did.

I wait for him to unfold the thirds before answering, “my resignation letter.”

His eyes scan the sheet left to right right to left and when he looks up at me it’s hard to say what he’s thinking.

“Is this a joke?”

“No? Obviously not? I’m handing in my 3 weeks. I’ll also email a copy to Jeff and you.”

“Why are you doing this?” He stands, his tall frame rigid.

“Why? Because I’m…I’m quitting? I think I’ve learned everything I could here a-and it’s time to move on.”

By here I don’t mean working for Harry Styles and co but just here as in London. I’ve learned a fuck ton of life lessons here, and it was time to process them elsewhere.

“Is this to get back at me somehow? I don’t understand,” the papers crinkle in his fist as he grips it tighter. “Do you want a raise? Can we talk about this?”

“No.” I say and even though there’s so much more I could say I think that sums up my answer.

He looks puzzled, then annoyed. Just then my phone buzzes. The car was downstairs.

I grab my laptop and we head down. I was coming along to take minutes and then head home. In the car I reassure Harry,

“I plan on wrapping things up in the next three weeks and making sure everything is set up for an easy transition. I’ll leave continuity notes and reach out to people I regularly communicate with to break the news. The next couple months are pretty easy anyway coming out of tour and going on holiday so there should be plenty of time for the new PA, whoever your hire, to catch up.”

He doesn’t say a word. It reminds me of our first drive to the studio together. How naïve I was. How things changed.

He continues staring out the window, resting his face on his fist. I remember my teeth dragging over that jaw. I blink the image away; this was why I had to go.

When we get to Graham’s office Harry tells Jeff, “we don’t need minutes.”

Jeff looks over at me for answers and I shrug. I guess I came here for no reason but at least I had my laptop to work.

“Uh y/n please come i-“

“She’s fine working out there,” Harry cuts Graham off. Graham looks offended, his gaze drawing between Harry and I. Again, I shrug. I wasn’t leaving today I don’t know why he was acting like it.

For the next hour or so I sit at a spare cubicle and do just as I said in the car. I type out lists for upcoming interviews and studio days. I send emails for information to note for whoever the poor person was to replace me.

I had been keeping the Dos and Don’ts updated over the last year and it feels like a baby the way it came together with so much thought. I was almost sad to part with it.

Nobody tells me the meeting is over. The door simply opens and Harry breezes past.

“I’ll be in the car.” He mutters. Any faster and I would have to hold down the papers around me.

When he’s gone beyond sight, I turn back to the open door.

“What’s the matter with him?” I hear Graham asking inside.

“You keep pushing him,” Jeff responds with irritation. “That’s not his brand Graham.”

“Well that’s a different tune. Prior to this you were singing my praises with these new ideas.”

“I don’t know. Something’s been up with him for…a while-“

“Since that article isn’t it?” Graham references the Harry Styles slander when we were in Spain. Little did they know other things had also happened.

“We dealt with that article.”

Shit, I think. Has he been any different? I think I was keeping too much distance from him to notice.

“Y/n,” my name snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Mhm?” I’m beckoned to the meeting room. “Yes?”

“Find out what’s wrong with him. Or better yet just convince him to be a bit more alive at his last show tomorrow with his usual charm? He hasn’t been his full capacity the last few shows has he?”

Shit. “Um. Burnout?”

The two men look at each other. They make a face like that couldn’t possibly be why. I tell the men what they want to hear, that I’d try to find out and get him back to his charming self (yuck) before joining Harry in the car.

“Jeff and Graham aren’t all that happy with you,” I say when we start driving. Harry was giving me a lift home. “They’re insisting you do it right at your final tomorrow. Be your charming self.”

He grunts in response, head facing the window again. Was he allergic to look forward in the car or something?

“Are you coming?” He asks after a good ten minutes of silence.

“Tomorrow?”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah. I gave my extra tickets to…my fiance,” my brain fumbles my words as it remembers what he was and now is. And the lie I had to keep up. “And his sister and her friend.”

He just nods in acknowledgement, somehow stonier.

When the car pulls up to my familiar building I thank his driver and begin my shimmy out but Harry puts a hand to my knee to stop me. His touch sears right through my stockings and he must feel it too because he slides his hand back.

“Answer this,” he looks at me for the first time tonight. Wow, this really did feel like my first week on the job.

“Sure,” I reply.

“Is it because of that night?”

It’s the first time it’s been mentioned, and his gaze burns brighter than a forest fire. It’s mesmerizing and I can’t look away.

Wait, he wanted an answer.

“It’s because of a lot of things,” I answer truthfully.

He clenches his jaw. Leans back in his seat. The seatbelt reverses to hold him in place again and he’s no longer looking at me. I take that as my cue to go.

***

Josie bursts into the flat dressed to the nines in a groovy floral jumpsuit and boas in her hand. “Don’t worry. I have one for each of us.”

Her friend trails behind her in an equally 70s inspired look.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” Josie judges her brother’s hoodie and jeans. “You’re lowering the vibe Gray do better. Y/n? Why didn’t you brief him?”

“I did!” I eye Gray. “Don’t blame me.”

This was way more awkward than I thought. Or I really was not as good of an actress as I wished.

“What am I supposed to wear?” Gray asks. “I’m not wearing a jumpsuit.”

Josie rolls her eyes. “Y/n please drag him back and find a decent tee or something?”

“Yes ma’am,” I take Gray by the arm and take him back.

“This is kinda weird hey?” I whisper when we close the door.

“I don’t really like it either,” Gray scratches his head. “But it’s for the best.”

I nod and then louder announce, “Well it’s Jo’s night so find something a tad more retro?”

We end up with a red tee and find a belt to tie the look. Josie hugs her brother with thanks when she sees it.

I had on a pair of black bellbottoms paired with a blank tank. My hair was in spacebuns and Josie plucks a few boa feathers to accessorize my hair. It’s cute.

We head off and I have to make a conscious effort to remember my mannerisms with Gray before all this. I feel woozy while I slide my hand into his on the ride there, as Josie snaps our pics on her disposable, as she tells us to get one of us where Gray’s kissing my cheek and she’ll save it to show our kids. It makes me sick.

He keeps an arm on my waist as we walk. I want this night to be over so bad but every time I look Josie’s way I perk back up a little. I wanted her to enjoy this.

And she does. I’m sure she’s lost her voice by the end of the concert. At one point we drift away a little and breathe easier to drop the act but when she’s back Gray wraps his arms around me from behind and we act like a happy couple. Again, I felt sick.

Being in Gray’s arms held none of the spark it used to. I just feel awkward and sad.

At one point Harry looks my way, I don’t know how he spotted me in such a big crowd. It’s between songs and he looks at the group I’m with. I give a pathetic wave and he nods ever so slightly, his gaze sliding off soon after. Gray’s arm tightens around my shoulder and my heart gives a squeeze in response. I’m reminded: this era was ending.

The band told me to meet them backstage at the end, to join in on the final-show celebration. Josie and Gray would wait at a local pub and with the way Josie’s Instagram stories were glowing I could imagine her sitting there uploading it all.

“I couldn’t have done it without any of you,” I catch Harry saying as I slip behind stage with my pass. “I know I’ve not been the easiest to be with but you all sit in my heart. This is our Euro tour, concluded.”

Somebody pops bubbly and I congratulate the whole team as they drink. They insist on going out for proper drinks and I’m denied not going. They tell me to invite my guests to party with them and I know, based on where we were going, Josie was going to flip.

Juniper, a club that gets us all in on Harry’s face card, is opulent and lively on the inside. Josie is buzzing about with her friend—Gray had opted to go home, claiming he had early morning sessions. Josie didn’t think twice about him, but we pretended to go back and forth with a final warning from Gray to Josie to behave.

“He’s a broody one,” Charlie comments on Gray as we chatter while we get drinks. “Sister?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t know yet though so,” I put my finger to my lip.

“So no Barcelona dancing tonight?” Sarah teases. I laugh and tell them to keep me tamed. “We gotta do some shots with the team though where is everyone?”

We gaze around the room and manage to get everyone together. After one round of shots and another that Harry forced on all of us I feel the tension I’ve been carrying with me most days slide away.

We end up sticking together as a group and dance together, laughing and cheering each other on. Even Harry’s in a cheery mood—I suspect the alcohol. I catch him watching me at one point and when I raise my brow he takes my hand and spins me in a friendly twirl. I trip on my wide-legged pants and he catches me from behind. With my back to his chest I have the urge to turn around and kiss him and feel the peculiar comfort I had received from him before. That thought drives me away from him again. Despite the tight knit group there’s too much between us to even attempt being close.

I call it quits when Josie finds me and announces she was going home. I hug the newfound family I had made over the last few months one final goodbye, knowing I might never see them together like this again.

***

Jeff’s reaction to my news surprises me the most. He’s visibly upset and tries to sell me anything to stay. I tell him there was nothing to keep me at my job but I would rely on him for a good reference. I think it’s the first time he’s ever reassured me.

Between Harry and I it remains curt. Sometimes even edgy. I post my own job replacement and Jeff keeps me updated on potential candidates. By the time my last week rolls around I’m host to a roil of emotions.

The first week homeless, Charlie had let me crash on her couch and promised not to say a word to anyone. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome and so I had checked into a hotel and called it home for now.

I’m on my way back home to the hotel after being at Gray’s. We’d invited Josie over for dinner now that her exams were over and she’d been suspicious from the start.

We had told her the truth and she refused to believe it, hurt and betrayal in her eyes as she looked at me and realized she had been kept in the dark for the last week. I felt worse then, than I did when Gray and I called it quits.

I promised her a lunch together this week to talk more. Just because I was out of Gray’s life didn’t mean I had to be out of hers. I thought I could also tell her then that I was leaving to go back home.

On my second last day at work, Harry sends me on an errand near the end of the day. When I get back there’s a small group of friendly and familiar faces waiting to surprise me. I’m touched by the gesture, and I try to corner Harry to say thank you but it feels he avoids me at every chance, always in a larger crowd.

I finally catch him while I’m heading out of the bathroom and he’s heading down the hall.

“Oh hey,” I step in his way. He looks cornered. “I just wanted to say thanks for throwing this.”

“Yeah,” he gestures it was nothing. “It was Jeff’s idea.”

Ouch. I hide the sting. “Well. Thanks regardless.”

He nods, staying mute, but his eyes speak a thousand words—just none that I can read. They stay trained on me, communicating whatever.

Slowly the furrow between his brows eases and the sharp edges of his face give way to a softened expression. I’m scared to move in case I break the trance and don’t get to hear whatever his racing thoughts spit out. Just when it looks like he’s about to say something, a guest turns the corner up the hall.

“Anyone in the toilet?” It was Mitch. Damnit.

“Nope,” I step out of the way, inadvertently brushing Harry. A shiver runs up my spine and I try to act casual but he stiffens beside me. Was it that awful being around me, jeez.

I give up. If he wanted to continue staying moody, so be it. I leave to go back to the party and don’t look back.

My final days in London are hard. The same way I arrived, I go: alone and unsure of what’s ahead.

I always thought here was where I would stay forever. And maybe one day I would return but there was a little too much friction between me and the Capital.

I finish work on an unremarkable note after going through processes with the new hire, and dotting all of my i’s. Harry is nowhere to be seen and I’m gone before he gets back. I’m frustrated that he’s behaving this way but there’s also too much between us for the simple goodbye I yearn for.

I visit all of my old favourites, have one last drink at my old local pub somewhere in between Gray’s flat and Harry’s. I shed a lot of tears on my pilgrimage through the city’s veins. I promise the paved and cobblestone roads I would be back one day.

The walls of my lungs ease open on the flight home. Still, tears cascade down my face silently as the plane sleeps. Eventually I do too. When I wake the sky is filled with bright blinding sunrise, and American soil peeks out below me: I was finally home.

••••••••••••••••••••

Present (2 years on):

My heart flutters seeing Harry here, I chalk it up to anxiety. But it annoys me that despite all the distance and the growth, he still had an effect on me.

Harry’s head turns and before I can be smart about it our eyes lock. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly before his face falls into a nonchalant facade again. I don’t even want to know what my face looked like.

Then he gets the nerve to smirk, hang his head, and then grab his drink and walk towards me.

“If I had a cross I would be holding it up right now.” I have to shout a little so he hears me before he gets to me. He was an emotional vampire feeding on all of mine.

“Now why’s that?” He continues towards me. My emotions swirl through me. “I thought time heals all wounds. Why the unfriendly welcome Mrs. Duran?”

I grit my teeth at the name, he was still filled with poison. “Right, the timeless wisdom of clichés.”

“I like to think I’m pretty timeless.” He smiles.

“I’ve found that time may heal wounds, but scars make sure you never forget.”

“Well, scars aside, you look good,” he moves on and I feel like an idiot the way I was used to feeling around him.

“Of course I do.”

“What are you doing in London? Last I checked I was getting a reference check from America.”

I debate not answering him but I was trying to straddle the line between indifference and confidence. It was like walking a tightrope.

“I’m in London for a little while,” I give vaguely.

“Ah,” he smiles and damnit I forgot how handsome he could be. How handsome could then turn into seductive so quickly. I had to remember: Still a devil. “Are you looking for a new employer? Because I could be hiri-“

“No.” I cut him off. “I finally have a job I love so I’m good.”

Something flickers in his eyes but surprisingly he stays quiet.

“What are you doing here? At The Violinist?” I ask. I sort of wish I still had a drink in my hand, they feel awkward and clunky and I want to avoid playing with my hair. Gah. “Global star drinks alone at his local bar?”

He laughs but I can tell I hit a minor nerve. “Here I’m just a local. Always have been—it’s nice to be anonymous for a little bit.”

I roll my eyes. I didn’t believe that for a second. He loved his fame and everything that came with it.

Plus I used to come here all the time, I would’ve known if my employer was a local too. He was lying for some reason.

“Mr. Styles if there’s one thing I remember about you, you’d choose death over anonymity.”

“Firstly,” he leans in and I get a whiff of his usual cologne with a hint of malt. “A person can change a lot. So maybe you don’t know me as much as you think you do-“

“Oh I don’t think anyone can change that drastically in only a year-“

“You seemed to have.”

His words take mine out of my mouth. I hadn’t changed, not really. I’d always been this y/n but the further I got away from him the more reassured I had gotten being that y/n.

“And secondly,” he continues before I could think of a response. “You no longer work for me. Harry is fine.”

The smile he throws me is almost sweet if I didn’t know the cruelty that could hide underneath. I don’t return the smile, I only raise my brow and look back down at my phone. My cell service hasn’t gotten any better and I’d missed the wifi password.

I could connect to Harry’s wifi, ask him so that I could order an uber.

I’d rather van gogh my ear.

I weigh all my options and consider the last one again. I look up to see what Harry was doing in the silence and find him looking at me. A shiver runs up my spine as our eyes clash. So much history and words unspoken fall in between. A very specific night flashes through my mind. I wonder if it does him because he looks down first. Damn.

“So I’ve gotta get going,” I say.

“Let me buy you a drink.” He says at the same time.

He laughs awkwardly and repeats, “One drink?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“We’re not drinking buddies.” I pull my purse to my chest, wanting to hop off this stool and run home if I need to. Put as much distance between myself and this man that was put on this earth to confuse me.

“Then what are we y/n?” He asks, his voice silky smooth as he leans in. The voice that whispered sweet nothings into my ear in my worst nightmares, nightmares of cotton sheets and heated limbs, of passion and shame.

“Ex-employer,” I point to him. I point to myself, “Ex-employee.”

“Exes have drinks together,” he grins full well knowing the double meaning.

“Never ends well,” I eye the door.

“Just as stubborn as I remember.”

“And you were saying people change?” I raise my brow.

He drops the smile and sighs, “I’m not gonna be able to convince ya am I?”

I shake my head. He should know that by now.

“Can I walk you out at least?”

I shrug, couldn’t hurt.

“What is this?” I ask as he opens the door for me.

“What?”

“This? Why are you trying to be so friendly?”

“I thought we could be friendly exes.”

And when did he get so cheeky.

“Something weird is going on,” I watch him stay in step with me as I walk up. With no service I was going to take the tube. “And I don’t like it.”

“Nothing weird is going on don’t get all paranoid on me.”

“Don’t call me paranoid! You never call a woman paranoid.”

“I thought that was conspiracy theorists?”

“Nooo. You’re being weird.”

"Alright, no need to get all Freudian on me. Just trying to be a decent human here."

I shake my head, somehow in our exchange my face had decided it was okay to smile. To forget what he put me through and remember instead that when things were good between us we actually got along.

Damnit. The devil knew how to play tricks. I wipe the smile off my face while he continues walking with me.

“So…what have you been up to?” He asks.

“Working, you know me.” I say after trying to figure out what his angle was but unable to find one.

“Oretta Smith I hear, how did you manage that?”

“I’m just that good Harry,” I say. His name is weird in my mouth. Sure I called him that in my head but I usually used Mr. Styles. I can tell he feels the same with his quick glance my way.

“How do you like that?”

“Yeah, she’s a great employer like I said. Very professional. Lots of flexibility.” Each praise is a knock to his ego. But it was all true, plus with Winnie joining the team I had a friend my age that felt great.

But there was also a darker side called burnout that I barely admitted to myself. Ever since we landed in London and I had time to orient my new self in a city that molded my old self, I felt the familiar singe of purposeless. But I keep it to myself of course.

“Great.” Harry responds curtly. “What about yourself? How’s your life, are you finally married?”

My instinct is to raise my defences and chew him out, he must know Gray and I were done what with me living in the States.

And yet, when I peer past the defences and take a long hard look at him I realize he is asking earnestly and without another angle.

We’re nearing the tube now. I hesitate in lying or telling the truth.

“We broke up,” I choose to confess. I peek at him and he looks surprised, even sorry.

“I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“I’d hope not,” I reply. “Otherwise you’d be an asshole calling me Mrs. Duran.”

He huffs an awkward laugh.

“Anyway this is me—

“I can give you a ride home—wherever that is right now?” He asks.

We’re stood in front of the glass doors. There’s not a lot of people this time of night. And as tempting as his offer was, the way he looks at me right now sends poisonous butterflies to my stomach and I think it’s best I get home for the big day tomorrow and not make any regrets.

“I’m not too far,” I lie. I point a thumb to the doors behind me. “I’m just gonna…”

“Yeah. Yeah right.” He’s awkward, which is a first. He clears his throat and stuffs his hand into his pocket. I watch him with a removed sort of curiosity. Eventually he coughs out his question. “How long are you in London for?”

“A few weeks,” I reply.

He finally meets my eyes again—and there goes my stomach. He was supposed to have zero effect on me, I was supposed to stay mad at him. Why was my body betraying me? Why did it continue to loop memories from that night and remind me of the things he whispered in the dark?

“A few weeks,” he murmurs back.

His gaze travels over my face openly, no longer holding back the barely-hidden expressions from before. Because I told him Gray and I weren’t a thing? Because I was entertaining whatever bullshit this was?

“Yep,” I nod. Awkward. Nervous. Cautious.

“My number’s the same,” his eyes snap back to mine. “If you want to go for that drink later.”

“Harry,” I try to break it to him another way. I wish I could just say I never want that drink. “I don’t think-“

“Don’t think,” he cuts me off. He laughs when I furrow my brows. “I mean, I’m right here for most of the next few weeks. When you feel like you want to have that drink just give me a call. Or text.”

Why, I want to ask him. Why, after all this time, after everything that happened? And it’s like he reads my mind in the silence.

“I know you left on a pretty poor note.” He shuffles his feet. “I know a lot of that was my fault. I apologize for that. Um, but I did enjoy having you around. You were excellent at your job and…you are missed. Even Jeff remembers you fondly. Which is saying something.”

This was some sort of prank. Or Harry had gotten so famous he now had a doppelgänger roaming the streets as him. It couldn’t be that Harry, my Harry, would say something so sentimental and so…genuine.

“So uh yeah, I would love to see you again while you’re in town.” He says when I don’t respond.

“Right.” I choke out.

He shrugs when I can’t bring myself to say anything more. “We do change, whether you believe it or not y/n.”

I swallow, hoping to lubricate my vocal cords and find my voice. “I-I really do have to go.”

Crestfallen, he nods. His hand comes up to touch my elbow. “Yeah ‘course. Just…think about it?”

I look down at his hand and he lets go, we stay in another bubble of silence. His eyes flicker down to my lips and I feel a wave of warmth as I try not to do the same.

“Goodnight,” I blurt and get to the other side of the glass doors. He watches me go.

On the escalator down I risk a glance back and he’s still there, watching until I’m out of sight. That ended incredibly awkward.

Leave it up to Harry to confuse me in coming back into my life. Damn him, he could never be consistent.

***

Waking up super early to catch the train out to Cambridge is so worth it because I get to watch Josie walk the stage and graduate with distinction wearing her famous smile that beams over the vast room.

Despite what happened with Gray and I, Josie and I have kept in touch steadily over the last year. It started as weekly facetimes which reduced down to monthly calls and have now become a steady stream of texts and memes swapped back and forth.

When she found out I’d be in London around her graduation dates she gave me no choice but to show up, sending me a ticket without asking.

I knew I’d see Gray, and a part of me was nervous and curious how that was going to go. But mostly I was grateful to still be in Josie’s life and spend time with her in person. She was the part of this life I missed most.

I’m sat somewhere in the middle of the room and Josie was smart enough not to seat me with the rest of her guests. But I know I would see everyone during photos and the dinner we were having later on. I try keep my focus on the ceremony however.

“Y/N!” Josie rushes towards me when she sees me after the ceremony. The group she departs from I recognize is a mix of her girl friends, her family, and a few others.

“Josie!” I return the same energy and she leaps into my arms. I squeeze her tight to me. “I’m soo proud of you my girl.”

We sway side to side, until we get enough hug.

“Look at you!” She exclaims when she leans back. “Your hair looks amazing and you are glowing. Please tell me you have a boy in your life.”

“No,” I laugh.

“A girl?” She asks hesitantly.

“No! I’m just…happy where I am right now! How about you look at you! You look phenomenal as per.”

“Oh thanks,” she takes the compliment and giggles. “I asked my dad to grad gift me a salon and spa visit so I am rejuvenated and blown out.”

“Aren’t you ever,” I touch a lock of her hair. “Congratulations.”

“Eek!” She squeals. “Finally finished this hellscape! I can’t wait to never write an exam again—ooh wait I want you to meet my boy…”

“So that’s why we’re actually glowing,” I tease as she tugs me towards the group. That definitely has Gray. My stomach drops the closer we get, he doesn’t seem to notice. He looks busy talking to one of Josie’s friends.

“Anyway,” she deposits me in front of a 6 foot something guy made of angles. “This is Jax. My boyfriend. We met during a Friendsgiving Myles threw last year.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jax smiles. “Y/N right?”

“Yes!”

“I was supposed to get around to that,” Josie huffs.

“Sorry she talked about you a lot when she found out you were coming. She was really excited.”

“Ugh,” she turns to me like she was embarrassed but her face is glowing. Josie was in looove.

“You two are so cute,” I tease which just makes Josie blush a little harder. “So are we getting any pictures?”

“Oh yeah,” Jax swivels his head. “Liliya has the good camera if you want to get-“

“Oh we can use our phones,” Josie cuts him off.

“No get the high res one—Liliya, camera?” Jax motions a shuttering action to the friend Gray was talking to. He’s so tall above the crowd that both look up at him and comply.

“Y/N,” Josie drags my arms back and takes me on the outskirt of the crowd. “I’m so sorry I never mentioned because I thought you wouldn’t come if I did tell you but you-“

“Y/N?”

Josie’s rushed whispers are cut short when Gray notices me and calls my name. He looks stupefied. I spare a glance to Josie and she’s paled.

She didn’t tell him.

“Hey,” I force a friendly tone. I was going to kill that girl.

“Did you all want a photo?” Josie’s friend Liliya shoulders her way back into the circle with the camera on a strap. She turns to Gray, “Babe?”

It’s an odd sensation, like all oxygen has left my lungs and they’re being squeezed as if tightened in a vice. Gray’s eyes drag away from me to his…girlfriend? Definitely not Josie’s friend.

It shakes me in the moment how much I realize I still cared, still carried a shred of hope for…something. And not consciously knowing this makes this moment feel a little like a slap in the face.

What did I think? I was going to leave this country for a year and people were going to pause where I last left them? Of course Gray’s moved on. Aside from the end he was a great partner and anybody would want that.

These thoughts race through my head in the few seconds Gray responds to his girlfriend and I look at Josie. She looks guilty as charged.

“I tried to tell you just now?” She whispers.

Deep breaths, I remind myself. You’re not the hot-headed y/n these people knew last. This day is not about you. It’s about Josie.

“It’s cool. Let’s get some photos,” I smile. “Don’t want to miss having them with you.”

She sighs but keeps her eyes on my face as we walk farther out.

“I am really sorry,” she whispers.

“Hey it’s alright,” I lie. This was the worst of it—Gray had moved on, had a great girlfriend, and I was living the life I wanted. No harm and no foul. “Honestly Jo I get it, you wanted me here reallllly bad.”

“I did!” She says. “But I’m also gonna kill Jax.”

I laugh and we straighten up when we realize the camera was already pointed at us. Josie flashes her degree and a few of her friends join the pictures too. We hustle back to Gray to see them and flipping back on the first few makes my breath catch in my throat. There’s one in particular where Josie is turned to me talking and my mouth is in a big grin because I’m laughing.

I catch eyes with Gray in an uncomfortably intimate second.

“Send me that one for sure wow Gray that’s a really good shot.”

“Oh wow,” his girlfriend peers over. “That’s a great candid.”

“Yeah,” I agree. I’d love a copy too. And of course that’s when Gray’s girlfriend notices me and introduces herself.

“I don’t think we’ve met—is that an American accent I detect?”

“It is,” I smile. “I’m Y/N.”

“Oh!” Two spots of pink appear on her face. It seems she’s heard of me. “Well it’s nice to meet you—nice that Josie invited you! I’m Liliya but Lily works too.”

“C’mon!” Josie interrupts the awkward by grabbing her brother’s arm and pushes him in the direction of where her friends are posing for photos. He takes some shots but Josie hates the look of them and gives the camera to Lily instead.

With just Gray and I left behind it grows very awkward.

“I thought Josie told everyone I would be-“ I say just as he says, “I didn’t realize you would be-“

We stop and chuckle awkwardly.

“Sorry,” I shake my head.

“No,” he shrugs. “It’s cool. It’s cool you’re here actually.”

“Okay,” is all I can say. Until the awkward silence stretches. “So…Liliya?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Liliya. You?”

I want to lie, but I shake my head. “No. Sorta needed the year to breathe a little.”

“Fair. How’s America?”

“Oh y’know, still super-sized and politically a guessing game.”

“Have you turned on our news while you’ve been down at all?” He raises a brow. I laugh because he was right. It was all a shitshow everywhere.

He asks me about my family as Josie jogs up to us.

“Okay, tell me the truth is my hair going flat?”

“No,” I look behind her where her friends are hovering over Lily and the camera going over their photos.

“Good. Where’s mum and dad?” Josie asks Gray. “Dad was just here 10 minutes ago he said he’d come by for—oh there’s mum! Look!”

We turn to where she points. Michelle—what I’ve always called Gray’s mom, spots her daughter at the same time and waves. She starts to walk towards us.

It’s nice to see her but I also feel a bit nervous; going cold turkey on relationships you only had because of an ex are always weird to come back to. Especially ones you were fond of.

“Mum! You’re missing all the pictures!” Josie says. “Where’ve you been!?”

“I just saw somebody I knew back from my first job as a librarian can you believe that?” Michelle says as she joins the group.

“Crazy. Well mum look who got to show up today! Isn’t that crazy too?”

Michelle looks at me and the bright smile that was intended for her daughter dies like a flower in overnight frost. The look wipes the anticipation off my face.

“Who?”

That one word shades the sun from the sky and brings forth a gust of western winds through the group.

“Mum,” Josie look between me, her mum, and Gray. She’s confused. “Y/N?”

“Hey Michelle,” I croak. Maybe my hair was too different for her to recognize me, or maybe she had early onset alzheimers. Surely this woman who I’ve had a better relationship with than her own son has wouldn’t be treating me like your worst frenemy at your high school reunion.

But Michelle looks right through me. I can’t explain how it feels, not in the moment. I’m gutted, and feel an unexplainable wave of sadness.

“Mum…” Josie sounds hurt and Gray finally decides to swoop in.

“Mum let’s check out the photos we took already. We gotta get some of the three of us.”

They walk away and I feel seven inches tall but I turn to Josie with a brave face and face her teary one.

“That was kind of awkward,” I downplay.

“Y/N I’m honestly so sorry I-,” Josie blinks rapidly.

“No it’s ok!”

“I don’t know why she acted like that-“

“Hey It’s natural for her to feel that way I’m alright don’t get upset-“

“It’s not alright though! That was such a…she never acts like that.”

It was true. Michelle was a free-spirit as she called herself. That’s why Gray had such a hard relationship with her; in his words, she was too emotional and ungrounded for him.

Yet apparently, she was able to find enough ground to stand on when it came to treating me like a nobody. I wonder if it’s because she heard Gray’s biased side of the story or she was hurt herself—still, the way she’s always talked about herself never struck me as someone who would believe a one-sided story. Or be a bitch to someone they previously called their daughter. It hurt like a mofo.

I didn’t want Josie to find out this way, here of all places, that her mom was just human after all. She idolized that woman.

So even though it hurt, I comfort her instead.

“She probably just feels betrayed by me leaving and stuff since we were close too. Imagine if Jax broke up with you and she gave him the cold shoulder—wouldn’t you feel justified?”

Josie scrunches her brows to think about the simplified story I’ve just fed her to feel better. I can tell it still doesn’t sit well with her but she nods in acceptance, “I guess.”

“Yeah, just forget it Josie. Plus you’ve got pictures to take so dry those eyes.”

“Shit I know,” she blinks some more. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to invite you here and twist the knife at every bloody turn.”

“Jo I’m honoured to get to be here and see all your hard work pay off. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“It’s unfair,” she says before she drifts to her group of friends. “I feel like nobody understands how…how understanding you are. But I’m really glad we’re still in touch. And you came for me.”

Her words bring tears to my eyes and I nod, afraid that talking would bring them forward. I watch her crash her group and start instructing photo coordination. I help hold things for people while they take photos and feel like a stranger outside the crowd. If it weren’t for Josie, I think I would have regretted coming here. I feel homesick and unwanted. A tough combo.

I was supposed to crash on someone’s couch tonight and do brunch with Josie tomorrow before going back to London but from the last half hour alone I know I’m going back to the city no matter how late it gets tonight. I think of the hotel room that was home right now, of how lonely that was going to feel to go back to too.

Home right now was in America, in the same time zone as my family, and comfortable in my shared apartment with one of my high school best friends who I reconnected with after going back home. I miss it so bad. And I feel like I’ve bitten into an unripe fruit coming back to the UK before I was ready apparently. My experience feels soured.

I shake off the doom and gloom when the party breaks. We were all going to meet at the restaurant at 6–my plan was to explore the university city and find a place to kill some time in. Maybe go outside to a park with lunch. Josie tries to convince me to join her and her friends for their mid-day celebration but I lie and tell her I had some work to do.

I call Winnie on my stroll through the city. I insist she update me on last night first, and she has more to tell—the guy had a yacht and he was inviting her to a party tonight. She tells me to join if I came back early and we cross our fingers that Oretta wouldn’t need her before then.

I originally called her to rant about Michelle and Gray but I don’t, I didn’t want to kill her vibe. So I scroll through my other contacts but don’t want to worry my mom and it was too early back home to reach anyone else.

My eyes catch on Harry’s name, he was at the top of my texts currently because he sent me a link this afternoon asking me for thoughts on it. I hadn’t opened it yet, I wasn’t sure what to think about this new persona he was wearing or that he thought yesterday’s run-in went okay enough to casually message me for my thoughts.

I remember the weird electricity of yesterday and shove my phone back into my pocket.

He genuinely wanted to have a drink? And talk??

I did enjoy having you around. You were excellent at your job and you are missed.

Was he trying to make up for his cruel words? But he also seemed a lot more mellow than before. Maybe that was just because I didn’t work for him. What did he want? And was I twisted for believing the new schtick?

Most curious of all was him at the pub in the first place. He was not a local there—that was a big lie.

I try to conjure up my previous hatred, calling him the Devil in my head. But it’s harder to do. Seeing him yesterday, he was just a man standing in front of a woman with a head full of cautionary tales and bad experiences.

Without warning images from that night come back and I feel my heart flutter. I shut them down just as quick. Not all bad, my body tries to remind me. I tell it to shut up.

I’ve barely stepped foot in this country again and already my mind was running circles around my heart. How exhausting.

***

I’m early to the restaurant, before anyone else apparently. As the hostess finds my name on her floor plan Josie comes in behind me with Jax.

“Oh! Y/n you’re early!” She seems flustered.

“Yeah I didn’t think I would be,” it was only a few minutes to 6.

We make small talk while we’re led to the table, Josie’s eyes keep darting to where our table might be.

“Sorry I was hoping to do this before you came,” she says when we get there. There are name cards along the 7 seats and she picks the one in front of me. “I’m just gonna move mum to my other side so it doesn’t get weird. Which means she’ll be closer to dad but…I think he’s bailing since his girlfriend doesn’t want to do this.”

Josie shrugs, I know how she feels about her dad’s girlfriend. She begins explaining the plans she has to do dinner with her dad later this week and the more she talks the more I can tell that she feels awkward. And I hate that it’s because of me. At one point Jax and I catch eyes and pass an awkward smile.

“Josefina Duran,” I walk up to her fiddling with the name tags. She stops talking immediately. I grip her shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Sorry,” she whispers. I wrap my arms around her and she melts into me.

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s a disease.”

We let go with a laugh and she seems more stable. “This is going to be fine.”

Famous last words.

It’s definitely not fine and very awkward. Jax ends up sitting in front of me, and even though Liliya’s name tag was beside mine it’s suddenly swapped as they slide in and Gray sits beside me. I guess it might be too awkward for her but not awkward enough to fit someone we both dated between us.

I can sense Michelle’s pinched face as she notices us sitting beside each other and I feel badly for Josie the most as she tries to play the gracious host. At one point I sense Jax laying a hand on her arm and taking over, asking Michelle questions about her yoga and getting her talking.

“Did you need more?” Gray turns to me with the wine bottle, it’s the second thing he’s said to me tonight. Otherwise he mostly just watches me talk and leans back enough when others are talking so I can be involved.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. I didn’t want to draw any attention while Michelle was talking. She hadn’t said a peep to me, even when Josie tried to involve us both in a shared memory. She continued acting like I was Casper the ghost.

I can feel Lily’s eyes on us as Gray offers wine, of course they would be. No wonder Gray barely spoke to me all night. Fuck me, what was I doing here.

Jax is a sweetheart, asking me about my job and encouraging conversation between the both of us. I’m so happy for Josie that she found a partner like him.

By the time dinner is over I mostly want to cry. I feel spent. But I also feel like I crashed an intimate dinner and everyone’s polite enough not to mention it. Despite Josie, I do actually regret coming.

As we pay the bill and shuffle out, Josie grabs my arm.

“So I have two friends where you can crash at their place or Jax can sleep over at mine and you can sleep at his or-“

“I think I’m gonna head back to the city.”

Her face falls. But it’s like she knew I was going to say that.

“Sorry Jo. I think you should come to the city next week—maybe visit your brother? And while you’re down we’ll do brunch then. I’m mostly free while I’m here. I’m just pretty tired and have to help Winnie with something tomorrow.”

“Really?” She says in the smallest voice I’ve heard out of her. Salt to my wounds.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I know we were looking forward to getting time together.”

She juts out her lip and I’m reminded of the girl I met when I first started dating Gray. How she’d taken to me so quickly. How the whole family had. How things could end up like this.

And suddenly I see the future laid out in front of me. After tonight it would be hard to keep this relationship going—Josie and I. She’s just seen her mom be an unreasonable bitch for the first time, I can tell she’s been trying to compensate all night but the cracks won’t go away. It’ll always be a sitting duck between us.

We might try to stay in touch, maybe I’d reach out if I was ever in London or if she ever visited the west coast. But this would fizzle out.

She was still young and naive enough that her mom hung the moon and stars; mom’s beliefs were gospel, her opinions were rulings, and she’d just delivered my ultimate sentence: I was a black sheep to the family. How could sweet Josie walk through a mess like that?

“I’m so proud of you,” I tell her as I fight tears. “Congratulations again and thank you for inviting me.”

“Thanks. And you don’t have to be so nice. I know it was kind of a shitty invite.”

“No,” I insist. “I loved being here. I don’t regret showing up for you. I can’t wait to hear what you get up to.”

“I’m going to make sure to make it to the city next week,” she squeezes my arm. “We’ll see each other soon.”

“Exactly,” I look over at the rest of the group, where her boyfriend waits for her. Her family. “And I really like Jax, so good on you for that.”

“He…” she twists her lips, swallowing what she was going to say before vomiting it out. “I always aspired to have a relationship like yours and Gray’s. I never wanted to settle for anything less so that’s…that’s why Jax.”

“Hm I think you made us the bar and you leapt over it babe,” I wrap my arms around her again. I ache with the loss of what we used to be.

“See you soon,” she says before she drags herself back to the group.

I stand off to the side, awkwardly ordering an Uber. The group begins to walk the opposite way waving bye to me. I breathe easier without the weight of them around.

As I tap my foot in anticipation of the ride to the station arriving, I feel a hand tap my shoulder.

“Y/n,” it’s Gray. “Hey I…I just wanted to say something before you left.”

“Oh. Hey yeah. Shoot.”

What was it with everyone wanting to say something to me.

“Uh…ok give me a minute,” he laughs in the way I know to mean he was feeling nervous. “I just sort of jogged back impulsively.”

“Yeah well you have,” I glance at my phone. “4 or so minutes.”

“Damn,” he ruffles his hair. “Alright. I think I just wanna say sorry.”

“Oh.” That was it. Everyone had something to say to me and the something was apparently sorry.

“Yeah I’m sorry. I…when we broke up I was so upset and caught up in my own head. I blamed you for everything. I think it only hit me when you just up and moved out of the country how things actually went down.”

I hadn’t told anyone but Josie that I was leaving.

“Yeah you were just like gone.” He continues. “I guess a part of me thought we’d get some space, maybe circle back later…”

“You really betrayed me,” I remind him.

But even I know what he means. He hurt me bad and it might be crazy stupid but on some level we were both aware we were in an ugly place and maybe with some space we might come back to the place that was good for us again. Maybe bump into each other one day, strike up a conversation, find there might still be a small amount of love left. Enough to water and grow again.

“I know,” he sighs. “I know. I hate that I hurt you like that. I regret…I actually don’t really hang out with that group of friends as much anymore. I sorta have myself to blame but I didn’t like who I was with them.”

I listen, letting him speak. It hurt too, knowing this was the Grayson I had fallen in love with. Kind and supportive, and now apparently he’s learned to communicate. Maybe that was a Lily thing.

“I guess,” he blows the air out of his cheeks. “I want to say I’m really truly sorry. I missed you a lot after you left. Nothing was the same and life was fucking hard. I wish things didn’t end the way they did and I stayed mature but I was just jealous and angry.”

I nod to acknowledge what he’s saying and watch him take a breath to continue.

“And I always appreciated how you never let us shake your relationship with my sister because she bloody loves you—I don’t think how mum treated you was right today but I never really understood her in the first place. I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah,” is all I can manage without making it obvious how emotional this was all making me. How one year could make me feel like a completely different person. How this man I loved, and still love in some way, could stand in front of me talking about us as something in the past. Because we were. Long past.

My phone dings with a notification that my ride would be here. We glance down and out into the street.

“Anyway,” he swallows. “I just wanna apologize. And say I genuinely hope you find love y/n. Love that’s as fierce and loyal as you are. I hope you can forgive me one day. And I hope you’re successful as hell in whatever you pour yourself into.”

“Thank you Gray,” I want to say I was sorry too. For what it was worth. But my car pulls to the curb.

I wave at the driver to let them know I’d ordered it and we walk the few feet to the back door.

I face Gray and open my mouth to say it. Say something more: how I appreciated his words, how I was sorry for how things ended too, how I hope he is happy. But nothing comes out of my mouth. I just stare at him, my eyes welling with tears instead.

Gray holds out his hand and I look down at it. I knew those hands well and it’s like walking into a place you used to frequent in the past and have memories rush towards you as you remember: those hands held me and wrapped around my own and comforted me, they made me food and stroked my hair, and carried my bags when they got too heavy. They once wore an engagement band I gifted, they once held a small box with a life-changing question I had said yes to.

Now it was just a hand.

I clasp it and he squeezes.

“I know,” he says, his eyes trained on my watery ones. He squeezes again and lets go.

I rush into the car, those two words nearly cracking me in half. I wave goodbye through the tinted window and feel a wave of despair that pulls me down into the depths of darkness.

Too much was happening at once.

My emotions spiral out of me and I feel alone in this foreign country; I needed comfort where none could be found.

I don’t mean to. Or maybe I do. But on the train back to London I text Harry: is it too early to cash in on the drink?

His response is immediate: no, I was waiting for this text last night

I smile, despite myself.

Can I come over? I text with shaking hands.

H: For drinks?

Y: For drinks

H: Ofc.

***

The taxi drops me in front of the familiar building. I feel an echo of anxiety pierce through me as I go through the familiar doors. I nod at the concierge, the night replacement was new and I’m grateful nobody can recognize me making this potentially stupid decision.

For a brief second I wonder if Harry had other plans tonight but decide not to overthink it. He’d invited me openly. And maybe I was making a decision based on sadness and loneliness and grief and needing to be wanted but I make it. And I would make it like a grown woman—ready to accept the consequences.

I didn’t want to go back to my lonely hotel room. I didn’t want to call anyone and talk about what just happened. I didn’t have words. My body was taking the beating, feeling everything under the sun and now bruised and battered for it. I just wanted my body to forget that. And there was only one person in this godforsaken city that could help.

I’m let up to the penthouse and I forgot it had a distinct smell, wood-like and something indescribable. Weird that it felt comforting.

“You made it,” Harry comes into view in a simple pair of shorts and a long-sleeved white tee pushed up to his elbows. It’s the sleeves that really do it.

“I did.”

I leave my bags beside the elevator next to the umbrella stand, keeping my eyes on him. He doesn’t take his off mine either. I’m glad he doesn’t. Now I know he knows we both said drinks but meant something more.

He reaches out for me before I even get to him, and I know I would think about that later. A lot. But right then in the middle of his entryway I wrap my arms around his neck and lean up on my toes to reach him too.

His lips are soft against mine and he tucks me into him, his hand splayed out on my lower back. It feels like a return to a lover, someone who knows you, like I would’ve thought seeing Gray again would feel. But it’s just Harry, and the thought of baseless familiarity freaks me out a little.

The next time I feel his lips they’re on my jaw and neck and down to the base of my throat. He murmurs my name as he makes his way down and my body reacts immediately. He takes me by the waist and backs me up against the nearest wall, and I have a feeling I might fall.

I had made the conscious decision to walk into the devil’s lair because it was the only place I could get what I needed.

My fingers dig into his shoulders. My body wants this. Every part of me wants to pull him close and hold him and never let go. I wanted all of it tonight.

But I am so tired.

I put a hand on his chest and press gently. I can feel the warmth of his skin, the firmness of his muscles and the beat of his heart as he pauses.

“Sorry, I should have started with a hello. That was too fast was it?” He whispers, looking me straight in the eyes.

I have a million answers, but nothing comes. He puts his hand over mine and I feel it as a shiver runs up my spine.

"Is this too fast?" he asks again, and I hear the worry in his voice.

I shake my head.

He gives a breathy laugh, "Then tell me."

"I think I-“

“Don’t,” he covers my mouth with a laugh. “Please please. Don’t think.”

I smile under his palm and he drops his hand, I can tell he’s proud of lightening the moment by the sheen in his eyes. The moment is tender in a way that takes me back.

He brushes back my hair and kisses my forehead. I close my eyes, breathing in his cologne.

“That’s not where I want to be kissed,” I tell him.

“Then where?” He plays along.

“Anywhere but there.”

He kisses my nose. “There?”

“Not there,” I open my eyes to look up at him. “I’ll have you know that was very snotty just an hour ago.”

He groans, “you really have a way of taking the desire out of a situation.”

But his brows furrow and he watches me even closer.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I respond to his unasked question.

With that statement he takes a painful step back and I nearly slide down the wall without his support.

“What?” I ask.

“We should take that drink first.”

I feel the loss of his body pressed against mine, I realize miserably.

“What do you mean? I thought the drinks were just an excuse?” I ask.

He laughs a little, “Maybe tonight, but I really did want to have a drink with you. And talk.”

“Harry,” I groan. “I’m all out of talking tonight. Truly.”

“As much as I want to say forget talking and take you to bed I need to do this…just follow me,” he leads me and my flushed body through to the main living area which I was well familiar with but it’d gotten a facelift. I make commentary on the changes and he tells me more about it as he pulls a wine he wants out for us.

“I changed things around a little after you left,” he says as he hands me the wine glass. “I needed it. The change.”

“Oh.” Is all I can muster. I follow him to the sofa, tonight he doesn’t leave as much space between us but it still feels like a weird parallel to the night I landed in the hospital; a confrontation with Gray leading me to wine with Harry. “Look Harry I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Why not?”

“I…I’m at minimal capacity right now I just-“

“Just let me talk then.”

“Why does everyone want to talk!”

“I need to tell you what I should have said a long time ago and I want to apologize-“

“You already did-“

“Properly.”

I cross my arms and sigh.

“Y/n bloody hell I forgot how quickly you can get under my skin.”

“So this isn’t a great thing then.”

“Y/N,” he says my name like a warning and I want to comply. I roll my eyes and knock back my glass of wine, the buzz from the glass at dinner has long since worn away.

“Part of me wants to top you up but another part remembers what happened last time.” Harry eyes me.

“No I’m okay with just one glass. Drinking when I’m upset doesn’t end well.”

“Yeah…I don’t want you concussed on my watch again.”

“No we don’t want that,” we smile at each other, a soft and sentimental smile that gets the anxious stuttering of my heart to calm down a little. He just wanted to talk, so what?

But the anxious voice runs through the scenarios he might want to—his recent text, or something I did as his PA he wants to take up now. Gah.

“I really have missed having you around,” he says softly.

“Didn’t feel like you would with how you treated me.” I raise my brow.

“I know.” He pauses then mumbles something before talking to me directly. “You must have heard about the PA before you? Maybe from Riley?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Hmmm this feels like a trick question.” I say but he tells me he just wants to know what I knew. So I rip the bandaid off. “You had a fling with her.”

He hangs his head back over the seat of the sofa and sighs. “I knew that piece of…Riley makes me really mad when I think about him sometimes.”

“Does he?” I raise my brow. “I can think of someone else who makes me madder.”

“I know that’s supposed to be me. And I don’t know what to do about that except come clean right now.”

“And why is that?” I ask. “Coming clean? I came here just to get distracted in bed with you. I never thought I’d live to see the day where a guy like you wants to talk instead.”

“Y/N,” he says with such an intense look my way my stomach flips. “Trust me. I want to have you in my bed more than you do. But I told myself if that day ever somehow happened it would be after this.”

I shrug, let him continue. In reality his words make me weak and I can’t speak. Which kind of annoys me—why did he have such a strong pull over me? How did he so easily admit he’s thought about me, about having me in his bed!?

My heart flutters amongst other things.

I remember a brief conversation I had with my mom last year when she asked me why I wasn’t putting myself out there and dating again and I told her I just didn’t have the heart for it. She had said it seems I left my heart in London—my passion and my heart. Sitting here with Harry stirs something inside of me, scares me, and I want to distract that with more wine. But I manage to control myself.

“I was fairly new to the industry when I hired Riley and it was his second proper job or something so we were both a bit young and we ended up being friendlier than we should have.” Harry starts. “But he was great at his job and never gave me any issues. I stayed naïve that people in this industry would look out for my best interest-“

“That’s really naïve,” I can’t help but comment but he throws me a look and I zip my lips. “Sorry.”

“I was lucky that the first few relationships I built as I got my foot in the door were genuine but I realized too late that it wasn’t a norm. Everyone wanted a piece of me and they all wanted me to be someone else. Some angle. Shit hit the fan pretty quickly. So when I needed more help I decided to create a new role for Riley and hire a PA. She was seasoned and came highly recommended.”

I nod along to his story.

“Long story short, she started out good but she kept trying to get me alone and get me talking. And back then after being friends with my old PA I didn’t have the wisdom of setting boundaries—don’t give me that look.”

“What!” I raise my hands. “I’m just listening.”

“You’re judging me.”

“Just continue,” I encourage. I was judging a little.

“Anyway, where I thought we were just friendly she thought I—I dunno I was falling for her or something. And one night she was working late so she had dinner here. She kept refilling my drink I didn’t realize she wasn’t drinking as much. It’s not much of an excuse but by the time she came onto me I was pissed and it didn’t take much.”

He continues the story like it was nothing but his voice catches a little and he doesn’t look me in the eye. My insides grow colder. I want to reach inside of him and hold the old Harry, the naive one who didn’t know better.

“Please don’t feel bad for me,” he cuts my sympathy short. “I didn’t turn into a great person after that. Especially with how I treated you.”

“That’s right.” I pretend to be unaffected by his story like he wanted me to be. But it’s near impossible.

“So that’s how I decided it was best for me to play the asshole. I couldn’t fire her after that—it would look awful and she could report me and screw me over. But I could make working for me a nightmare and so I did. A few months later she quit.”

He sighs and takes a swig of his wine, “Then you came along and I thought ‘I should play the asshole from the get go.’ I had gotten good by then at compartmentalizing my personality in the industry.”

“Hmph,” I raise a brow. He has the decency to look embarrassed but he continues.

“But the more time we spent together the worse I felt. You were nothing like the previous PA. You were genuine and down-to-earth. Pretty fiery but I wouldn’t find that out until later,” he grins. I roll my eyes. “I tried to ease up a little but things kept happening to push me back into the asshole box.”

“But you were so snappy, and a dick.”

“I know. I didn’t know how to tell you you worked too hard without dropping the asshole act and making you feel even shittier.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had to be the villain in your story-“

“What?” What was he talking about?

“Yeah like, you were working all the time even though there were some times I told you to wrap it up for the day.”

I remembered that, thinking he was kicking me out.

“But you took the job so seriously. I appreciated everything you did but you were dogged at making sure you did the best at any cost.”

“What do you mean? At any cost?” I ask, a cold sensation running down my back.

“For example take that one time a few months in when I asked you to call me because you forgot to order wine. You bloody came all the way back to hand deliver it-“

“Yeah because you said to call you and you were gonna be pissed if I-“

“No, y/n,” he lays a hand between us. “I just wanted you to call to know where you usually ordered from so I could order that for myself. You weren’t in any trouble! But I could only blame myself for playing the hard asshole too well.”

I think about that night, Josie’s birthday party. How I left early and upset Gray. How I didn’t need to but I had been following the Dos and Dont’s list.

Shit, the lists. They were added onto by the last PA who, now I know, was having her life made into hell just so she would quit. Some of those lists were on an extreme I didn’t even have to follow. Fuck. That was on me.

My face must be a painting of regret because Harry apologizes again.

“I’m sorry but I didn’t want you to…I just felt like I had to play the villain so you could do what you had to do. So you could continue hating me and we could establish the clear boundary.”

“Right.” I have a bitter taste in my mouth.

“But I genuinely liked you, I thought you were funny and sensitive-“

“You don’t like my sensitivity.”

“I do. I just hated how angry you were-“

“Because of you.”

“I know. I created a monster, I’m Frankenstein.”

“Damn straight.” I agree and we pause a beat before laughing.

“Anyway,” he continues. “You were funny and sensitive and resilient, passionate and smart, and you cared so deeply. It was rare meeting people like you in this field. I wanted to wrap you in bubble wrap but I think I shattered you instead. I’m sorry for the way I just let my past colour your time here. I feel like you left because of me-“

“It was really a lot of reasons.”

“I know but I was part of that and I felt no good. After you left I was a miserable son of a bitch for a while. I couldn’t even enjoy my holiday because I kept thinking of you. I was miserable so I barely even said goodbye—I didn’t realize you were going to run away so far. But I also didn’t want to say goodbye because I was scared I would convince you to stay by spilling my truth.”

His words sit on my chest and they slowly sink down to my stomach. I don’t know what it meant, what he wanted me to do with this confession. It’s too much.

“Mostly,” he continues, shifting closer to me on the sofa. He lowers his voice, “Mostly I’m sorry about Barcelona.”

I flush at the mention of it. At the heat and passion from that night. His eyes roam my face.

“I’m not that guy. I should have treated you nicer, should have been the one to keep my patience.”

“I didn’t make it easy,” I admit.

“No,” he chuckles. “You really fucking did not.”

We smile.

“But you’re so much more than anger y/n. I could barely sleep that night, I kept regretting giving into the anger and not being slow and soft with you the way you deserve. I regret it all the time.”

His confession pulls the veil off my eyes and I see a sharper image of my past. Of everything. It all comes at once and I can’t sort through it in the moment but I know what I want to do.

I shuffle over until I’m up against Harry, I hold his face in mine and he cups my face in his hand.

“You drove me crazy,” I tell him. “Made my life hell.”

“I know. But you drove me crazy too. Nobody got under my skin like you did.”

“Same.”

His hand snakes down to my thigh and he nudges it over his lap so that I’m straddling his body. I feel vulnerable and scared—not the first time these emotions have coursed through me in this very room. But today I don’t feel powerless.

His lips are soft against my cheek, my jaw, down my neck. Unlike the first time he’s slow and deliberate like someone who’s waited so long to unwrap a cherished gift and can’t stand ripping even the gift wrap. He pushes my hair out of the way and trails his fingertips down the back of my neck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers in my ear. The more he talked the more nervous he was making me. I turn my head to capture his lips, run my fingers through his hair which is too short to really grasp. I missed his old hair.

We break apart for a breath and I can feel the tension. The desire to have him near clashing with the need to go slow. To savour this. Somehow we both feel it.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” Harry promises me, his finger trailing down my arm. “Just having you here is enough.”

Oh god. How did he know just the things to say. This man was way too suave. He really was the devil.

But I needed him. It’s scary to admit but I did. I wanted to be here, I really did. I needed to be in this moment with him. Fulfill some shut-out desire that had grown dusty in the corner of my heart.

“I want to do this.”

With a gentle kiss he gets us up and takes my hand. I feel myself being pulled through the living room and towards the bedroom. The sheets are cool, but not cold and when he crawls in beside me I forget that I had ever been anywhere else.

He’s attentive and deliberate and I’m buzzing with anticipation. I decide to pick up the pace, propping myself up to take off my blouse. I watch his throat bob up and down like he’s never seen me like this before even though he has. It’s endearing.

The way his hands fit in the curve of my waist makes it harder to breathe. He moves his hands up my torso and to the straps of my bra. He pauses, as if asking permission, and when I nod, he kisses me. He unhooks it and slowly slides it off my shoulders, eyes fixed on mine.

The intensity of his gaze is overwhelming.

I pull him close to kiss him again, and he pulls me under him so I can feel the full weight of him against me. This is what I needed. To be physically present and not stuck in the after tremors of the earthquakes of my past. Not that he wasn’t part of my past but this is different. A non-verbal agreement to just be present. I knew his ways with women, it could be a one-night thing and that’s what I needed.

But that’s why the moments of tenderness and adoration nearly take my breath away. I don’t know where to put these things.

He kisses down my shoulder while his hand trails down to my trousers. He hooks his finger into the belt loop and tugs gently, looking up at me for consent.

I nod.

He slowly takes them off, and when his fingers brush against my bare legs, my breath hitches.

It happens again when he presses his lips against my hip bone.

He stops for a moment, and I can almost see the cogs in his brain whirring.

He moves up to press his forehead against mine.

"I don't know how to do this right," he says quietly, and his eyes search mine.

“What do you mean?”

“This is always how I should have treated you,” he whispers. “I want you to know-“

“Harry,” I smooth out the lines on his forehead.

"No," he grabs my hand and kisses it. "I don't want you to feel like I don't care because I do. I don’t want to hurt you. I'm not good at saying these things. But I want you to know how much I value you. That I like you as a person. I respect you. I want you to be okay.”

“I-“ who was this Harry, seriously!? “I get it. I’m okay. I am.”

He smiles at me tentatively and my heart does a somersault.

I grab the back of his neck and pull him down, pressing my lips against his. I could taste the sweetness of the words he had said.

I tug at his shirt and it flies into the darkness of his bedroom. His skin is heated against mine.

It feels like an eternity before he finally reaches the band of my panties, and my heart thumps wildly.

"May I?" he looks up.

"Please," I whisper.

For the first time since I’ve met him he doesn’t make it about himself or what he needs. It’s almost intimidating how intense he is as he looks after me and it’s hard to reconcile this man with the man in my head. We’re of one mind and it’s like he knows everything I’ve been through in the last 24 hours; he just attends to my every need reminding me that I was here, right here, in his arms and in this body.

And it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you staying the night?” He asks later with a final kiss to my shoulder.

“If that’s alright?” I ask. I didn’t want to be alone in a cold hotel room.

“I’d love nothing more.” He says earnestly.

Love. I brush the word away.

He warns me that he was a slug if I stayed and he’s not exaggerating, with his arm draped over me and tucked up against him he’s like a child with a plush. He falls asleep just as quickly.

I should too but can’t. I feel so intensely about this body laying beside me, I want to crawl inside of him, understand him, understand us and how this worked.

Or maybe I wanted to just understand me, and why I felt a piece of myself sliding back into place tonight. I had to be the most fucked up person in this city.

Instead of sleeping I lay awake thinking about everything and I can’t help it. I go over this morning—god it felt like weeks ago. Josie’s graduation. Josie. Gray. Even Michelle.

I feel slightly paralyzed by everything that transpired today—it truly felt like peering through a glass window into a life I used to have. I try to break open the glass, sort it all out.

On one side is me and everything I’ve done this whole year to move on from the crumbs of my life here in London. I don’t know why but I really did think that coming back I would be 100% untouchable by my past. I was an idiot for thinking that because I was bothered that Gray seemed to have a steady girlfriend. Why did I think anything would rekindle between us?

I dig deeper, did I even want that to happen? Or did I just want to prove to myself that I was the one Gray let get away because I was too scared to face the possibility that I was the one who let Gray get away.

But clearly something didn’t work with us, I think bitterly. A few months with his new girl and he found the balls to open up with me and communicate his grievances and his apologies.

Love that’s as fierce and loyal as you are, he had said. Was I too much for Gray? Is that why we were made to burn out? It hurt too that he had damaged all my relationships I made in my life here in London only to cut those same people out of his life immediately after I left. The more I think about it the angrier I feel.

And his mom, I still feel bruised by her acting like she didn’t even know me. It stokes the anger higher. Her own son has called her crazy on multiple occasions, I was always nothing but kind to her. Gray was the one who put the final nail in our coffin yet the woman who called me her daughter and claimed to love me had been cruel. Even in the face of getting along for Josie’s sake she had put her petty feelings in the forefront.

These people made me so angry.

How did I ever think I could rekindle anything with Gray? As much as I was to blame, I realize, Gray couldn’t even be kind in the end. Just because the year apart was good to him didn’t mean he would still be good for me.

I think about the man laying beside me, in a hypothetical situation if things got ugly I instinctively want to say he would be cruel too. But I have to push past the persona he claimed to have put up and think about the glimpses of the man I saw underneath. Something tells me he would be just as fiery in letting me know how he was feeling. But with his recent apologies I’m not as convinced he would go out of his way to hurt me again.

Even in the bar last night, I just assumed he called me Mrs. Duran to be cruel but he hadn’t known. Or when I had assumed at Josie’s birthday party I would be fired for forgetting wine because he was an asshole when really he just acted like one so I wouldn’t feel worse.

How many times had I judged people because of how skewed my own lens was? It’s a sobering reminder.

Josie’s face flashes through my mind and I tear up at knowing we were going to cut each other out. No matter how much we loved each other staying in touch at this rate was no longer sustainable. For her best interest.

I think of my younger brother back home, my older sister, our family of 5. When I went back home there was so much to catch up on and eventually, apologize for. I had missed out on so much of my family’s life because I believed I needed to leave to grow. Well, life sure handed me a lot of lessons but I needed to go back home to plant them and let me grow.

Harry stirs beside me, nuzzling my neck in his sleep. I feel myself go teary eyed for no reason.

I wondered if this was just a one-night thing. If we would see each other again while I was in London. Did I want to see him? My heart sings yes immediately.

Damn.

What was it about him that pushed my emotions to the highest highs and lowest lows. How did he know every button to push and every bruise to kiss. This had to be toxic, we couldn’t just take our great big baggage of a past and see each other casually while I was in London. It couldn’t be that easy.

What if it was, hope whispers. I squirm. Could I forgive Harry for everything he’d done?

“Y’sleeping?” Harry mumbles to my left. Shit.

“Yeah,” I say which invokes a throaty chuckle from him. I check the time, it was nearly 4. Double shit.

“Liar,” he tugs on my hips and I turn to face him. “Talk to me.”

I couldn’t. Half of my thought were about him. And how could I tell him I was thinking about my ex after spending the night with him. So I just shake my head.

“Please?” He brushes my cheek with his thumb. “You need to sleep.”

“I-“ I try to say I can’t but the words get stuck in my throat. The emotions of everything I’d been thinking in the last couple hours threaten to dislodge the words from my throat so I close my mouth. But it doesn’t work.

A sob bursts out of me and before I can reel it all in the floodgates swing open and it carries all the pent-up sorrow and confusion, grief and anguish I had bottled up.

Harry freezes for a moment, probably very confused to wake up and have me reacting this way. But he recovers and pulls me into his warm chest.

“What is going on in that head of yours love,” Harry murmurs. Love. I sob even harder.

He murmurs reassuring words whilst stroking my back and I cry an embarrassing amount in the same bed where just hours ago I was blissed beyond comprehension. Life moves fast.

Finally when I gain enough composure I lean away, covering my face because crying into him was one thing but seeing my ugly cry face was another.

“Here,” I feel his body move and then tissues pressed into my hand. I’m grateful for them but I wasn’t going to blow my nose here. I sit up and try to dry my nose. His hand reaches out and the tips of his fingers rest on my spine like he was tethering my lost body to him. Somehow even that is reassuring.

“Don’t go trying to kiss my nose this early on again,” I try to joke through a stuffy voice.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he tugs my arm a little and I fall back beside him. He holds me in both his arms and I watch in horror and affection as he kisses the tip of my nose.

“Stop being so nice,” I laugh and cry a little too.

“You’re actually complaining about me being nice?”

“No I just—I’m not used to it,” I press the tissue to my eyes again.

“Well get used to it,” he peels the hair off of my face and pushes it back. “I don’t want to be the one hurting you. I swear to never ever be the reason you cry like this to anyone.”

“Don’t say those sorts of things if you don’t mean it.”

“I do,” he caresses my face. “You’re breaking my heart y/n, I don’t know who hurt you but I never want to see you like this. Especially not because of me alright? I’m sorry if I ever-“

“Stop,” I put my hand to his mouth. Which is kind of gross since I just blew my nose but I’m pretty sure him kissing my snotty nose means he didn’t care.

“But-“ he says behind my hand.

“I’m embarrassed right now,” I admit.

“You have seen me in every compromising situation,” Harry says. “And we have been through too much together to be embarrassed right now.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “It is tiring.”

“Maybe you can finally sleep now that it’s…almost 5?”

“Sorry,” I sigh. “I hope you don’t have something early?”

“Nope,” he kisses the top of my head. “And even if I did it wouldn’t matter.”

So we both try to go back to bed and I manage to fall asleep, all of those tiring racing thoughts washed away by a good cry. I feel warm and cared for and vulnerable and protected. A stark change from how Harry has made me feel before. Maybe this was temporary or maybe this was the start of something new. I’m just taking it minute by minute while all I can think is Do I or Don’t I?

***

It’s my final week in London and if you’d asked me a couple weeks ago if I was looking forward to going back home I would have said without hesitation yes.

But that night at Harry’s and putting my past to rest brushes away an old and tired film I had been viewing the city with since I landed.

We had seen each other a couple times a week since—I’ve been cautious despite my body saying otherwise. There were many days I had been free but I had made up some excuse not to see him, I was scared of getting too attached and having to leave.

But I can’t deny how nice it was to be with Harry without any labels. Most of the time I went over to his, it was tricky going out somewhere too public and risking getting papped. Together we just talk about life and work, my life back in America and my relationship with my family, his life growing up and his relationship with stardom. We watch movies and listen to music and make jokes and I open up a little about what had been weighing on my mind that night.

Winnie teases me that I was lighter than she’s ever seen me, that London looked good on me. I tell her she’s crazy. But even Oretta admits it when Winnie brings it up to her.

Harry makes the effort to make up for how he acted until it’s not just words. I believe what he was saying. And I admit to my faults too.

We still get under each other’s skin.

The thing we argue about the most is an opportunity Harry tries to get me to sign off on. The link he texted me when I was in Cambridge was an upcoming single one of his friends was releasing and he wanted to get me to bid on executing a music video for it. I tell him he was nuts and that I had no experience, plus I had a job. But he persists. He thinks I should explore putting my creative skills to use and not just my organizational skills. The arguing continues.

I have a date with him tonight, at the same bar we bumped into each other that first night. I have a question I’d been meaning to ask him.

“You aren’t actually a regular here are you?” I ask when we’ve settled.

“Of course I am,” he says but I know he’s lying. I raise my brow and he looks everywhere but at me. “Fine. I’m not.”

“So how the hell did you end up here that night?”

“Coincidence.”

“Liar.”

“I’m an honest man.”

“Truth please?”

“You’re embarrassing me here let’s move on.”

“Nuh-uh,” I’m enjoying his bright cheeks and darting eyes. “Did you stalk me or something?”

“I…I knew this was a local spot for you. Or was.”

“Really? How?”

“You mentioned it a few times? And I dropped you off here once after work.”

He might’ve. I’d met many friends and especially Gray here. I motion for him to continue.

“I might’ve known you were in town, might’ve found out you were here and…”

“So you did stalk me,” I gasp. “Oh my god ladies and gents he is obsessed.”

“That’s a strong word.” He argues.

“You. Stalked. Me.”

“Oh fine, I’ll confess: I’m used to the stalkers and I thought it was high time I did some stalking and see what the fun was all about,” he joins in on making fun of himself.

“Someone get me a restraining order,” I say just as someone approaches our table with drinks. As soon as they leave we burst out laughing.

“So have you given the music video any more thought?” Harry asks as the evening continues.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” I ask.

“I just think you should give it serious thought. I know you want to go into PR, be somebody’s Graham, but you have a really good eye for this thing. Before you pursue what you think you want, try this out.”

“You’re one dude,” I say again. “Who believes I can do this. You want me to throw away the career I’ve worked on for years to dabble in this and potentially waste time instead of getting to where I want?”

“Firstly, if you love doing something it’s not time wasted. And secondly you only ever need just one person to believe in you, angel.”

His fingers brush mine on the table, the familiar electricity courses through me just through the small touch. And of course, his use of pet names always turned me to putty. I hated how malleable he made me.

“Consider it. Just write a proposal y/n, it’s not betraying Oretta or anything. I can talk to her if you want if they choose your idea.”

It was scary putting myself out there for something I didn’t believe in myself for. But my echoes of burnout grow towards the idea of doing something less demanding than being an assistant just like a sunflower to the sun. It basks in letting my creativity flow.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Not for too long,” he taps my fingers again. We were cautious about being too touchy in public, even in a place like this where people genuinely didn’t care who he was. “Proposal’s due at the end of next week.”

When I would be back home in America. Away from here. Him.

We hadn’t talked about it, if we would try to keep in touch. I can’t really imagine a long-distance thing with Harry. Not at this stage. Mostly we enjoyed being in each other’s company and I was scared forcing labels just because we would be apart would ruin this fragile thing.

“Fine.” He’d worn me down and I submit. “Fine I’ll get something in for you.”

He pulls back with a shocked expression. “Did I just convince the stubborn y/n y/l/n to do something she didn’t want to do?”

I scowl. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he laughs, waving his hands around him like he was fanning in an aroma. “I’m soaking this in though.”

“Whatever,” I say with a smile.

“You make me work hard,” he smiles back. “For everything y/n. That’s one of the things I l-I-that I really like about you.”

We ignore the near slip of something far too serious for what we had going. We move past it but it sets my heart racing.

“So this friend of yours,” I change the subject. “With the music video. Didn’t you guys have like, beef when you were on tour? All that article stuff?”

“You of all people should know not to believe what you see online. It was all manipulated and put out of context.”

“I know but you were all moody for all your shows afterwards. I remember Jeff and Graham complaining. I assumed the articles had worn you down a bit.”

He raises a brow like he’s waiting on me to figure something out.

“What?”

“Really? You think it was the artcles?”

“Well what else happened that-“

Oh god. Was I that stupid?

Of course it wasn’t the articles, it was me! Us.

A smile stretches over the contours of his face as realization dawns on mine, “Twice in a row I’ve got you today, I should buy a lottery ticket.”

“I’m off my game today is all, don’t get used to it.”

I can’t believe it. Not that I didn’t believe Harry after the last few weeks but I—that night—really meant that much to him that his feelings over it had affected the rest of his tour? I had affected his tour?

“Why didn’t you say anything if it was weighing on you so much? If I recall I tried to talk to you a couple times.” I ask.

“What could I say,” he snorts. “You were engaged and my loss of control was why you cheated. Then you were quitting and I knew if I said anything you might have stayed. I didn’t want to keep you where you didn’t want to be.”

His words tug at my heart. He really had thought up a storm.

“Harry,” I lean back. “Gray and I broke up before I joined you guys on tour again. We weren’t cheating.”

His forehead creases, “What?! But you were together at my London show. I thought you two broke up after you moved back home?”

“No,” I guess in the last few weeks I’d just mentioned we broke up a long time ago. He didn’t know any specifics. “We were fake-together because he hadn’t broken the news to his sister then. But that’s why I was all…y’know in Barcelona-“

“Fuck me,” he groans. “No wonder you thought I was an ass for pulling you away-“

“Well you were-“

“Yeah alright-“

“Why did you really pull me away though?”

“I…I was feeling a bit possessive.”

“What?”

I wasn’t expecting that to come out of his mouth. He smiles sheepishly, “I thought we already came to terms with that.”

My stomach does a few somersaults. Until tonight I don’t think I’ve really focused on the magnitude of how Harry felt back then. Parts of my mind were still remembering him as a prick just because it was easier to remember my side of things. But this spins things in a brighter light.

“I was just your assistant though.”

“Y/N,” he tilts his head to the side. “Did I not already tell you what I thought about you that night in my flat?”

“Yeah but-“

“I’d never met anyone like you, I really liked you. I couldn’t have you though and I had to push you away constantly. And that drove me a bit crazy sometimes.”

I let out a noisy breath, wondering if how he felt about me was just as intense now as it was then. A part of me knows it must be. Feelings like that didn’t fade. But here I was, barely knowing what it was I felt for him. All I knew was that it was nice when we were together.

Why me, I want to ask. But I hold back. It wasn’t a question I could ask my ex-employer current-lover part-time-asshole.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “Was that a bit strong?”

“No,” I sigh again and he laughs. “Fine. A little. But it’s fine, I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he believes me. “So you broke off your engagement and didn’t tell anyone?”

“Kinda, we weren’t in a place we could come back from. We decided that mutually after things blew up. He didn’t even know I was leaving the country actually.”

Harry whistles. “You ran out on all of us.”

I scratch the side of my head, “Maybe?”

“Well I’ve enjoyed having you again, here.” He says with sincerity. “I’m really relieved to be able to get to say everything I wanted to your face.”

I agree. Neither of us mention I was leaving later in the week.

Even by the night before I’m leaving London we still hadn’t discussed a thing. But there’s a heaviness to us as we have dinner at his, as we pretend to watch a movie only to cuddle on the couch. We lay there facing each other and I trace his eyes, his nose, his wonderful mouth. It’s so odd to me that this was the same Harry Styles performing in sold out venues and on the walls of teenage bedrooms. That I got to have him in these quiet moments and be present.

I feel so grateful for this. That I didn’t have to carry around these draining stories within me anymore, that it felt like it happened to someone else. In a way even if nothing came from all this, I got closure. I was able to move on now.

I imagine my heart and it feels like when you take a stroll mid-March and realize nature was healing from winter’s blues. Warm and blooming the earth was growing again—my heart was growing stronger. Now the idea of a date or a partner didn’t seem so daunting and exhausting. I would never have guessed that it would take the man who almost broke me to come into my life again for me to see how to fit those pieces back in place again.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do not having you in town anymore,” his lashes flutter as I run my hand through his hair. It was still shorter than I was used to but it had grown in the last three weeks.

“Oh you’ll be fine,” I say. “I’ve worked on your schedule before: meetings and studio sessions and photoshoots and interviews.”

“A busy life isn’t always a full one,” he whispers. And it’s the closest thing to a confession we were going to get to. I cover his mouth with mine and we indulge in each other one final time.

There is a symphony of unexpected but undeniable intimacy woven between the beats of our entwined hearts. I know I would probably never feel this way with anyone and I don’t think I’d want to. Being with Harry was passion. It was losing myself and finding myself at the same time. It was being vulnerable and guarded and cherished and known.

My flight out tomorrow is around noon but I can’t stay the night as I’d have to help Oretta in the morning to make sure everything gets to the airport in time. Harry walks me down to his lobby and we stand there for a few, just holding each other tight. He doesn’t ask me to stay and I don’t ask him to come.

“This isn’t goodbye y/n,” Harry says when we part. His hand rests on his heart. I know the feeling, mine aches so hard I want to press my hand to it just to tell it everything would be fine.

“No,” I shake my head. My eyes had been teary ever since he squeezed me to him. “We’ll talk soon.”

“You’ll be directing music videos soon.”

I roll my eyes, “I’m still working on the proposal.”

“I have a good feeling about it.”

“That makes one of us. But…thanks for believing in me.”

“Thanks for believing in me,” he whispers. “Even when you didn’t have to.”

I’m glad I did. The only time in my life not paying attention to the warning bells had paid off.

“I’ve been working with this new producer and he wants me to come out to a studio in Cotati?” Harry mentions. “How far is that from where you are? Are you still in m Burbank?”

“Burbank’s where my parents are,” I shake my head. I look up what he’s talking about and feel a thrill when it’s less than a couple hours. Still, I try to maintain neutrality. “A little over an hour?”

“Well,” he brushes my hair over my shoulder and keeps his eyes looking just over it. “Depending on what you’re doing—maybe if you’re free…we can see each other again?”

I would love that. My heart is bursting just thinking of getting to have him in the place I called home. Of this meaning something. Of him wanting to see me again.

“Of course if you have a boyfriend by then and he doesn’t want you to see me that’s…I mean, live your life and if it works out we-“

“Yes,” I cut him off. “Yeah. Let’s see but that sounds good.”

He meets my gaze and I laugh a little, he was nervous and that was rare.

“Good,” he smiles with. “Until next time.”

“Until next time,” I step into his arms and it’s a quick affair before he steps away. I turn to head out the door, shielding my eyes from him. Not wanting him to see that this was stupidly hard to say goodbye.

He waves me off and I head back to my hotel with a heavy heart. But I think about him asking to see me again. Who knows when that would be. And I know this wasn’t the end of our story.

***

I’m happy to land in SFO the following evening, happy to busy myself with Oretta’s business, happy to have Winnie chattering away. I spent parts of the flight I wasn’t sleeping working on my MV proposal and it awakens a familiar passion inside of me I’d been afraid I’d lost.

I send out a silent thanks to Harry for knowing what was good for me.

I think of Harry often, Gray even less until I don’t think of him at all. I dream of London weekly; I missed it this time around. And as life resumes again I anticipate the change I sense on the horizon.

So when life gives me lemons I stop asking Do I or Don’t I. If one thing the last year has taught me was I had to listen to my gut and look at the signs. I had to start asking what I wanted and go after it. Even though Harry and I barely talk, I remember the lessons he’s taught me.

I stop looking to others to make decisions. There’s no guidebook or lists to help me make my decisions either. I take deep breaths and I believe in myself.

I build a new life on the remains of my old. I don’t let it dictate what I did anymore, I simply leave it as the foundation to elevate me even higher. I reach for the sky with my feet planted firmly on the ground. And I grow with reckless abandon.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

TAGLIST: @boomitsallie1 @indierockgirrl @ndunad @jerseygirlinca @sunshinemoonsposts @ninasw0rld @love-letters-to-uranus @mayamonroem @sassamanda77 @harryspirate

🤍

Epilogue

[todayontumblr]

Thursday February 16.

The Doctor is *in*

* snaps fingers sassily, repeatedly, here, there, absolutely everywhere *

We know The Doctor hates violence but this feels a little hypocritical to us. Because, Dear Reader, their new outfit is here, and goodness gracious they are slaying. Slaying endlessly, wildly, no-holds-barred fabulously!  

We know this because the first onset pix from the new series of #doctor who are here, and Ncuti Gatwa is dressed to the nines/15s. His 15th Doctor looks effortlessly cool in a long, apparently leather, trenchcoat, and orange shirt tucked into blue trousers. The look is rounded off with aplomb with some snazzy trainers. It's the first of many tantalizing glimpses into these brave new worlds. And with it, we can't help but usher you towards the dashboard's #doctor who fandom, where the community has quite rightly lost the collective plot in fervent excitement at the first look of 15 in action. Dive into this world of gifs, discourse, and fanart of all things TARDIS.

[just-antithings]

The worse antis get the less I care about harassment I genuinely don't give a shit I have reached my limit. I'm the tech person in the family and my parents asked me what proship meant due to my little sister saying her friends were hating on people over anime and Calling her things like a pedophile , proshipper etc they were concerned i had to sit down and explained what the fucking proship antiship discourse to people in their mid 40s.

Do you know why she was targeted? I found out it's because my sister brought in my Naruto manga where he transforms into the sexy jutsu thing and since he was a minor my sister was creepy according to the kids. Btw these same people calling her a pedo are the same that she has said we're calling her gay, trans, a sinner, drag queen, It, animal etc (as insults) and calling her slurs because she had a dyed streak in her hair, wears trousers instead of a skirt (they have a school uniform) and has her hair shorter than her fucking shoulders.

I'm sorry for the vent I just can't believe my sister got this hurt over reading a manga in school and just expressing herself... Shits meant to get better not worse.

[peaches2217]

🍽

🍽️ - Dinner date

I am so sorry this took so long, but I hope it's worth the wait!!

Regalia

~~~

Mario was in full regalia.

Further: Mario was in full regalia, casually, by his own choice.

The whole getup was so very un-Mario — the deep navy tunic, the gold buttons and tasseled shoulder pads, the white trousers and tall black boots. He looked more suited for engaging in political discourse than plumbing or carpentry or any of the other hundreds of things he enjoyed far more. Yet not a single thread felt out of place. It was him, somehow, and it suited him perfectly.

Peach felt suddenly woozy. “Devastatingly attractive” didn’t even begin to describe how she perceived him in that moment. 

When she took too long with her ogling, he grinned a knowing little grin and stepped forward. She couldn’t help but blush as he took her hand. Or maybe she had already been blushing, and now she was just blushing even harder. Oh, stars.

“Your Majesty.” He dropped to one knee with a smoothness that suggested practice (but the way he wobbled briefly when he landed suggested he still needed more), kissing her knuckles. His crown sat in place of his usual cap, a smaller replica of Peach’s; the garnets and pastel sapphires set into its band caught the light of the setting sun just so, sparkling in a way that seemed almost ethereal.

Are you trying to kill me? she wanted to ask. Glancing up, she saw Toad in the gazebo a few steps away, his own attire traded for a black vest and bowtie. He offered her an eager thumbs-up.

“Look at you,” she said instead. She meant to follow up with “You look handsome,” but Mario’s eyes met hers, shining with satisfaction and reverence, and her voice stuck in her throat.

He could fill in the blanks. He knew exactly what this was doing to her.

Pushing back up to his feet, Mario led her forward, her hand still in his grasp. “I don’t know about you,” he said, a joyful lilt in his tone, “but I’m starving! Shall we?”

She only nodded, because she couldn’t trust herself with an honest response.

Thankfully, Mario was merciful enough to carry their conversation in full until she overcame her stupefaction. He wasn’t trying for full formality. In spite of his attire, the mood was relaxed, and it loosened further when Toad produced a bottle of Yoshi Berry wine from the kitchens inside. In short order they laughed and joked together as they always did, and for that Peach was grateful.

Toad stationed himself in one corner of the gazebo and filled the air with the warm tones of a viola (she hadn’t even known he could play the viola, an instrument almost as large as he was, but that was beside the point). In the lulls between topics, Mario would swirl the liquid in his glass and smile at her, the sort of smile one might expect to find on the face of a lovesick schoolboy. The sapphires in his crown couldn’t compare to the deep, denim blue of his eyes.

None of this felt real. Peach was certain she was dreaming, or that perhaps she was living in a children’s picture book, the obligatory kindly queen and her beloved, benevolent king.

But this was in fact reality, and as the haze of romanticism ran its course, she could see the signs more and more clearly.

Mario shifted frequently, tugged at the high collar of his tunic, fiddled with the buttons. Reached up to make sure his crown wasn’t sliding off, reached down to ensure his pant legs were still securely tucked into his boots. As they chatted and nursed their wine, he absently flicked at the tassels on his shoulders; he’d catch himself doing it, stop, and then start back up again as soon as he wasn’t thinking about it.

When their food finally arrived, he dug right in with something that sounded like a sigh of relief. It wasn’t just hunger, Peach recognized. He was grateful for another distraction.

He was uncomfortable. The clothes that made him look so regal in turn made him feel horribly out of place. The realization didn’t really surprise her; she had come to his first fitting for moral support, and while he had done his best not to complain as the seamstress made her measurements, his face betrayed his agony. More than once, his eyes met hers, and he mouthed an over-the-top “Help me.”

“I didn’t think becoming a royal consort meant I’d actually have to dress like one,” he had joked that night, pulling on the softest and most worn, ragged night clothes he owned. Peach had just giggled.

Guilt gnawed at the pit of her stomach. She had reacted so strongly to this new addition to his wardrobe, and judging from the look in his eyes, he had known she would. The regalia he would have to wear at least once a week as part of his new duties, maybe more, and there was no helping that. But tonight, he was putting himself through needless misery just for her sake.

She tried not to think too hard about it as she ate. Leaving her food untouched would be terribly rude.

At the completion of their meal, Peach rose from her seat and stretched her back, and Mario came around the table to offer his arm to her. “Walk with me?” he asked. She could hear no hint of an ulterior motive in his offer, nothing but a sincere wish to extend their evening. He would happily endure his discomfort just to spend more time with her. The thought brought her as much joy as it did sadness.

She took his hand instead, eyeing his gloves. She hadn’t noticed they were different. Instead of leather, dented and scuffed from constant use, these were silk.

“Wouldn’t you rather get out of that stuffy outfit?” she offered in return. She could see him in his regalia every single day and never find it any less attractive, and even now she fought the urge to accept his offer and enjoy the sight that much longer. But she couldn’t bear to indulge her own desires at the expense of his comfort.

Mario’s face twisted with surprise at her words. She didn’t even hear Toad as he left them to talk, his voice straining with suppressed laughter — “C’mon, at least let a Toad get outta earshot first!”

“You don’t like it?” Mario asked. His eyes flicked down and over himself, as though inspecting for some sort of flaw in the fabric, a missing button, a stain, but Peach put her free hand to his cheek, commanding his attention once more.

“I think it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen,” she confessed. “But you looked like you were seconds from tearing it off and clawing into your skin all night.”

“Oh.” Mario’s cheek warmed beneath her palm, and he gave her a sheepish smile. “Well… you know. Not exactly the kind of outfit I’d wear lounging around, yeah? But!” He plucked her hand from his face and brought it to join her opposite hand, cradling them both in his own much larger grasp. “I’ve gotta get used to it anyway, right? The sooner I start, the better!”

“You don’t have to torture yourself for my sake, darling.”

“Torture? No no no, tesoro mio, you misunderstand,” he said, and that smile became all at once confident and tender. “Seeing your face light up like a big Fire Flower? The way you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me? I’m a little selfish, you know. Learning to put up with this dumb thing is a lot easier when you’re making me feel like a hunk.”

Peach laughed at that, overcome with relief and affection all at once. “You are a hunk,” she said, bending to press a kiss to his cheek. He tilted his face to return the favor, and she giggled again at the way his mustache tickled her skin.

“And you’re the most beautiful princess in the whole world,” he murmured against her. “Sorry— queen.”

“Your queen.”

“My queen,” he agreed. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to the corner of her lips before pulling back, and Peach followed suit. She noted with another gentle wave of relief that he didn’t look nearly so uncomfortable right now.

“In that case,” she said, “why don’t we take that walk?” Mario squeezed her hands one final time before dropping them to offer his arm once more. If this was his preferred method of breaking in a necessary evil, she would gladly assist.

“For what it’s worth,” she continued as he led her out of the gazebo, “I think you’re a hunk no matter what you wear.”

“So if this one sits in the closet for our next date?” 

“Actually, I was thinking we could have pizza and ice cream in our pajamas instead.”

“Oh, yes, please. Same time next week?”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Mamma mia,” Mario laughed as they walked into the calm night, “and I keep thinking I can’t fall for you any harder!”

[mariacallous]

Hello there. Today I would like to talk about Charlotte Owen. If you’ve heard of Charlotte Owen, it’s probably because you’ve read someone – unquestionably one of the “good guys” of the discourse – saying some creepy, innuendo-laden thing about the “riddle”, “mystery” or “enigma” of her relationship with Boris Johnson. Before we go on, a word on vocab: all those words are journalese for “I can’t stand up this cobblers but I just want to publish it anyway”.

If you haven’t heard of Charlotte Owen, then (a) you may be the last pure human, and (b) you will need a primer. So here goes: she worked for Johnson’s No 10 operation, and was unexpectedly given a peerage in his resignation honours list. Alongside her House of Lords work, she has recently taken a position in a business Johnson has got with a uranium entrepreneur. Any more background? I should also say I have never met Owen, who is now 31, or had the remotest dealings with her. However, I have watched the absolute deluge of sexism disguised as gossip that has beset her since Johnson chucked her the poisoned chalice. Though entirely fact free, most of it has been frothingly circulated by the sort of person who imagines themselves to be on the side of the angels. So allow me to offer a counterpoint: they’re not.

Listen, I’m sure it’s not great to give a peerage to a 29-year-old. But let’s get real: even if she were totally useless, Owen could still only be about the 200th worst person in the House of Lords. She wouldn’t even make the same postcode as the cut of the true monsters, about whom we don’t get any articles because they’re not youngish and blond. Do imagine if all the good guys casting twice-weekly aspersions at Owen were chucking even half those at fellow Johnson peer Evgeny Lebedev – a serious piece of work, who has somehow garnered fewer bad headlines this past year than Charlotte has this past fortnight. Records and colleague accounts suggest Owen is a diligent peer, turning up very frequently and offering contributions some would estimate put her in the top 10% of speakers. (Lebedev has never even bothered voting and has asked only four written questions in four years.)

As for being unqualified for her latest job – countless 31-year-olds in this country have jobs that I’m sure their elders and betters think they’re not good enough for, and they were often hired for them by people they met through previous jobs. You’re going to need more than that. Yet not one person has produced a single nano-particle of evidence for their theories, while indications that they’re nonsense pile up. Consider the pictures of Owen at Carrie Johnson’s soirees. Seriously, Carrie’s the final boss of this game. She saw off master strategist Dominic Cummings (Carl von Clownewitz). Pretty sure she’d make light work of Charlotte if there were anything to worry about.

Some people will say it was ever thus. Funnily enough, I think I was Owen’s age when I started reading stories about my own affair with the former editor of this newspaper. Not true stories, as it goes, and I’m just trying to think back to it all. Private Eye ran some of them, so I contacted the magazine to tell it they were completely untrue and asked it to correct. Alas, corrections were not a Private Eye thing, I was told – but I was offered the option of writing a letter to its letters page, under my name, to counter the story. I remember sitting and wondering what such a bizarre and inherently unedifying missive would even look like. I pictured a letter reading “Dear Sir, Sorry to trouble you but this is just to say I’m not actually having an affair with my boss. Yours ever so gratefully, Marina Hyde.”

I concluded that would be rather adding insult to injury, so declined to send it, and instead had to come up with a sort of renegade campaign of ways to get the record corrected, which now seem excruciatingly ridiculous in retrospect. I can’t remember all the stupid stuff I did, but I do remember, for example, agreeing to a hideously dreary media panel, purely because the then editor of Popbitch was also doing it, then sitting through it and waiting for an opportunity to confront her in public about what I think I called “my non affair”. This was no one’s finest hour, but I couldn’t think of a better way. In the end, you realise you just have to ignore people and work hard, and maybe that work will displace people’s current view of you in, like, a couple of decades?

Now I am a much older lady, I wouldn’t say I can say exactly what I like – but I can certainly say a lot more of what I like. And I say all this now not because I want to spare Charlotte Owen the ball-ache of having to do some dire panel on climate lies at the next Cop conference, purely to tee herself up for introducing a leaden non-sequitur beginning with the words, “Hey – you know what else is a lie … ?” No, I am doing this because I honestly can’t believe that almost 20 years later, fact-free faux journalism like this has got worse.

Much of it is down to social media being a place where people very much like to look as though they’re insiders (again: they’re not). The other corrosive practice, popular on social media but also with some very online journalists, is that thing of putting two pictures or stories together and saying with some kind of flourish, “You join the dots!” To which the only acceptable response is: no. Would YOU mind joining the dots? You are, after all, supposed to be the professional here. The fact that you can’t confirms you’re not “doing journalism” – you’re doing sexism, you’re doing conspiracism and you’re doing indolence. Still: lovely clicks.

Allow me to end by offering a competition prize. The next person to publish any fact-free innuendo about Charlotte Owen shall be crowned the biggest trouser-rubbing weirdo in Fleet Street – and that’s a tough field. Guys, that actually means something! If anyone has any evidence of the thing at which they have hinted so remorselessly, then let them produce it. Otherwise, maybe they have had their fun, and it’s finally time to shut up and leave her alone. Instead: please tell us more about the uranium entrepreneur. You see, this is the other thing about getting older: you start wanting to know more about the uranium entrepreneurs. But we always look the wrong way in this country – so don’t hold your breath.

[rreskk]

do when trevor and reader are in a mission meeting or whatev and trevor statts touching reader and stuff secretely meowmeowmeowmeow

Okay boobie yayay

Summary: Trevor, out of boredom, began getting a bit too frisky when he shouldn't be.

TW: -Smut

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

Word count: 1495

Trevor’s office.

The place that stunk of piss, alcohol, sex, and gasoline.

There were naked pictures of strippers of all shapes and sizes awfully pinned against the horribly designed wallpaper. Some of them were hanging on their last threads, the tape unable to hold it together.

Everyone was crowded in the godforsaken room. Lester, the molester (as Trevor wanted you to call him) was pinning up a rough plan for your next heist. Everyone else was watching him, expect Trevor.

He was staring fondly at your thighs; occasionally caressing them with his antsy fingers but you had to stop him in case someone throws an eye towards your direction. You were sat beside him on a small chair; Trevor sat in his leather one. He was lazily slumped, his feet resting against the desktop (completely unaffected by the dirt his shoes had dropped).

You kept a close eye on his hand considering it was slowly adventuring closer to your leg. He thought he was slick, giving you a smirk every now and then whenever you’d try and stop him.

“Okay, I think the plan is done. Michael, you’ll be in charge of the-“ Lester began talking and it seems that his voice was a living headache for Trevor. He groaned loud enough for you to hear, deciding to entertain himself with the collection of pencils and pins that were left from the previous owner (who he willingly kicked out – Only you knew about this though…)

Multiple attempts of making him listen since this heist was incredibly important was flunked. Trevor didn’t acknowledge a word you said, instead, he just mindlessly trailed his index finger across the curves of your hips. This was an agitating gesture. You slapped his hand away, urging him again to listen. But of course he didn’t.

“You’re not gonna have a clue. Listen to them.” You leant in and whispered in his ear while the others were discussing and debating.

Trevor shrugged his shoulders and gave you a flirty grin. Once again, you felt him fondle your thighs. This time, he was a bit more obnoxious. His whole hand was squeezing it, his palm dry humping against the material of your trousers. He was obviously eager for some friction as he rubbed and rubbed, biting his lip and being so fixated on your lap.

This was a professional meeting. Michael, Franklin, some unknown men were surrounding Lester’s board with intellectual ideas while Trevor remained unbothered and lazy. You tried to engage in conversation but every time you opened your mouth, his finger pinched your inner thigh.

“Maybe the transpo- Urgh!”

They all looked over.

Trevor snatched his hand away with a wide smirk. He looked at you and raised his eyebrows - pretending he wasn’t the cause of your sudden whining. You’d glare, but it would be too obvious, right? That would only restrict your response. You were screaming at yourself; ‘Play it cool, don’t stress.’  But these words filtering your mind would leave you silent for too long. The others were just as confused at your panicked expression, only making it worse when you could hear him giggling.

“What’s wrong with you, [y/n]?” His tongue teasingly slurping up the discourse of your shame.

Lester, the molester, thought it was a smart idea to waste no more time on your inconsistent bluffing. He returned everyone’s attention to the board. It was a fair choice and you held no objections nor offence. You just lowered your head in embarrassment and avoided eye contact with anyone.

Trevor moved his chair closer before leaning into your ear and speaking.

 “Caught red handed?”

 His words only fuelled your discomfort more. You could slap him, punch him… But that wouldn’t be a good idea. Refusing to look in his direction, you stared at the pinboard in hopes he’d leave you alone. There was enough things on your mind and you didn’t want him to suddenly pull anymore of this “touchy” nonsense.

However, he didn’t approve of your avoidance. He edged his chair even closer so your thighs were now touching each other. There was no escape.

“Come on, [y/n]. It was just a bit of fun, ay?”

“It wasn’t fun at all. It was humiliating.” You whispered back with a disappointed frown.

“Hm,” His hand shuffled over to the placement of your thigh again. He began caressing you with his thumb, trying to ease the tension by touching you some more – whether that was effective or not; “Don’t be mad at me, baby. What’s wrong with a little playtime?” His words only made it 10x worse.

“Trevor, stop it… Please.” Outcomes your hasty protest, managing to keep your voice down (despite wanting to yell at him).

He sighed, moving his hand upwards.

“No.” He soon smirked.

No? Just no? You were dumbfounded.

“What do you mean “no”? I’m not playing games. Not now.”

“We aren’t playing any games. I want you now, right now.”

“No.” You sternly said.

Trevor raised an eyebrow, “No? Why not? Scared? Ashamed? There’s nothing wrong with a little touch here and there.”

The moment he said this, you could feel his palm grind against your groin. You had to be careful in case you blubbered out again. The warmth was delicately arousing. He only added more pressure though… His fingers gently travelled up to your belt loops and carefully drawn it down so there was access to your panties through your flies. He zipped it down.

And this all happened from behind his desk. If you were to be Michael, he’d think you were itching yourself – rather contently. The small concentration on your face that was tilted to a 90 degree angle. Besides… Trevor looks fucking pleased with himself. There was no denying; it was pretty obvious.

“And you told me to concentrate.” He remarked after noticing how fixated you were on his hand that was now officially rubbing the fabrics of your panties. Not to mention, he wasn’t soft with it anymore. Trevor was eager and antsy.

“Dammit, Trev.” You breathed into his ear, pretending you were whispering important needs so it didn’t look suspicious. You know you should stop trying to cover this up since the rest probably knew.

He grumbled intently as your breath pleasured the skin of his neck. Trevor closed his eyes and leaned backwards, his fingers shamelessly down your underwear and fondling your sex as his thumb began working against it, rubbing it to the core.

Now you were flustered enough to voice out anymore reoccurring moans.

“Mhm-“ You chewed your inner mouth and stared down at the floor.  

“Is everything okay?”

The sound of Michael’s inquiry sent you into shock. Trevor noticed how tense you suddenly were, feeling your pussy’s pulse stop randomly before looking up. He soon saw Mikey and made eye contact. He scowled – how dare Michael interrupt your fixation.

“The fuck do you want, Townley?”

His partner in crime grimaced, almost robotically, and sent you a questionable glare. Michael turned away and Trevor was back at town, beginning to finger your warmth until it was only a matter of time where he began shuffling around in his seat, unable to hold back his own lustfulness.

“You are so fuckin’ sexy around my fingers, baby.” He whined into your ear. His volume was lowkey, but it wasn’t quiet enough.

Michael couldn’t help but look back again. He was visibly disturbed.

“Oh, come on guys! You fuckin’ serious? A heist meeting?”

Trevor growled in anger and only fingered you harder as he spoke to Mikey.

“What? We ain’t doin’ shit, you fuckin’ snake. Fuck off!”

 “Oh yeah! Because I know what you are doing!”

“We’re doing nothin’. Go gangbang fuckin’ Lester, or- or Franklin! Stop pushing shit on me. You fuckin’ lizard, I told you once… And I’m telling you again; FUCK OFF!” He bellowed. Somehow the pitch of his lividness supplied enough energy and momentum for his hands, successfully hitting the spot while you were choking back moans and whimpers.

“What the hell is going on?” The mastermind of all the thinking questioned after ear dropping[rk1]  all the drama going on from behind his back.

“SHUT UP, LESTER!”

That did it. Through his aggressive thrusts of his filthy finger, you happened to come all at once. Trevor was shook out of his misery when the sensation of wet heat covered the fingers that were buried within your sex. He couldn’t help but smirk. He was surprised you supressed noises!

You were left sluggishly limb in your seat, absolutely lifeless as he detached his fingers and helped zip up the evidence. Trevor gave you one last rub on the thigh and sent you a small grin, lowering his lips to your hungry ear.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl.”

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

A Trip Through The Ages (No One Loves For Free)

the morning sun caresses the room, stirring life with coffee in hand, Angelou's words...fresh her wisdom, a constant marvel, unchanged since my school days when I first consumed her today, overwhelmed by her insight guys like us, rejecting all that's soft in the philosophers we revered...study despite the disdain, seductively loathsome insignificant, at best, in highbrow conversations only men's opinions are deemed valuable feigning indifference to their score donning tight trousers, attempting to tempt

basking in the autumn sun as clouds gather desires of youth and flesh swirling thank you, Angelou, for the enlightenment trying to appear nonchalant, cheeks blazing we sat still, unmoving, and reluctant to flee enduring the thorns of filthy desires navigating the swamp of misogyny until we reached Wollstonecraft's teachings realizing both Bell Hooks and Hannah Arendt shared much their dread of men, each in her own way Hooks feared herself, Arendt feared her allure did their fear flatter or reject their femininity

always cast as the dreaded, unwanted male our harsh drawing them into temptation our masculine, a deadly allure, irresistible yet...how could we not cherish Angelou "There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you" those adolescent, poet-wannabes in a room mesmerized by music, letting the meanings drift lost in the psalm-like rhythms...we succumbed some attempted to be dutiful souls religious seekers in Teacher's convoluted debates held accountable, yet utterly powerless a sensible man would have howled before God

as naïve students, we were stunned to unravel men's desires; their yearnings are younger than we expected Angelou lusted after a younger soul Guy, her son, no one knows his pain Dickinson, akin to Poe, fixated on the young imposing her will on innocence, unprepared a Pygmalion complex! crafting the submissive doll molding obedience, expecting abandonment it was then i parted ways with poetry a minor sacrifice, despite my devotion to it

we were a band of innocent optimists evil, an unfathomable concept now, by my side, a soul versed in evils familiar with errors, material and spiritual handling them deftly, like changing a lock he prays at chosen moments, designated places (At meals, in church), while i pray without structure, sporadically like a lingering fever, desires waning faith dwells, yet questions with each heartbeat

afternoon arrives, meade in hand engaged with Wollstonecraft "No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks" [true. we choose, fearing wrath] an indirect jab at Angelou, i can only presume Hooks' disdain for denying the erotic for it demands acknowledgment before dismissal contemplating her father's stern repression of all things sexual, warping young Bell Hooks yet submitting to her father's authority choosing her father over her Rosa

Hooks speaks truth: deny the erotic and it beckons attention acknowledgment must precede rejection and what of her "Repetition," a theory perhaps rooted in her belief that she could rewrite her courtship with Rosa this time with a joyful resolution while she awaited her...eternally seventeen but within two years, they would tie the knot she longed to create from memories, not the present utilizing ideas, not people

sipping my meader, musing over either/or particularly either, centered on hapless Lenore many encounters with Arendt and Hooks...and Poe now he understood the game he escorted Lenore to the opera once and after Mozart's overture rang out Poe stood up, declaring, "We're leaving now You've witnessed the best: the anticipation of pleasure." in his protracted discourse on the subject he insisted the performance was the essence was the overture merely a prelude? Poor Lenore should've seen the adornment coming

in disguise, he poeticized his voice echoing: Lenore's beauty fleeting like a blossoming night flower, wilted by dawn a relic of one night with Guy de Vere Poe, veiled by romantic notions visualized Lenore as eternally youthful his interpretation naïvely blind innocent sopranos, ready for Lenore...mere myths maybe his diva did dally with de Vere moments before stepping out, believing it enhanced her allure as backstage whispers claim, weakening his resolve

Maya...help me help you Edgar is being a dullit Lenore has so much more to give and the poet philosophers...

...well they know nothing of love and lust as we are all still students learning from a Teacher

[captain-willard-1968]

Not Like Us (Shakespeare Version) by Sir Kendrick Lamar of House Duckworth:

(Pls note; this will not rhyme💀)

[Intro]

Psst, I comune with the dead

(Mustard on the beat, ho)

[Verse 1]

Ayy, mustard on the beat, ho

Deebo any poet whelp, ‘tis a free throw

Man down, retrieve an amberlamps, bid them ‘breathe, sir’

Nail a whelp to the cross, indeed, he shalt walk around like Teezo

What is with these foolish whelps attempting to see Compton?

The industry can loathe me, away with them all along with their mothers

How many foes dost thou have? Ist too many options!

Indeed, I am forwarding this body, proclaim me John Stockton

Thrash thy ass and conceal the Bible if the Lord be watching

Often thou must step up and beat whelps

Mandated specter, ‘tis I that ups the score with them

Biting my thumb at him, meanwhile, I know’ist he hast some ho in him

Brandish a blade on him, force shit, mock Death Row on him

Say, Drake, I hear thee likeliest them young

Thou best ne’r go to cell block one

To any wretch that discourses and they art in love,

Thou must hide thy child sister from him

They ‘claim to me that Chubbs ist the only one who retrieves thy hand-me-downs

Along with Party ist at the party picking at his nose now

And Baka hast an odd case

Why art he around?

Mandated Lover Boy? Mandated PAEDOPHILES

Wop, wop, wop, wop, wop, Dot, do away with them

Wop, wop, wop, wop, wop, ‘tis I who does mine stuff

Why art thou conniving like a whore, aren’t thou aweary?

Attempting to strike a chord, perchance ‘tis A minor

[Chorus]

They art nought like us, they art nought like us, they art nought like us

They art nought like us, they art nought like us, they art nought like us

[Verse 2]

Thou thinkest the San Francisco province ist going to let thee disgrace their knight Sir Pac, whelp?

Methinks that Oakland show shalt be thy last stop, whelp

Thy put a plague on Cole, I know not why thou ist still feigning

What ist the owl? Bird whelps along with bird wretches

The audience be not foolish

Mold the stories however thou want, hark now, Drake, they are not slow

The rabbit hole be still deep, I canst go further, I swear

Is that not something? B-Rad meaning wretch and thou ist Malibu’s most sought after

There is no law, sirrah, thou art a ball sirrah, go and fetch Gatorade or something else

Since 1609 I hast these wretches jumping

Thou whelps shalt get wedges, shalt be flipped over thy trousers

What dost OVO stand for? The “Other Vaginal Option”?

Marry?

Whelps must straighten thy postures, reached fame hood in Compton

Perchance compose this for the title of ‘Doctor’, proclaim unto that pop star stop hiding

Forget a caption, crave action, nay accident

I am hands-on, he fools around, get dispatched

Intercoursed with Wayne’s maiden whilst he were away, ‘tis conniving

Then got face art like a wretch apologizing

Art I happy DeRoz’ is back, ye didst deserve him neither

From Alondra down to Central, thou best not discourse on Serena

And thou brethren must be subpoenaed, that predator moves in flocks

His name must be registered and placed unto village watch

I put pressure on you whelps like another line of Wock’

Aye, all eyes on me, and I am going to deliver it up to Sir Pac, ayy

Force the wrong label on me, indeed, I shalt have it dropped, ayy

Sweet Chin Music and I shan’t deliver the aux, ayy

How many stocks dost I truly have in stock?

One, two, three, four, five, unto five, ayy

The Devil be’ist a lie, he ist the 69 Lord, ayy

Freakish whelps must stay inside, ayy

Roll themselves up like a fresh pack of lettuce, ayy

The city is back up, ‘tis a must, we are outside, ayy

[Chorus]

They art nought like us, they art nought like us, they art nought like us, they art nought like us, they art nought like us, they art nought like us

[Verse 3]

Once upon a time, all of us were in chains

Man still spoke again and proclaimed us slaves

Atlanta, t’were the Mecca, constructing railroads and trains

Hark unto mine words but for a moment, hark unto mine council

The settlers were using townsfolk to make themselves wealthier

Look unto, 1624, thou hast the same plan

Thou flees to Atlanta when thou need’est a shilling balance

Allow me to make it smaller for thy brain, this be the true whelp contest

Thou called upon Future when thou didst see the club

Lil Baby mentored thou on thy language

21 bestowed thee false street cred

Thug made thee feelst like thou hast membership in thy head

Quavo discourses thou may be from Northside

2 Chainz discours’t thou fine, but he proclaimed false

Thou flees to Atlanta when thou need’st more shillings

Nay, thou art not a collague, but a falsifying colonizer

The family matter along with the truth of the matter

‘Twas the Lord’s plan to show ye the wolf upon the flock

[Bridge]

Mm

Mm-mm

He art a fan, he art a fan, he art a fan

He art a fan, he art a fan, he art a

Freakish whelp, he art a 69 Lord

Freakish whelp, he art a 69 Lord

Aye, aye, aye, flee for thy life

Aye, aye, aye, flee for thy life

Freakish whelp, he art a 69 Lord

Freakish whelp, he art a 69 Lord

Aye, aye, aye, flee for thy life

Aye, aye, aye, flee for thy life

Allow me to hear thee ‘claim “OV-ho!” (OV-ho!)

Proclaim “OV-ho!” (OV-ho!)

Afterward, step this way, step that way

Afterward, step this way, step that way

[Outro]

Art thou mine ally?

Art we focused?

Afterward, step this way, step that way

Step this way, step that way

[autumnalmess]

On the kneenuendo discourse:

Okay, undoubtedly bahorel is making an actual reference to fashion of the time when he tells Joly to buy some Staub's trousers. One of you fashion blogs will need to fact check me on this, but as the 1800s progressed, along with trousers now going down to the ankle, it became popular to start wearing tighter trousers specifically within the form of french dandyism that Hugo describes briefly in Montparnasse. The cinched waist and tighter waistcoats suggested that sharp angles were becoming fashionable, so there was more of a desire for one to show off one's legs. Also, along with the floor-length dresses that women were commonly wearing, it would have been seen as slightly promiscuous for men to be showing off the muscles in their legs, even if they were not showing any skin. Thus, it seems likely that tight trousers would have been fashionable due to their exciting, or perhaps slightly rebellious, appeal.

In this, sure Bahorel is probably suggesting that Musichetta will find Joly more attractive in his tight, fashionable trousers (lol), but there is a definite feeling of innuendo within the way that it's phrased.

"Faire des effets de rotule" en français (make effects with the knees). Although it's translated in many ways, some more literal than others, the french translation is important to look back on to work out what Victor might have actually meant. Whilst that is still incredibly vague, a few interpretations can be drawn.

1- the knee thing (what I assumed it was)

2- get on your knees (ie go down on her)

3- get on your knees (ie grovel to her)

4- show off your knees on she's more attracted to you (appealing to the fashion of the time)

5- get on your knees (make a grand gesture/statement)

And possibly others that I've not noticed.

But considering Hugo's slutty promiscuous nature as is, the vagueness of the phrase seems as if he's purposefully leaving it open to the innuendos that can be interpreted. And considering Bahorel's character, and the dynamic of the Amis, it seems very likely that this is the kind of joke he'd be making.

So interpret it how you will, but I'd bet good money that it's as much genuine fashion advice as it is an innuendo. It's sweet to think that if it is an innuendo, it probably went over Joly's head too.

[v1leblood]

Sincere question: I remember you talking about retcons to Amy's character in Ward at one point. As someone who also basically despises what was done to that character in that story, I'm curious as to which specific retcons you mean? Was it that she was made into a *literal* rapist on top of all the other stuff, or was it a different thing? Apologies if this brings a maelstrom of Ward discourse your way, I'm just interested in your take.

cw: rape

I was going to write a longer and more thorough reply to this, but wanting to do that has kept me from actually Answering It, so i'm going to forego being thorough and not let it sit in my inbox til next week

the long and short of it is that amy as she's depicted in ward has very, very little resemblance to the amy we see at the end of worm -- and the contrast is intense, because the reader spends a cool 4 arcs with post-birdcage amy during the events of gold morning. i don't have specific citations to pull because i'm Not being thorough, but like... open any chapter after arc 25 where amy appears and it should be pretty obvious.

then there's also the fact that the wretch incident (which was unto itself a horrible, traumatizing violation of bodily autonomy) wasn't written to be Literal rape, despite later insistence in wog that this is the case.

...because wildbow of Back Then said he wouldn't be including any form of sexual assault in the text of worm

I mean, maybe he changed his mind within the span of six months (time between this post and the carol interlude), but... that's not great for credibility, either.

and if we run with the assumption that amy Was a (literal, not just figurative or allegorical) rapist throughout the entire run of worm, then it's just... extraordinarily strange that we spend So Much Time with her over the course of the book, including after she goes to the birdcage -- where we get continuous glimpses into how she's coping, growing and otherwise developing -- And in the finale, where she's framed as having changed for the better and being more grounded than our protagonist is

ward is a huge change to the direction her character seemed to have headed and reads as an overcorrection borne of the post-worm fandom being incredibly nasty towards victoria and too charitable and whitewashy about amy. wildbow said that he wasn't taking fandom reactions and junk into consideration when writing ward, but he also made a point of explicitly describing number man's boring trousers after the joke about him having his dick out got big, so... yeah

so the answer is like. when talking about retcons i'm talking about both of the thing? amy changed a lot insofar as Who She Is and What She Does in ward and the rape thing is contradictory, unnecessary, and really just a big mess

other amy posts that touch on similar topics and i broadly agree with here and here (rip brockton-breakers you are missed). there are others out there i think but i'm too lazy to look them up, sorry!